Blinded by the Light

Part One

"Think of it as a vacation," Assistant Director Orin Travis said, trying to persuade the agitated man in front of him.

"Busman's holiday," Senior Agent and Team Leader Chris Larabee replied.

"Almost a week without your team, and someone else responsible for them."

"You trying to bribe me or scare me?" The corners of Larabee's mouth rose into a half-smile.

"Whatever works to get you to go."

"Voluntarily leave my team to talk about my experiences? Nah. I'll stick with the insanity I know how to handle."

Travis used another argument. "No other team leader has dealt with a fraction of what you and your team have faced, and this is a leadership conference. Think of all of those other harried team leaders who could benefit from your experience."

"How? To say my team's unique is an understatement. If we weren't good at what we do, the ATF would have disbanded us long ago. We both know that."

"You're a supervisor with experience in handling difficult personalities. That's an invaluable skill, giving commands to people who resist authority."

"With respect, sit, rollover, and beg haven't been mastered by my boys. Check that – Standish has beg nailed."

"In response, you've learned at least twenty ways to say no."

"Does that include force?"

Both of Travis's eyebrows rose. "There something you want to tell me?"

"No."

The AD cleared his throat. "I see. Perhaps a break will be beneficial then."

"I'm not going."

"Did I say it was optional?" Travis lifted a single eyebrow.

Chris sighed. "No, sir."

"Good. Here's your reservations and itinerary. Have a good time, and I'll see you in a week." The AD handed over a manila folder.

"Gee, thanks." Chris stood, knowing it was useless to continue to argue. It was no wonder Travis got along with them . . . he was just as stubborn.

"Oh, and Chris?"

"Yeah?" Larabee turned to face his boss, one hand on the door.

"Try and enjoy it. You need a break for you every once in a while."

Chris paused. "Yes, sir. I just might be able to relax a bit."

"Good. Remember, you don't have to check into the conference itself until the fourth day. You're registered for the entire thing, hotel room's separate. But if you opt not to attend anything, or officially check in with the organizers until required, you have my permission. You've been under enormous pressure lately."

"I hadn't noticed." Chris left, heading back to his office. After nodding his head at his team, signaling things were okay, he went into his office, partially closing the door. His team knew that was a signal that he wanted to be alone for a bit, but if there was a problem, they were more than welcome to come in.

It took fifteen minutes before Vin appeared. "Hey."

"Hay's for horses," Chris replied, as he continued to reorganize the files on his desk without looking up.

"Where are ya goin'?" Vin sat in his customary chair, throwing his booted feet up on the polished surface. He nibbled on the apple in his hand.

"What makes you think I'm going anywhere? And get your boots off my desk."

"Yer workin' on clearin' yer desk, which means yer leavin'. The rest of us invited?" Vin kept his feet on the desk, giving Chris a devilish smile.

Chris shot Vin an exasperated look. "No. Travis has me enrolled as a speaker for a leadership conference next week. Seems a speaker canceled at the last minute, and the organizer's a friend of Travis's. He arranged for me to take his place, so I'll attend the conference for free. Lucky me."

"Talkin' about what?"

Chris flipped open the stack of papers the AD gave him earlier. "Unique leadership challenges, and forming a cohesive team."

Vin started coughing, having taken a bite of apple right before that statement, and almost choked with laughter. "I'll agree with unique."

"Figure unique's a polite way of saying riding herd over six bullheads."

"That mean yer the bullwhip? Or the cowboy keepin' the peace?" Vin smirked.

"More like getting ready to cut a Texas longhorn if he doesn't quit." Chris stared at his friend, holding a serious expression for all of three seconds. His lips turned up in a smirk. "With a dull knife."

"Do ya good ta get away," Tanner remarked, pulling his legs off the desk and planting his boot heels on the floor. He inched a little closer to the door.

"What?"

"Hell, Chris, we've been puttin' ya through the wringer fer the past few months. 'Tween 'Siah's constant interview boards, Nathan's paramedic trainin', JD's computer classes, and the caseload we've had, ya ain't been able ta concentrate on anythin' without one of us bein' there. Sometimes ya need a little time alone."

First Travis, and now his friend urged him to get away. Chris leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Maybe."

"Ain't no maybe about it. We ain't meant ta be together 24/7. Go have fun, and we'll mind the store."

"Might be good for me to get away." Larabee finally began to like the idea as he thought of at least a few days of peace and quiet he could sneak in. No telling what kind of people he would meet, either.

"Reckon it will be more than good." Tanner gave a sly smile to his friend as he left the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

It was that smile that made the leader think again if this was a good idea or not.

Chris deplaned, heading directly for the car rental counters, eager to get away from the crowds. He bypassed baggage claim, shifting the strap on his garment bag, and stood in line. Once he got to the counter, he presented his reservation number.

The reservations worker shook her head after she typed his information into the computer. "I'm sorry, Mr. Larabee, but we don't have that reservation."

"Excuse me?" Chris stared hard at the woman.

"That reservation was cancelled by the ATF yesterday."

"Can your computer tell you who cancelled it?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, I cannot release that information."

"It shouldn't have been cancelled." Chris was really trying to hold his anger in check.

"I can only tell you that I don't have a reserved car for you any longer. It was rented almost immediately."

"Do you have any vehicles available?"

"Unfortunately, no. There's a large conference in town this week, and we're booked solid."

"You don't say," Chris bit off sarcastically but quietly. In reality he wanted to yell and barely held off. He told himself it wasn't this woman's fault; taking out his ire on her would not be productive. "Thank you for your time." Moving to the other rental counters, he tried, but there were no cars available. Since the conference was a good distance away from the airport, he really dreaded the cab fare, even though he knew he would be reimbursed later. Chris set down his garment bag for a second, alleviating the pressure on his shoulder while he considered his options.

A brunette walked by him, and he automatically looked. She wasn't bad looking, and when she turned her head to check the company names, his breath caught in his throat. The woman looked remarkably like Sarah. Like a fool, he stared. The hair was nearly the same, and the body type similar; only the face was a little different. She even wore a scarf – red – with the same panache as Sarah. Sharp shards of pain shot through him, and he realized that he shouldn't continue to watch this stranger. Not if he wanted to keep his emotions in check.

Grabbing his bag, he quickly headed toward the cabstands outside. He concentrated on breathing, and not allowing the emotional grief to consume him.

"Excuse me?"

He ignored the female voice.

"Sir? Wait a second, please?"

Chris stopped, turning toward the voice. It was the woman. "Help you?"

The woman shot him a winning smile. "Maybe I can help you. Would you like a ride to the hotel hosting the leadership conference?"

"Beg your pardon?" Up close, she looked a little more like Sarah in the face, and a familiar pang hit his heart. Her voice was a note or two off, but it still brought back memories. He really had to concentrate on what she was saying.

"I couldn't help but overhear the clerk telling her supervisor that she was afraid the new guy had cancelled a reservation by mistake. I gather you were the one stuck without a car? I'm going to the conference myself, so I'd be happy to drive you over to the hotel hosting it."

Chris looked uncertain.

The woman opened her purse, pulling out a badge and identification. "Julie Robinson, FBI. I'm an attendee myself, and I'd be happy to give you a ride."

His mind screamed no, but his aching heart, still feeling the pangs of loss, overruled. It wasn't her, but she brought the memories back and maybe he could grab some of the good ones just for a little while. Besides, it wasn't like she was some stranger off the street; the identification, from what he saw, was real. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

"Follow me. By the way, you can call me Julie." She smiled.

Larabee shook his head slightly when he realized he hadn't introduced himself. "Chris Larabee, ATF. You can call me Chris," he finished with what he hoped was a polite smile.

"Well, Chris, let's go." Julie led him to the parking lot, letting him load the bags in the backseat.

She got behind the wheel, putting her purse within easy reach.

He climbed in the passenger seat, both pleased to have a ride, and wary of spending time with someone who looked achingly familiar. Plus, he wasn't comfortable giving up control to anyone. "Do you know where you're going?"

Julie laughed. "Yes. I've been planning this for a while, so I've got everything under control."

"You need me to navigate, let me know."

"Sure will." Julie merged with the outbound traffic, and headed toward the hotel. "So, where are you from?"

"Denver. You?" He figured he could handle small talk for a little while, but he hoped she wasn't a full-time talker. That's one of the things he loved about Sarah; she knew when silence worked better than words.

"Lately, all over. I've been in and out of places so much I don't know if I'm coming or going."

"Understand that," Chris said. He truly did understand with all the chaos in his life.

"You have no idea." She smiled again. "Listen; can you do me a favor?"

"What?"

Julie handed him her purse. "Near the top are my sunglasses. I forgot to pull them out in the airport. Would you?"

"I don't like going in a woman's purse. Never know what will pop out at me." He grinned, keeping his voice light. "Especially an FBI Agent's purse."

"I'd heard ATF Agents were afraid of guns. Guess it's true." A smile danced on her lips.

Chris shot her a playful glare. "Which compartment? You've only got three." He then stared down at the trio of closed zippers.

"The center one."

"Okay." Gripping the zipper, he pulled it. A puff of smoke shot up into his face, and before he could react, the smoke surrounded him. He coughed, but it was too late. The fast-acting gas caused him to feel dizzy, and then there was blackness.

Chris never saw her lift the red scarf to cover her face, or heard the driver's window go down to air out the car.

"It worked," Julie said out loud, pleased with herself.

"I know," she replied to herself, in a harder, different voice.

"I wasn't sure. He's smart. He might have recognized me."

"You worry too much. He didn't recognize me." Derision entered the tone. The woman did not see anything wrong with talking to herself. In fact, it was with herself she had the most interesting conversations. "I caught him."

"Now what?"

"He needs to be punished."

"Yes," Julie's voice was soft. "But killed?"

"Shh...Do you want to upset yourself while driving? You know what happens when you get upset." The other voice kicked in quieter to soothe.

"No. I don't want that. My head hurts."

"Then stop talking and drive. Everything's under control."

Temporarily silenced, the woman continued driving out of the area. When she arrived at her destination, she pulled the car into the garage, hitting the remote for the automatic door to close them off from prying eyes. Going to the passenger seat, she grabbed the unconscious agent under the arms and lugged him out of the car. With a minor struggle with the unwieldy burden, she dragged him to the special room. Placing his form on a table, she prepared him, and then left.

When she passed a mirror, appalled at her appearance, she gasped. "I have to change." Julie made her way to the kitchen first. After a soothing cup of tea, Julie smiled. At last, all her research and plans paid off. She had him in her clutches, and no one expected to see him for the next four days. By then, it would be too late. He would have paid tenfold for what he did. What he took away from her. What he let be destroyed.

Now he was hers to do with what she wanted...

... and what she wanted was his pain.

His suffering.

His endless hurting.

In one word…

Revenge.

Part Two

"Wake up."

Chris felt pain, but he kept his eyes closed. He was trying to assimilate what was going on, and he figured playing opossum might help him. The person could leave and give him a chance to study his surroundings. His head ached, and his brain felt stuffed with cotton, it wasn't helping him to think.

"I said wake up."

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He ignored the command again.

Pain exploded in his left arm, and he tried to jerk away from it. His body wouldn't move properly. He couldn't get his brain to make it move, and he couldn't think clear enough to figure out why.

"I hate you."

"Don't like you much right now either," he replied softly. He pealed his green eyes opened slowly. It felt like they had been stuck together with glue. Finally, he managed to open them by a small slit. Weakly, he scoped his situation. He was on a metal table, stretched out and spread-eagle, while cold bands encircled his wrists and ankles. Naked, the chill of the slick surface beneath his back permeated his skin, leaving him feeling slightly cold. The entire situation left him feeling vulnerable and unsettled.

"You must pay."

"Look lady. . . I didn't sign on for games. Let me up."

"No."

"What do you want?" Chris heard himself ask the question, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer. He just wanted to know what the hell he'd walked into when he left the airport with her.

"You've got to pay."

"For what? I don't know you, lady, and I'm starting to dislike you immensely."

"I never liked you anyway. Always acted tough, like you were so smart. But you were so-o-o easy to catch. Stupid man. I thought you cop types were always suspicious."

"And didn't your mother warn you, you shouldn't pick up strange men," he cracked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

She punched him then – not in the face.

He gritted his teeth, tried to hold it in, but Nature did not intend for men to be hit there. The pain receptors fired, sending momentary white-hot agony through his system. Even sluggish, his body knew that hit solidly connected, and throbbing replaced the fog surrounding his brain.

"I told you he would be bad," Julie said in a low tone of voice.

"I like him bad," she replied to herself, with a sultry purr to her voice. "Then I can hurt him."

Alarm bells went off in his head, drowning out the pain in his nether regions. The fact she was talking to herself like two different people was not good, especially about the part about hurting him. Chris stayed silent, deciding there wasn't much he could do about his situation right now, and he didn't have enough information yet to try and talk himself out of this mess.

Her face appeared inches before his. "Don't you want to know what you did?"

"Figure you'll tell me," he replied.

"You took the most important thing in my life away from me."

Oh, boy, Chris thought. This was probably work related, which left a multitude of revenge seekers to try to sort through. He wondered how the heck this person knew how to find him. In fact, the statement raised more questions than it provided answers. Again, he used silence for prompting.

"Aren't you going to ask?" Julie asked.

"Do you want me to?" Chris phrased the question neutrally, not giving any indication of his level of interest. He noticed Julie wanted to be asked questions, but he temporarily would decline to oblige.

"I'll tell you! You took the light, the reason for my existence, and you threw it away. It wasn't enough for you to take from me, but you allowed my light to die."

"I don't know your light," Chris retorted. "Safe to say we're not talking about lava lamps?" Silently, he thought she was a few bulbs short anyway.

This time Julie slapped him across the cheek. "How dare you say you don't know? But that would be like you. You never cared about the light. Never!" She slapped him again on the other cheek. "I've been dreaming of making you pay since that awful day the light died, it's the only thing that has kept me going. I've planned on getting you for years, but you've never, ever gone alone anywhere outside of your precious Denver."

"How long have you been watching me?"

She answered him evasively. "Maybe when you let the light go out, but then, I woke up one day, and this voice told me you had to pay! And you're all mine for the next several days. No one will miss you, no one will care, and I have you to myself. All to myself." Julie laughed maniacally, slapping him hard once again.

Chris felt chills run through his system at her words, and then heard the door slam as she left. The thought of being stalked bothered him. He'd been watched long enough for Julie, if that was her real name, to know that he hadn't had a solo vacation in a very long time.

He also knew he was alone with a madwoman, and she was right – no one would look for him until he didn't show up as a speaker at the convention. Experimentally, he tried to move his wrists, but the shackles held secure. There wasn't much play in them, and they were too tight to try to maneuver his hands through them. Same with the ones on his ankles. A bit more aware now, as the drug she gave faded from his system, he tried to assess his surroundings.

The ceiling was painted black. He recognized the soundproofing material insulated what he could see of the walls and ceiling. That was not a good sign. Meager light filtered in from one window, not even lighting the entire room but only a small square of it, and the decorative iron filigree outside showed him that even if he managed to get free, he wouldn't be going out that window. Staring at the window, he realized the glass looked soundproofed, too. Yet another bad sign. There was a door on his other side, and a cabinet behind his head.

The light from the windows slowly faded, and darkness overtook the room. He needed to take care of business; he was thirsty, and highly uncomfortable. There was no sign of Julie yet.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Time continued to pass at a snail's pace, and the pressure on his bladder increased to uncomfortable levels. He refused to go on himself, and counted to a hundred, then back again, to distract himself from his needs and that damnable ticking noise. It sounded like it was coming from the darkness beyond his feet.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Miss me?"

He was so intent on getting from twenty-nine to twenty-eight that he hadn't heard her come in.

She flipped on the lights. "Time for a catheter."

The last word caught his attention in a bad way. Chris wriggled on the metal table, trying to move away from her. His skin felt glued to the surface, refusing to turn him loose.

Her hands reached behind him, underneath the table below his head, and came up with a mask. He heard a hissing noise. She dropped it over his head, gassing him, as he tried to dodge the plastic covering being fitted over his nose and mouth.

He failed.

The sticky-sweet smell filled his senses, his brain clogged, and his eyes closed.

A slap across his face brought him out of his drug-induced fugue. He tried to move again, but now he was strapped to the table in several more places. His body was held immobile except for the ability to move his head side to side, wiggle his fingers, and waggle his toes. A hand held him where her hand was not supposed to be, and he tried moving his hips, but they were strapped down. The effects of the gas slowed him down, leaving him uncoordinated.

"No," he moaned.

"This won't hurt a bit."

He screamed when the needle made contact and entered his flesh.

"I lied," Julie laughed.

"I liked his scream," the sultry voice said to herself. It was the low tone voice that spoke to him now. "Now, Chris, you won't make a mess. And I did it right, no matter what the nursing board says. I can put in IVs and catheters. Aren't you proud of me?" Her face appeared in front of his, inches away from his own.

"No. Let me go."

"No," that voice replied.

"You're sick, lady."

"Allowing you the privilege of going to the bathroom without making a mess makes me sick? I expect you to tell me when you need a bedpan," Julie said.

"Go to hell."

She slapped him across the face. "You already sent me there, Chris Larabee. You took away the light, and now all I do is live in darkness."

"Not my fault your light's a piece of garbage I took off the street. Did I put your light in jail, or in the ground?" He spat the words out for a reaction, to learn more details about this person he supposedly wronged.

"Piece of garbage you took off the street?" Julie screamed, and then wailed. "You thought that little of my light?" Reaching down below the table, her hand came up with a scalpel. "I'm going to make you suffer for that remark." She grabbed a foot.

He tried to pull away, do something, but he was pinned, and his head still swam from the gas. Helpless, he felt the blade make contact with his heel, and it cut into the skin. Nothing he did freed him from that razor-sharp scalpel. Moments later, she released that foot. He'd nicked himself shaving before, but the sensation of having his feet sliced put that pain to shame. All his attempts to move away failed. She grabbed the other foot, and he felt the layers of calluses shaved away. Julie kept going, not stopping until she was apparently satisfied.

"I know you're resourceful, and you'll try to free yourself. Even if you escape the shackles, you won't be able to walk away now. Like you walked away when the light went out. You'll weaken from blood loss. Then you'll need me to nurse you." The brunette smiled down with hatred etched on her features. You should have died, Chris Larabee, but you didn't. It's different now. You're mine now. And your death will be slow and painful. I'll put your light out, but I won't put it out as quickly as you put out mine. I'll hurt you, and I know enough to keep you alive until I'm finished." Leaving him bleeding, Julie walked away. She left one light on in the room.

He wondered if his remark had only made things worse instead of better.

Tick, tick, tick.

"I wonder what Chris is doing," Buck said to Vin, sipping his drink.

"Probably havin' a drink in peace," Vin retorted. "Ya already asked that twice."

"Maybe. Tried calling the hotel, but he wasn't in his room."

"Thought ya weren't gonna bother him."

"Expense summation for the bosses. Wanted to fax it to him for his signature before I sent it up the chain. I hate this accounting crap, but with Ezra on loan…"

"Ya got stuck with it."

"And Chris forgot to sign it before he left. Now I gotta get a signature to have it in before next Monday, and he likes looking it over first."

"That's 'cause Ez constantly tries ta slip stuff by him." Vin looked around the bar, sipped his drink, and then settled back on his stool. "Ya left a message?"

"Nah. I'll try back later. Didn't want to start his week away with this. I've got time."

"Good. He needs a break."

"Yeah, he does. Well, that does it for me. See you tomorrow?" Buck asked, turning to Vin.

"Yup." Tanner watched Buck leave, and then finished his beer. He left not too long after that, heading for his Jeep. When he reached his home, he wondered what Chris was up to that night. Probably out eating a nice, quiet dinner somewhere, or curled up with one of the many books he'd been unable to read in the last few months. And obviously ignoring the telephone.

Not that he blamed Chris; every time the telephone rang, it usually meant more problems. Besides, the man had only been gone less than a day, and that wasn't long enough for him to unwind. Like Buck said, give it a little time, let their friend relax a bit, and then get things tended to.

Vin only hoped Chris was relaxing; the man needed a break.

Chris wondered who stopped time. So far, he'd considered trying to get some blood under his shackles to wiggle his feet free, but that couldn't happen in his current position. Julie had strapped him down too well. Besides, the bottoms of his feet were so sensitive even the air hurt when it touched his raw wounds.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Chris glared once again at the offending clock. Large with big block numbers, it reminded him of those found in school classrooms. The second hand ticked as it moved around the dial, a sound he was quickly coming to detest, along with the spotlight she left on it.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He twitched in annoyance, and then groaned. Moving agitated the catheter, causing a minor amount of pain. The thought of that needle absolutely turned his stomach; he had no idea if the needle was sterile. Then there was the fact Julie implied the nursing board told her she couldn't perform those tasks. . .that scared him.

This woman was obviously disturbed, the way she talked to herself, and that bothered him as much as the damn clock. He thought he was dealing with two personalities, and both hated him. Both hated him enough to abduct him in the middle of an airport and bring him back here for a round of torture. Well, he'd gone with her willingly, and that was his mistake. Stupid.

How did Julie know where to find him, and how did she know that his schedule was clear? She must have some inside knowledge, because he only told his team where he was going. Unless she hacked into the computers and saw the reservations made by the ATF. It dawned on him that she was probably the one who cancelled the car reservation. Oh, boy. That made sense, more than anything else in this mess.

Now he was thirsty. But he wasn't going to call Julie for anything; he could handle this. The military trained him for this. But he just hoped that his team figured out something was wrong, and fast. He was not looking forward to more of Julie's company.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Part Three

"Do you like light?" Julie asked.

Hell, Chris thought, anything would be better than that damnable ticking clock with the big numbers and spotlight on it. However, he didn't answer her.

"I guess you don't, since you let the light go out, but I'm giving you light, Chris. You should thank me."

He heard a couple bangs, and then a bright, blinding light came on right above his eyes. Make that in his eyes.

"Let there be light!" She laughed hysterically at her own joke.

Blinking under the assault of the constant whiteness, his eyelids closed, protecting the green orbs, or trying to. His head was the only thing he could move; he was still strapped down so tight he couldn't do more than twitch. The restraints, yanked painfully tighter in Julie's last fit of pique, cut off the circulation in his feet and hands. He knew both had swollen under the unending pressure, and the raw wounds on his feet throbbed in three quarter time, just to keep him aware of the injuries there. His ego did not like the thought of him flinching from a simple light, so he turned his head to the side and opened his eyes.

They focused on the form beside his table, his abductor. Again, she looked like Sarah, but with a touch of madness in her eyes. More than a touch of madness. It hurt to even look at her, because he didn't want memories of this woman crossing with any precious ones he held of his beloved wife. He stayed silent; choosing not to give her the satisfaction of showing the light in his eyes bothered him.

She leaned down, tilting her head until it was even with his and purred in his ear. "It's time for treatment."

Chris didn't ask her to elaborate, trying to ignore the shiver her tone and the implied threat sent through his system.

"What treatment, you ask? You'll see." Her voice took on a singsong quality. "I've always wanted to try this." Julie giggled.

Larabee knew he definitely did not like the sound of that giggle. He started setting his mind to the mode it was trained for when he was in the SEALS, in the part of his conditioning that no one liked to talk about, or even mention - enduring torture.

The first prick in his hip caught him a little off guard, and he figured he was getting some type of injection. But there was another prick near it, and then another. It was annoying, but not too painful. He figured this wasn't so bad; he could endure this and piss her off when he refused to give her a reaction.

She continued with the pricks. Curious, he opened his eyes and squinted through the light. He was able to see she was pushing what looked like straight pins into his skin. This was different, he thought, and probably building to something not good.

"Do you feel any pain?"

Chris didn't answer her.

"No? Then I'll keep going," Julie said.

"Yes, keep going," her other self encouraged.

Julie continued sticking pins in his skin. "Prick, prick, prick."

"Me or the pins?" he asked. He tried swallowing, even though his mouth was dry. He knew she was enjoying his torture just a little too much.

"Both." She jabbed the next one in hard.

"Never denied I could be one. How about you? Ever denied you're a bitch?" He snarled.

"Shut up!" Julie yelled.

"Make him shut up. Take control," she ordered herself.

"Yes," Julie answered. Looking around, she grabbed a roll of bandages and some cotton.

"Truth hurt?" Chris cracked. When she reached for his head, he twisted away. He kept doing that until she screamed in frustration.

"Temper, temper," the ATF team leader told her. He didn't know why he had to provoke her, but he did. He wasn't going to lie there and do nothing while she played her games and if anything, he was not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was hurting him in any way. There was another sting in his arm, and with this one he felt the warmth of something running through his veins. His limbs felt heavy and he felt himself getting sleepy. "Bitch," Chris mumbled, going unconscious from her injection of drugs.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Chris."

Struggling through the fog enshrouding his brain, something in him heard and recognized his name. He listened, trying to decide if he wanted to wake up.

"Wakey-wakey."

WHAM!

Pain. That jumpstarted him, and his eyes opened, right into the white light. His lids reflexively closed, but spots still danced behind the shuttered green orbs.

WHAM!

More pain, and this time in his upper left thigh. He'd been stabbed once before in a fight, but this felt like hundreds of tiny blades spearing his skin simultaneously, a sensation he didn't like. Alertness and adrenaline coursed through his system. The taste of cotton filled his mouth, but he couldn't spit it out.

WHAM!

His shoulder protested the assault, the nerve endings transmitting frantic messages to his brain. He turned his head to see more pins sticking out of his skin. Except this time on his still burning shoulder, where the sudden impact pressed them into his body. Absurdly, he thought this was not a pleasurable way to wake up.

"He's not screaming," Julie said.

"You gagged him, remember?" the other voice told her.

"Oh." Julie giggled and removed the layers of material preventing his speech, using long forceps to reach into his mouth so Chris wouldn't bite her fingers. "He's still not screaming."

"Hit him again," she instructed.

Julie took her flat board and hammered it on top of the lines of pins in his chest, driving them into his skin until the pinheads were the only things visible.

That hurt, but he gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore it. Chris visualized himself at his ranch with his team, kicked back and relaxing. Not strapped to a metal table, he didn't know where, with a madwoman trying her dominatrix act, with him as the unwilling victim.

"Scream," Julie urged.

Larabee ignored her. There was no way he would give her the satisfaction.

"Scream, damn you!"

Wham!

Chris calmly blew out a breath, as if it didn't hurt like the dickens, and he didn't want to take that board and do some damage with it.

"I HATE YOU!" Julie yelled.

"I don't like you," Chris replied evenly.

Her face appeared centimeters from his. "You must have made the light's life a living hell."

"Lady, I own hell," he declared.

"Then I'll make you more comfortable," she hissed. Her voice grew a touch deeper as she issued her promise.

She moved to his lower chest. "I'll enjoy this." Julie raised the board, slamming it down into his abdominal muscles, and sending the pins deeper, along with the pain.

Figuring that was coming, he'd tightened the muscles there, but the term a thousand pinpricks came to mind when they buried to the pinheads.

She moved to the other hip and battered the board one more time. "There." Julie brushed a piece of fallen hair out of her face.

"How many pins did that take?" Chris, hissed through the pain but was unable to keep his sarcastic tongue quiet.

Julie screamed in rage. She went berserk, continually hitting him with the board, her anger giving her strength. In his earlier unconscious state, he hadn't realized she'd put pins in his raw feet. When the board hit there, he nearly screamed. It was too much. He wouldn't show her, but he was already feeling rough from the earlier injuries, and woozy from the drugs. She hit his feet again and again, but proud of himself, Chris didn't scream, he passed out.

"The light loves me." Clink.

"The light loves him not." Clink.

"The light loves me." Clink.

"The light loves him not." Clink.

"The light loves me." Clink.

"The light loves him not." Clink.

"The light loves me." Clink.

"The light loves him not." Clink.

Chris came to, hearing the child's game pervade his consciousness, not leaving him alone until he left the wonderful dream abyss for this waking hell. At least this time he couldn't hear the damnable clock and its miserable ticking, but he wasn't sure having Julie there was an improvement over the clock.

"The light loves me." Clink.

"The light loves him not." Clink.

He felt the sensation of things pulling around his shoulder. Twisting his neck, he didn't open his eyes until his head was ninety degrees and on its side. He'd remembered that annoying light in his face just before he burned his eyeballs again.

"The light loves me." Clink.

"The light loves him not." Clink.

"Which one's winning?" Chris asked.

Julie held up a pair of tweezers for him to see, and then shoved them at his skin, yanking out another pin. "The light loves me." Julie sighed with happiness.

"Told you," she said to herself.

Thankful that was probably the last one from her actions, he bravely questioned, "Which one does the light love? The weak or the strong?" Chris hoped to start an argument between the two voices he'd heard, figuring that would buy him a reprieve. If she was busy fighting with herself, she wasn't inflicting copious pain on him.

"Both of us. The light loves us both. Loves. Loved. Yes." Julie smiled. "But not you. Never you."

A sudden weight dropped into his stomach, and it was named Dread. With a capital 'D'. "Why wouldn't the light love me?" He must be losing his sanity if he was debating with a certifiable crazy person.

"You took the light away," Julie said.

"You have to pay. Make him pay," the other voice directed.

Julie reached over and picked up a roll of bandage tape. Ripping it into strips, she pressed the lengths onto his bloody legs.

Chris knew what was coming, and knowing didn't make it any less annoying or painful. He wondered if women getting their legs waxed hurt this much, feeling every hair ripped out by the root. Her tearing also stripped off the baby scabs that formed over the pinprick wounds. Only by gritting his teeth was he able to not yell. This time, he made no sarcastic comments, lest it give her the twisted idea of making him endure a male bikini wax with tape.

"That hurt, killer of the light?" Julie asked him. "Let's do some more." She plastered some strips on his chest, using slow, agonizing tugs there to remove them.

Her words about 'killer of the light' told him he'd probably shot whoever this light had been. Since he knew the names and details of every person he'd killed in the line of duty, he started going through what he remembered of their families. He focused on the ones who swore vengeance. This activity helped distract his mind from the press and pull occurring on his legs, chest, and arms.

"You're bloody."

He only flicked his eyes at her, not deigning to answer the obvious.

Julie picked up a spray bottle and smiled. "This might sting."

"Bring on the pain," she urged herself.

Sting? Uh-oh, he thought. Sting was probably an understatement.

"It will sting." Julie squeezed the trigger.

Fire!

His skin was burning, and it felt like undiluted alcohol on open wounds.

Julie continued to saturate his body with alcohol.

Every pore, empty hair follicle, and pinprick filled with the liquid, nearly overwhelming him with pure agony. His breathing quickened, his jaw locked, but he kept telling himself he could withstand this. She was not going to hear him scream. Until she sprayed his feet. Still, he held the scream, but Chris let the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness claim him once more.

"Agent Wilmington." Buck answered the telephone with resignation in his voice, staring down at the piles of paperwork that had accumulated so quickly. He wondered again how Chris could stand all this paper pushing, and gave up on the telephone being a savior after the twelfth call asking him for form such-and-such.

"Agent? This is Jenny Blackwell from EZ Car Rental. I wanted to see if you could get a message to Agent Chris Larabee."

A woman! And she wasn't asking him for a form, nor did she work in the building. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Of course. He's away for a couple of days, but I'll get it to him."

"Excellent. Let me explain what happened. Apparently, someone called and cancelled Agent Larabee's reservation. Unfortunately, our newest employee didn't know that she wasn't allowed to cancel without the authorization of her supervisor because of the contract, and didn't tell anyone what she had done. So when Agent Larabee arrived, we only showed a cancelled reservation and no car for him. I want to personally apologize, and get word to him that we have a car for him. . .at our expense, of course. We are sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused him. I don't know where he's staying, so I'm calling his office to see if you can get a message to him."

Buck could tell she was also not asking for his friend's hotel name or information, and his respect grew a notch for her. Too bad she lived so far away, but still, he could always know someone to show him around if he ever went out there. His grin broadened, thinking of his friend standing at the counter without a car, cursing his horrible luck, and infuriated with the cancellation. "Now, Jenny, if I can get your name and number, I'll be happy to give him the message to call you."

"Thank you. It's Jenny Blackwell, EZ Car Rentals, at 1-800-EZ-RENTS, extension 5128. I really appreciate this."

"It'll be my pleasure. And if I ever come out there, I'll be sure to ask for you."

"I'll be happy to help you if I can. Can I have your name again?"

"Buck Wilmington."

"Thanks, Buck." She put a slight emphasis on his first name.

"Anytime, darlin', anytime." Buck hung up, and then found Chris's hotel number. He figured to tell Chris about the car, and then ease into getting the papers signed. After several rings, Buck was switched back to the front desk. He left a message to ask Chris to call, no emergency. That done, he stood to go tell the others about his friend's latest misfortune.

Chris didn't want to wake up. The rest of him had other ideas. Like the itching sensation all over, or the foreign thing poking into his hand. Tilting his head and opening his eyes, he saw there was an IV set up. Great, he thought, another needle stuck in his body in addition to the catheter. Why he needed it was beyond him, she hadn't bothered to give him food or drink. He was so dry his mouth felt like he had been chewing on sandpaper. Adding to his list of painful accessories was a fan constantly blowing on his sensitized skin. Everything hurt, especially his eyes from constantly dealing with that light.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

And that damnable clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He made a promise to himself to break it when he freed himself, just to stop it from making that annoying sound. A question coming from the darkness nearly startled him; Chris hadn't realized that Julie was even there.

"Were you ever in love, Chris?" Julie asked. "I was."

He declined to answer.

"You were too. I know that."

Chris stayed silent.

"Sarah. That was her name. The woman you loved. Sarah Connolly."

"Larabee," he corrected. "My wife. . .and you don't have the right to talk about her," Chris snarled. He tugged at his bonds, itching to make her shut up about his beloved wife.

Julie smiled; apparently pleased she got a response from him. "I look like her - Sarah - for a reason." She paused, and then slapped his stomach. "But we're alike now. My light is gone. And so is Sarah. I dressed like her to remind you of what you lost. You lost your Sarah, and you took my light away." Her fist buried in his stomach.

He hissed.

"It hurts you to look at me, and I'm glad."

Chris said nothing.

"I want you to hurt."

He ignored her, looking away.

"Now."

Water poured over him, and he saw a tank with a long hose attached, the rubber length of it in Julie's hand. She continued to soak him, and the pain, which he thought under his control, blossomed.

For the water was not water, but a mixture of alcohol, salt, and sand. When she finished, Julie asked, "Does that hurt?"

"No," he replied through clenched teeth.

"He's lying," she told herself. "Let him dry. You've got other things to do."

"Yes, I do," Julie said, and then left.

Chris could only lie there. He felt the salt melt and seep into his raw wounds. The gritty sand irritated his injuries, making him itchy. The water left an uneven coating of the salt and sand mixture on him; he felt it dry feeling like it was drawing his skin up. He didn't want to admit it, but things were not looking good for him, and rescue didn't seem to be as probable now. His mind tried to focus on the positive, picturing happy memories, but a sound intruded. Again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

By nine o'clock Denver time, Chris had not called back. That bothered Buck, because Chris wasn't the type to blow off messages, even from him. Buck called the hotel again, asking for Chris Larabee's room. The clerk happily informed him that Mr. Larabee had picked up his messages about twenty minutes before, so he should be in his room.

A little relieved, Buck waited during the transfer, listening to the telephone ring.

"It's ringing," Julie said, staring fearfully at the phone.

"Answer it," she ordered herself. "You can act."

"Come on, Chris. Get out of the bathroom," Buck muttered.

"Hello?" Julie panted into the receiver, sounding sexy and aroused.

Buck's brow furrowed, and then he smiled. "Darlin', I sure hope I have the right room. Is this Chris Larabee's room?"

"Oh. . .ummm, yes," she answered just a bit breathlessly.

Buck couldn't quite believe what he was hearing or imagining, but he was damn proud of his old friend. Smiling, he asked, "Hate to interrupt, Darlin', but can I speak to him?"

"Well…he just stepped into the shower," Julie lied evenly, keeping her voice low and sultry. "I can have him call you back…later."

Hearing the anxious tone beneath the sexy voice, the ladies man envisioned his friend's shower was about to get a lot steamier.

"I guess he'll have to," Buck sighed, wondering why some guys had all the luck. "Tell him to call Buck Wilmington, it's important."

"Oh, you're Buck," Julie giggled. "Chris has told me a lot about you."

"He did? Well…all good I hope." Buck sat back, thinking this girl must be something if Chris talked enough to her to tell her about his friends.

"Of course." If possible, the voice grew sexier. "But I really must go, Buck."

Shaking himself out of his visions, Buck replied, "Sure, Darlin', you just be sure to tell the ol' Stu…Chris to call me right away."

"I sure will…Buck," Julie breathed out his name in a slow drawl, then hung up quickly.

Wilmington replaced the receiver, then sat back and stared at it. This was why Larabee had been so uncharacteristically out of touch since he left town. He met someone. Buck shook his head…this wasn't right. Hell, it taken forever it seemed before his friend finally took his hints – some as subtle as a proverbial brick to his thick head - about asking Mary Travis out. Since Chris lost his wife he didn't ignore women, he just didn't jump into bed with them for play, and especially not for any committed relationship at the drop of a hat.

He ran a hand down his face and chastised himself. 'I'm just jealous,' he thought. Chris has had a hard time lately, and he's entitled to a little fun. Isn't that what part of this trip was for was to get him away from here and let him relax? Besides, there were some trips Chris had made before that they never talked about, and Buck had found telltale evidence of a woman's presence…like the scent of perfume on a shirt. Maybe Chris was having a fling, or just living in the moment like he used to, a long time ago.

Either way, he'd let his friend have a good time. Buck smiled, "Way to go Stud."

Reaching into the drawer of the desk he pulled out his address book. Well Chris could have his fun; he'd have to work on getting some himself. He wouldn't interrupt his friend's evening. If he called back, fine; if not he'd call him in the morning. He still had time to get the paperwork signed, and it didn't sound like Chris would need the car right away. He'd let him have his fun for one night, especially when they were so few and far between for his friend. But if he didn't hear from him tomorrow, Buck would turn the hotel and conference upside-down until he talked to him.

Julie's heart raced, and her hand shook when it left the telephone. "Do you think he bought it?"

"Of course he did," she told herself. "Now, roll around on the bed so it looks like he slept on it."

Julie did that, pulling down the covers and throwing herself across it, making it look unkempt. When she stood, she peered into the mirror. "I look just like him."

"Yes, you do. We planned this, remember?"

One hand touched the blond wig at the hairline, and felt the edge of the latex mask covering the features beneath. For all intents and purposes, a shorter version of Chris Larabee looked back at her. "Yes," she said. "But I hate him. I don't want to look like him."

"I know, but we needed people to believe he was here. Just think. If you hadn't answered the phone, his friend Buck would have worried. We don't want his friends here."

"No," Julie agreed.

"Look at the messages."

Julie read them, and then called Jenny Blackwell. Since it was past normal hours, she got Jenny's voice mail, and deepened her voice to sound like a man. More specifically, like her prisoner, who's voice she practiced constantly from the taped conversations she had. "Hello. This is Chris Larabee calling back, and I got your message. I've met a friend here, so I won't need a car, but thanks for your offer." She hung up. "There."

"All done here. Let's go before someone recognizes Chris," she told herself.

Julie left, heading back to where she kept her captive. During the drive, the excitement of pulling off the masquerade made her feel bold, and she reveled in the boldness. Choosing to show off, and feeling magnanimous that she had him all to herself, Julie decided to drop in on her prisoner in costume.

A slap across the face woke him. He'd finally fallen asleep - no thanks to that damnable clock - and now Julie was back. When he turned his head and opened his eyes, he first thought that she had put up a mirror. Then he saw the image move, and it wasn't strapped to a table like he was.

"Hello, Chris. I'm Chris."

"You're not me," he angrily replied.

"But the people at the hotel believed it," she taunted. "I'm you, and no one misses you yet. Not even your friends. One called, but he thinks you found a woman tonight."

The dread was back. If Julie showed up at the hotel dressed and acting like him, no one there would raise an alarm or seriously look for him. Most of the people he wouldn't know, and the ones that did know him might be fooled from a distance by Julie's disguise. Even with the damn clock ticking away, he had no sense of time and wasn't sure how long he'd been under the madwoman's care. He'd probably already missed the dinner meeting he set up on the plane, but if it were assumed he found a date, the other man would not really be too concerned. In fact, no one would be worried if he was supposedly registered at the hotel and picked up his messages, until he didn't show up to speak.

Julie talked, bringing him from his thoughts. "But I'll tell you something to keep you company while you lie there. I want you to think about the light, because tomorrow, we're going down memory lane. And it won't be pleasant. So gather your happy memories while you can, Chris. The light's gone out, and so's this one, but your suffering has just begun." Julie leaned over him and turned out the constant white over his head. The only sound was of her footsteps retreating from him. Her last words came from the darkness.

"Sarah Connolly was my light." The door slammed.

Chris blinked at the inky darkness, relishing the relief from the bright light, even if dark spots still danced around his eyes. This madwoman was giving him a reprieve and was finally going to tell him why she so fervently sought revenge on him. He forced his tired, pain driven, sluggish mind to listen to what she was saying.

"Sarah Connolly was my light."

What in the hell?

Larabee's head moved from side to side in denial. No, that couldn't be right. This crazy person was after him because his wife died. And thought Chris killed her. No! He was the one in pain. Lying there panting, feeling the burn of all his injuries at every slight move, the constant irritation. He thought he was too dry, but felt tears begin to make a feeble track down his face. The physical injuries were nothing. . .nothing, compared to the emotional pain she caused by ripping open the agonizing wound in his heart. He still suffered every day from Sarah's absence, keener with the loss of their son Adam. Every morning he expected to see Sarah beside him in bed, or hear Adam yelling 'Pa' real loud, but the empty bed and silence started his day. It was a fresh loss every time he thought about them, and a perpetual pain in his soul.

How could his Sarah be her light? Sarah could never have known someone like her. They couldn't have been close; Sarah shared everything with him, and he knew most of her friends. And they were good friends, like Sarah; they wouldn't do this to him.

He lay there in almost silence, crying to himself, and only one sound kept him company. The damnable clock and its incessant noise. He thought of this crazy woman and this Julie…Sarah was her light?

"N-O-O-O-O-O-O!!!"

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Part Four

"It's time," Julie said softly.

Chris knew he wasn't doing well, because there was very little moisture in his system, and the repeated pain sessions sapped his strength. He always believed he was tough, that could withstand a lot, but she was starting to break through his defenses.

He didn't know how much longer he could take this, especially the torment of not knowing how this Julie knew his Sarah. Julie obviously blamed him for Sarah's death, but what disturbed him was Julie said nothing about Adam. His son, the sweet child that, like his mother, was innocent and not deserving of the fiery death they endured.

Worse then was the torment of seeing the burned hulk of their car, and claiming the badly charred bodies of his family, identified only through dental records and jewelry. Everyone was sympathetic, but nothing could take away that awful reality, and no one could help him when his shattered.

It took so long to put the pieces back together, and hell, he admitted to himself, some were not there. A large part of him was missing, and he probably never would be whole again. And the damnable clock only served to tick back the years, taking his memory back to those horrible days.

One thing that came from his trip through memory hell was that he didn't remember Julie at the dual funerals. But he didn't remember a whole heck of a lot during the services for his family. Then, grieving tears blurred his vision constantly, and Buck had held him up, gotten him through the awful part of putting his family into the ground, never to be held in his arms again.

Nothing could take away the guilt of not being there, not being able to save them, or to have tried. And that guilt overrode his physical pain, making what he felt here in Julie's torture room secondary to the mental anguish.

"Did you hear me? It's time," Julie said again.

"He's ignoring you," she said to herself.

"Not for long," Julie replied.

Chris felt a warm liquid rush in his system, and then the light came on in his face. He turned his head away, trying his best to ignore the feeling of insects crawling all over him, and in him. Whatever she gave him caused his body to itch from the inside out, and the image of burrowing, digging, clawing multi-legged bugs trying to burst out from inside his body soured his already empty stomach.

"Look at the light, Chris," Julie ordered.

He declined her offer. Nothing she could do to him could ever compare to the pain of losing his family, and constantly reliving that excruciating loss over and over again throughout the long periods of solitary darkness.

He was wrong.

"Ya ever reach Chris last night, Buck?" Vin stood beside the surveillance expert's desk.

"No," Buck replied, a grin lifting his features.

The sharpshooter shot him a quizzical glance, and then continued to stare in silence at his friend.

"What?" Wilmington tried to give an innocent look, failing miserably.

Vin raised a single eyebrow in question, his arms loosely crossing on his chest.

Buck looked around, checked that no one else was listening, and motioned Vin to lean down.

Rolling his eyes, Tanner did.

"He was a little...otherwise occupied last night." Buck bobbed his eyebrows and winked.

"Chris? Yeah, right." Vin snorted and shook his head.

"When I called, a lovely lady answered his phone and told me he was warming up the shower."

The sharpshooter tilted his head to one side, and then grinned. "'bout time he met someone."

"Yeah."

"He gonna call back?"

"Hasn't yet," Buck answered. "I'm getting worried."

Vin nodded. "Ya ain't alone. The cowboy would have called at least once by now, just ta check up on us."

"I know."

The telephone rang on Buck's desk, and he gave it a low growl.

"Don't like bein' the boss?" Vin smirked.

It rang again.

"Everyone wants something. Why Chris hasn't shot anyone is beyond me." Buck picked up the receiver. "Agent Wilmington."

"Buck, you big bag of worthless wind. How the hell are you?"

Wilmington chuckled. "Babbling Brook Brad. It's been what, five years?"

"Give or take. You still blowing more hot air than a dryer?"

"You still as ugly as the days are long?" Buck leaned back in his chair, propped his boots on the desk, and watched Vin walk away rolling his eyes.

"Not as ugly as Chris."

"Hell, we could never be that ugly. Sorry, but he's not here. He's at a leadership conference."

"Yeah. I'm here, too. We met up on the plane. He boarded at my halfway point. We made plans for dinner, but I haven't seen him. One of my girlfriends met me at the airport, and I lost track of Chris."

"You were probably too busy trying to sweep her off her feet and failing miserably," Buck teased.

"Yeah, well, when I looked for him, he was gone. So I figured I'd catch up with him at the hotel, and then he didn't call. Left a few messages for him. The front desk told me he picked them up, but I haven't seen him. It's not like Chris to blow me off."

"He wouldn't." Wilmington took his feet off his desk and sat straight up in his chair. "You last saw him at the airport?"

"Yeah. I'm calling because I thought you might know something; he said he left you in charge. Figured you might be able to reach him. He's not answering the cell number he gave me."

"Have you checked with the conference organizers? Have they seen him?"

"Yes, and no, they haven't. It's like he disappeared. The front desk swears he checked in, and he gets his messages every day, but not one person from the conference has seen him. Buck, you know Chris; he doesn't like to be a big deal at these things. But even if he keeps a low profile people see him they still talk about him. Nobody is talking about him."

That more than anything made Buck's stomach clench in fear. "Brad, what's your room number? Cell? All right. I'll call you when I get there. Keep looking for him." Buck hung up. "EZRA!"

Ezra exited the cantina. "Must you bellow so loudly?"

"Get me on a plane to that conference, and I want to leave yesterday."

"What's up?" Vin walked over.

"No one's seen Chris since the airport. I'm going."

"Not alone," Vin promised.

Buck nodded once. "Ez, you're in charge. Get us on a plane, and do it now. Fill the others in when they get back from their depositions." Buck flipped through his stack of papers until he found what he was looking for, and then grabbed the telephone. "Jenny Blackwell, please. Jenny, this is Agent Buck Wilmington. Hi. Yes, well, I'm going to need a car there today."

He listened for a minute. "He what?" Buck stood, the receiver firmly mashed to his ear. "When? What time?"

Vin mouthed, "What?"

Buck waved him off. "Are you sure it was him? All right, Jenny, just keep that car for me. I'll be there in a couple hours." He disconnected. "She said Chris canceled the car reservation. Apparently Jenny called the conference on the off chance he might be there and left a message. Somehow he got that message - wasn't from me - and canceled the reservation. Left a message on her voice mail."

"That ain't right." Vin shook his head. "This whole thing stinks."

"Worse than the aftereffects of Josiah's chili," Buck added. "We're not waiting. Ez?"

"You'll be on a flight by the time you get there. Go." The Southerner made a shooing motion, the receiver firmly pressed against his ear.

Vin picked up his shoulder holster, adding it to the collection of guns he already wore on his ankle and back. "Time ta hunt."

The ride was a hair-raising experience for those on the road between the two ATF Agents and the airport. First, Buck drove without giving any quarter, and not expecting any. The saner drivers opted to get out of the way of the speeding vehicle with the flashing lights. His truck was left in long-term parking, with both men practically sprinting to the terminal carrying the overnight bags they kept packed for emergencies.

Ezra managed to get them on a flight that left twenty minutes after they arrived, and their Identifications went a long way in getting them through the security checkpoints, especially heavily armed. Before too long, they were on their way there, flying first class, but too distracted with the welfare of their friend to notice the fringe benefits.

"Chris."

He heard his name, and it was the sweetest sound. "Sarah."

"Hello, sweetie."

"I've missed you both." Chris opened his eyes, seeing her appear before him. She wore all white, the gown filmy and flowing around her. Her smile was exactly like he remembered, and her face filled his vision.

"Have you?" the vision asked. "Missed us?"

"Yes," his voice broke. "So much."

"Then why did you let us die?"

"What?" He stared at her, seeing her smile fall away. "I couldn't stop it."

"You weren't there. If you were there, you could have stopped it. You let it happen."

"NO!" Chris yelled. "I love you! I love Adam!"

"But we died, and you live."

"NOOO!" The tears started. "I wanted to die."

"You didn't. You lived."

"I tried," he whispered between his tears. "Just couldn't do it."

"It's your fault, Chris." Sarah's image started to fade.

"Come back!" he yelled, desperate to keep her there.

"You want me to come back?"

Through his pain, he heard the voice change. It was no longer Sarah standing there, but Julie. Or was it Sarah? He was so confused, so hurt. All he kept asking was why?

The plane landed, with Buck and Vin being first off and plowing their way to the car rental counter. Buck didn't waste any time, asking for Jenny, and getting their vehicle. They drove to the hotel hosting the conference, Vin using his cellphone the entire time.

"Chris," Sarah said, brushing a soft kiss against his forehead.

"Sarah?" he asked, not sure what was going on. It looked like he was in the house they lived in. A fire crackled merrily, casting a soft light around the living room.

"Yes, darling. Where you expecting someone else?" Sarah chuckled lightly. "Another girlfriend?"

"Never!" He shook his head. "I…I just want to hold you," he said. Sarah stepped to him. She felt so real, so alive, and he squeezed her tightly.

"Easy, tiger," she said. "We have the rest of our lives."

Memory returned, and he realized he was reliving one of the many nights after they were first married. The knowledge of what was to come weighed down on him, crushing him, preventing his enjoyment of the moment. Chris only held onto her.

He held nothing. His eyes opened right into the light, but it was blurred from the tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Agent, but he's not answering our pages, or in his room."

Vin stood at the registration area for the conference. "He ain't been ta any classes?"

"We didn't find his name on any of the sign in sheets in any of the seminars, but if he wasn't interested in the credit he may not have signed in."

"Have ya seen him since he registered?"

"Well, no."

"What about the rest of y'all?" Vin looked at the other workers.

They shook their heads or shrugged.

"Who else mighta seen him?"

"Check the exhibit hall. The door checkers won't let anyone in without a pass," the woman told him.

"Can I have one ta check inside?"

"I'm sorry, I can't do that. You haven't paid to attend."

Tanner took a deep breath to keep his patience, and then smiled his most disarming smile. The one that usually got him extra helpings at Nettie's, or made women melt. "Reckon that's true, but my friend's missin', and I really wanna find him. Could ya find it in yer heart ta find some way fer me ta check?"

She nearly simpered. "I'll go with you." Within seconds, she appeared beside him. "This way."

"Much obliged, ma'am." He continued to give her that smile.

"Terry. Call me Terry."

"That's a right nice name. Ya can call me Vin." Tanner offered her an elbow, not surprised when she took it. Right now, he wanted to check with the conference attendees to find Chris, and if flirting got things done quicker, that was just fine with him.

"It's all my fault." Chris wept.

"What's your fault?" Sarah asked him.

"That you and Adam..." he cut off, unable to say the words.

"Died?"

Chris nodded.

"How could you let it happen, Chris? We loved you," she said.

"I didn't know it was going to happen!" he yelled out. "I want to kill the bastards that did this!"

"Did you look at yourself? Are you going to kill yourself for letting us die?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Anything?" Buck asked a short time later, meeting up with Vin in the spacious lobby.

"Nope. Ya got somethin'?"

"Yeah. They swear Chris Larabee picks up his messages around seven every night." Wilmington saw someone motioning to them. "Loss Prevention's letting us in the room. Come on."

Vin walked with Buck toward the bank of elevators, their boots echoing on the highly polished ornate floor. "How'd ya manage that? They think he's here. They've been treatin' us like we're tryin' ta invade his privacy or somethin'."

Buck stopped several feet away from the elevators, holding up an index finger in a gesture to wait at the Loss Prevention Officer.

"What?" Vin knew he wasn't going to like this, especially if Buck didn't want to talk in front of anyone.

The taller man looked side to side, and then lowered his voice, leaning closer to his friend. "The person picking up the messages isn't Chris."

Vin waited.

"Close, but not him. Their description nearly matched, but too short. By half a foot. Then I showed them a picture of us seven. No match. The person they saw they described as 'feminine'."

"Aw, hell. There ain't a feminine bone in the cowboy's body."

"Already called the local ATF, and they're sending someone over. We're securing his room – a crime scene – until they arrive. They'll meet us up there."

"Getting a free look at what's inside first."

"Yup."

"Ya gonna tell them about the person impersonatin' Chris?"

"Eventually. Unless you feel so motivated to hand over our friend's safety to people we don't know."

"Like hell."

"That's what I thought. Let's go."

"Join me, Chris," Sarah encouraged. "Come to me so we can be together again."

In his mind, he reached out for her, pulling her body to his. "Yes." His whole being wanted her and his son back.

"Yes? Are you sure?"

"All I ever needed was you and Adam."

"I love you, Chris."

"I love you, Sarah. Come here."

The cocktail of hallucinogens worked perfectly, giving her a level of satisfaction. He no longer realized he was stretched and strapped to a table naked, dehydrated, unfed, and in pain. All he saw was the computer generated Sarah on the projection screen above him.

He interacted with it, and Julie used her computer setup to simulated Sarah's voice responses to him. Now she had him. He agreed to die. From his ravings, she let him believe he held his Sarah. She prepared the syringe in the mean time, letting him live that final sweet fantasy in his mind.

Her experiments as an amateur chemist, along with her nursing skills, gave her confidence when she injected the mixture of drugs and poisons into his system. It was done. In forty-eight agonizing hours, he would die. Sarah would be avenged, and Julian would have his revenge, too.

"We did it," Julie said with a giggle.

"Yesss," she replied, almost hissing in satisfaction.

"Sarah?" Chris asked.

Startled, Julie rushed back into the other room, leaning down to the microphone. "Yes, tiger?" She knew Sarah called him that not too long after the light met Chris. They had shared so much in their many long-distance marathon telephone calls.

"Where's Adam?"

"Napping." Julie heard Sarah's voice through the speakers, and the old hurt came back at losing her friend. "Like you should be."

"Not alone."

Anger flashed through her body. Just the thought of this man knowing Sarah so intimately was repulsive. Spitefully, she shut down the image on the projector, and flicked on the light right in his eyes. The light that served to distract him from seeing the equipment installed after he arrived, during one of his many bouts of unconsciousness.

"In a little while," Julie said as Sarah. "Rest, my love. You'll need your strength."

"He ain't been here," Vin said, looking around the hotel room assigned to his friend.

"Nope," Buck concurred. "His clothes are missing."

"With respect, sirs, how do you know? You haven't opened any of the drawers, and Housekeeping said this room has been used over the past few days." The Loss Prevention Officer looked from one man to the other.

Vin pointed to the haphazardly hung garment in the open closet. "That ain't how he hangs his coat. Man's fussy about his stuff."

"I roomed with him," Buck added. "Some habits we share from the military, and he wouldn't just toss his shoes pell-mell into the closet." His head tipped at the dress shoes pointing in different directions and laying in a pile.

Vin stepped over to the nightstand, seeing a drawer halfway open. "Aw, hell."

"What?" Wilmington asked.

"Gun." Tanner didn't touch the weapon.

Buck punched his hand in frustration.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my crime scene?" A strident male voice broke the tense moment of realization between friends.

"Buck Wilmington, Denver Team Seven. You?"

"James Kleese, head investigator. How about you, cowboy?" The man gave a once-over to the long-haired man, stopping and staring at the scuffed cowboy boots.

Vin shot him an annoyed look, and then said, "Vin Tanner, Denver Team Seven. Ya got an abduction several days old."

"Tell me how you know that, and do it out of my crime scene." Kleese motioned them out.

Vin and Buck left the room, letting technicians past them to start collecting evidence. They filled in Agent Kleese with the basics after a mutual round of identification checks, and then went down to the lobby to wait. Supposedly, they were to meet up with other Agents to give statements.

In reality, they waited and watched for the imposter, because it was after six, concealing themselves in the lobby sitting rooms, their car right outside the doors. A hefty tip kept it at the front of the line. With their luck and history, a high-speed pursuit was inevitable.

"Sarah? You're fading behind the light."

Julie injected a light sedative. Chris would wake up alone in a few hours, and possibly be coherent, but her poisons still floated around his system, taking positions, lying dormant for now. If she dosed him right, in six hours the excruciating pain would start because one drug stimulated the nervous system and pain receptors to high levels.

"Sarah?" Chris wailed, and then subsided unconscious.

"No. I'll be Chris now." Julie laughed.

"I don't like being Chris," she said. "But we'll do it."

"Yes." Julie cleared her throat. "One last time." Her voice deepened and sharpened to mimic Chris Larabee's tone.

They waited.

The Texan's eyes never stopped moving, searching the cavernous area constantly.

For once, no lady caught the eye of the rogue, his focus so great on finding his friend.

Julie walked into the hotel in disguise, aiming straight for the front desk to pick up Chris's messages, and to confirm Chris would give his speech tomorrow. He wouldn't, but the charade continued to give Julie time.

Something was wrong. The employees looked nervous, and kept checking behind and around her. The Larabee swagger she perfected from watching videotapes slowed, and her head swung side-to-side. That pesky sensation of being watched settled heavily on her. Trusting the feeling that something was wrong, Julie turned around, walking away.

She saw someone, a man with long hair and a dangerous expression looking right at her, and then Julie broke into a run for the front doors. Calculating the distance, she had a very short head start, so she pushed herself hard to get to her waiting car.

"BUCK!" The yell echoed behind her in the lobby, and the sounds of booted feet reached her ears just as she hit the first door hard, pushing her way out. Leaping into her car, she locked the doors first, and then turned the keys in the ignition. Hands hit the window beside her hard, so her foot trounced the accelerator and she peeled away, taking the road to the Interstate.

Vin cursed, then dove into his own rental. There were too many civilians around to start shooting. He started the car, throwing it in Drive when he heard Buck land in the seat beside him.

"Go, Junior!" Buck yelled.

In his periphery vision, Buck was jostled when the Texan punched the gas pedal, his eyes never leaving the other car merging into Interstate traffic. "Hang on." Squealing wheels and a few plumes of smoke came up from under the wheels, but they were moving, and moving fast.

"Don't worry on me. Get him!"

Tanner gained ground, using all the skills he'd acquired over the years. The training by law enforcement agencies only supplemented the survival instincts honed on Texas freeways and feeder roads. Again, his peripheries showed Buck playing untangle the pretzel in his seat, the fast dive into the vehicle resulting in a tangle of limbs and a boot near the ceiling. "Ya must play twister ta get that messed up."

"Co-ed naked, Junior. We're gaining on him. Good. You must have been in demolition derbies the way you're driving."

"Texas mixers."

"What?"

"Freeways, ya Yankee."

"I ain't a Yankee, I just don't come from the Republic of Texas. So keep your foot on that accelerator and don't lose that car, or my boot will be planted in your backside."

"We're takin' that exit."

"That's four lanes over!" Buck grabbed the 'oh, no' bar above his door, and braced his feet on the floorboard.

"Yup." In the darkness, Vin cut over the requisite lanes, barely missing two vehicles, and starting a discordant cacophony of horns behind him. "Left at the end of the ramp."

"Light's red, you're clear my side."

"Like I'm stoppin'." Vin snorted. "Okay. Right at the next light."

Buck looked. "Clear."

Vin whipped the car into the turn, and then saw they were heading out into a residential area. "Ya wanna call Kleese?"

"No. Will I? Yes." Buck used his left hand to pull out his cellular, calling the hotel and having Kleese paged. "We didn't have time to wait. We're pursuing the imposter, and what the hell road are we on?"

"Peachtree."

"On Peachtree road, passing Applewood. What's with these road names?"

"Passing Maplewood."

"Passing Maplewood."

"We're slowing down, I'm killin' our lights. Give him a little distance."

"We're backing off," Buck reported.

"BananaPeel Drive."

"What?" Buck stared at Vin.

"Left on BananaPeel Drive."

"We're sliding left on the banana peel."

"He's stopped, goin' in a garage. Looks like the sixteen hundred block."

"Sixteen hundred block of BananaPeel Drive. We're checking it out." Buck disconnected.

"Thought I heard yellin' in the background."

"Wouldn't know. I lost the connection," Buck replied with a wry smile.

"Ya wanna go, or me?"

"You're quieter."

"Watch and wait, Bucklin. I'll be back in a few."

"I'll be here." Buck slid over into the vacated driver's seat, ready to drive in case it was needed.

"No, no, no!" Julie yelled. "They followed me here! It's over."

"No, it's not. We planned for this," she calmed her other self.

"Yes."

"You know what to do."

Julie nodded, heading into Chris's room. She unlocked the other room, removed the supplies, and started spreading the gasoline around. One look told her Chris was still unconscious. She hadn't wanted it to end this way, with him burning to death, because she liked the idea of his slow, agonizing pain with the poison. Not knowing what was killing him, but feeling every bit of pain, like her light must have. But those men interfered. So she came home, leading them here. Maybe she could take them out too. Part of her knew that if she had stayed running, the odds of her getting caught rose. It was okay though, she had this backup plan. All because she had to see Larabee die. To watch as the life left his eyes.

Now that the gasoline was poured around the table, she then led it in a line to the room she occupied. Inside, along with her computer equipment, sat a chemical laboratory she created. Once the flames reached this room, the place would explode. Hopefully those men would have made entry by then. To encourage that, she turned on Chris's light, giving them something to look through the glass and see.

Taking a match, she tossed it at the gasoline on the floor, aiming for the furthest part. Quickly, she ducked back into her room, closing the door, and prepared. It wouldn't take long.

Vin stalked around the house, finding the small window in the back of the room that was barred. Inside, a light shined brightly, and he looked. He saw the flick of the match, followed by the man going into another room, and then the flames. Flames slowly rising around the naked, unconscious, strapped down body of Chris Larabee.

"NO!" Grabbing his cell, he keyed it for Buck and yelled, "FIRE! Get here now!" Tossing the cellphone onto the ground, the Texan ran and leapt onto the deck. He shoved the picnic table under one of the second floor windows, climbed up, braced himself, and then leapt, using the butt of his gun to shatter the window. Jumping again, he grabbed onto the windowsill, cutting his hand on the glass, as he pulled himself up. He didn't care about the lacerations from the broken window, his entire goal on getting to Chris.

Hitting the floor, he tried to get his bearings. His gun stayed in his hand. Only hoping that person would have heard him break the window and come looking for him. He rapidly exited the room, knowing time was of the essence. Orienting himself in the dark, he ran down the hallway, leapt down the stairs, and quickly found the door to the basement. Yanking it open, he kept his body clear, and the smoke rolled out over him.

Coughing, he dove down the stairs, heedless of his own safety, until he reached the bottom. Surrounded in flame, Chris Larabee looked like a sacrifice. The multiple injuries were very apparent to Vin, and seeing the raw feet, he knew his friend wouldn't be able to walk. Taking a deep breath, he dove across the ring of flames.

His deft fingers undid the straps holding his friend down, and without time for gentleness, removed all the needles sticking out of his friend. The catheter was the one he took an extra second on, but those seconds they had left were ticking away.

"FIRE! Get here now!"

Vin's yell echoed in the car, but only for a second because Buck peeled wheels to get the rental right in front of the house. In fact, he blocked the driveway intentionally to prevent anyone from leaving. With the car running, Buck barreled to the front door, seeing the smoke coming from the back, and the basement windows glowing with flame. He couldn't see a thing other than the fiery orange through the smoke, so he kicked the front door down.

Chris came to, feeling hands on him. He could move, and swung his fist at the hands.

"Easy, cowboy. Tryin' ta get ya outta here."

He recognized that voice. "Vin?"

"Yup."

His body was pulled to a sitting position. His voice though weak, still revealed his irritation. "Ow, damn it. Can't you see I'm hurt, Florence Nightinghell?" He coughed, his eyes finally spot-free enough to see the smoke and flames. "Hell."

"Yeah. Shut up so I can carry ya." Vin shifted him again, and then pulled his friend into a modified fireman's carry.

From his upside down perspective, Chris saw his Identification lying beside the table, and picked it up. Holding onto that, he saw the stairs, and then the damnable clock. "WAIT!"

"We ain't got time, cowboy," Vin kept going, pulling them abreast of the clock.

"One second."

"What?" Vin yelled back, as Chris shifting in his arms almost unbalanced them.

"This." His fist buried in the clock. "Die, you damn thing!"

"Ya done? 'Cuz we're gonna die too if ya keep stoppin' me." Vin moved forward up the stairs with his burden.

Chris saw the flames moving under another door. Something told him that room was bad news. "Move faster."

"Yes, sir!" Vin whipped off in a sarcastic tone of voice.

"Vin? Chris?" Buck yelled into the house. He took one step forward, his gun in his hand, blue eyes sweeping the smoky room.

A second step, and then hell came to meet him.

The responding Agents hit BananaPeel at a high rate, sliding to squealing stops when they saw the fire and cockeyed vehicle blocking the driveway.

"Get the Fire Department," Kleese yelled, approaching the house with his men, all having their guns drawn.

His eyes picked out a tall form in the smoke rolling out of the front door, and he could tell the man had a gun. "ATF! Drop the gun, and come out with your hands showing!"

The others behind him, made a cautious circle around the house, more Agents arriving every second.

Julie took a deep breath and sighed heavily, uttering one word. "BOOM!"

"Bye-bye," she replied to herself.

The flames reached Julie's lab, and the more unstable mixtures stored there. Chemical reactions could not be denied, and the laws governing them kicked in.

BOOM!

Lighting up the entire block, and probably half the rest of the neighborhood, the little house in the middle of the quiet street exploded up and out. Siding became long flying missiles, and the glass turned into shrapnel. Furniture launched from the reactions below to rain down on the Agents surrounding the house. Bodies flew in different directions.

In the flash of a few seconds, the first explosion was done. Burning on its foundation, the remains of destroyed house waited for the Fire Department, not able to tell if anyone was still alive and trapped inside.

Quiet reigned, and then the shouting began as Agents checked on each other.

A second explosion rocked the night, sending more debris airborne, followed by a third, and a fourth, but stopping after the fifth. The house was reduced to rubble. At least what hadn't been blown apart. Only a small portion stood, but with the briefest breath of a wind blowing through the area, it finally collapsed in on itself.

Part Five

"What the hell just happened?" Kleese yelled. "More important, get the fire department and fire marshal out here. If you're hurt, stay down until we can check you over. Those of you uninjured, find those Denver yahoos, and secure the perimeter."

Agents scattered in every direction, making a perimeter for the new crime scenes, and banging on the neighbor's houses to check on the occupants. By the time the fire department arrived, the perimeter was secured. There were no more explosions from the little house, but it continued to burn smolder in places. It seemed as if the explosions blew the larger flames out. Quickly, water landed and hissed on the flaming materials left, and the smoke thickened.

The Scene Commander found Agent Kleese, and asked if anyone was inside. His response was chilling, "God help us, I hope not, but I think there might be."

That set off a chain reaction within the firefighters - they split into teams, starting to drown the hot spots in the front, while fully geared personnel - complete with air tanks - began a search. They were mindful, though, of the unstable structure, so the teams moved slowly.

None of the shocky neighbors saw anyone go in, and their dogs didn't bark, but all of them wore the same stunned expression. Some of the houses had been damaged from the explosions, causing more commotion. The scene resembled nothing short of controlled chaos.

"Sherry!" Kleese yelled into his cellphone, speaking with one of the twenty-four hour Agents manning the office. "Call Denver, find out how many of Team Seven I'm dealing with . . . Yes, I mean the same Team Seven they call 'The Magnificent Seven'. I've got one confirmed missing, and two possibles. I need an answer now. Call me back." He put his telephone back in his pocket, surveying the damage. His hands were more than full with the entire situation, and they still hadn't found the Denver Agents yet. He watched the firefighters carefully, hoping that there was still a good outcome to be had in this miserable situation.

From the looks of the house, chances of survival seemed slim to none, and slim caught a ride out of town. They wouldn't let him too close to the fire or the collapsed house, but Kleese stayed close to the Scene Commander. His attention caught when he saw two men running with a backboard to the front of the house, and he started that way. The Scene Commander, Joe Blake, took pity on him and turned up his radio so Kleese could listen to the transmissions. The first one gave him a little hope.

"He's half buried; we're gonna have to dig him out."

"Let me get this collar on first." There was a pause. "Done, we need to get him out and get him on 02."

"On three...one, two, three...pull...wait, he's caught!"

"What's he holding onto?"

"Let me look. Lord have mercy, his hand's gripping another one, and they're fused."

"Shit!" The Scene Commander softly swore.

"What's that mean?" Kleese asked not liking the look on the Fire Commander's face.

Blake shook his head, not knowing how familiar the ATF agent was with fire scenes; surely he had to have had some training dealing with bombs and would know the effect they had. "If they were caught in a flashover . . . well, first I'm surprised they're alive. If they're burned . . ." His explanation trailed off when he saw understanding dawn on the agent's face.

"Shit!" Kleese hissed.

The Commander nodded. "Yep, that's what I said."

Kleese swallowed. "What about the other man?" he asked the Commander. "He alive?"

Joe Blake activated his mike. "Talk to me - what about the other one?"

"One things for sure this guy doesn't want to let go of whoever he's got a hold of," the distant voice commented, sounding alien anyway while he breathed through his air mask. "He's pinned beneath what's left of the house. Can't see crap in here - too much damn smoke. Give us a minute."

That minute passed in agonizing slowness, broken by the ring of a cellphone.

"Kleese. Just three - got it. No, I don't want the other four out here. I've got enough problems. Tell them I'll call them from the hospital. If they don't like it, tough, it's the best I can do right now. We've got one alive so far, and I'm still playing catch-up to find out what happened. Thanks, Sherry. I'll call you for the number in a little while." Putting his phone away, he checked with Joe Blake. "Anything?"

The Scene Commander shook his head.

Activity continued around them, but the focus was on the rescue in progress.

"We got two pulses, hands are separated. Get that other board in here. He needs to be on O2."

"On three," a different voice commanded. "One, two, three…oh, hell! There's a third one down here. And my wife's roasts look better than him."

Blake winced.

"What does that mean?" Kleese was afraid to, but asked anyway.

"His wife burns everything."

"Alive?" The ATF Agent sounded hopeful. They'd already pulled two miracles out of the fire; he could only be so lucky to get a third. Of course, he was dealing with The Magnificent Seven, and if anyone could laugh in death's face, it was those boys…but they couldn't keep doing it, could they? He silently prayed and listened.

"Talk to me, Stevens," Blake commanded.

"Hell, he's one big wound, sir, but he's breathing. Where's my boards?"

"Coming!"

Kleese watched as they pulled the first man out. When the backboard passed him, he recognized Buck Wilmington. Strapped to the backboard and covered in soot, with an oxygen mask now covering half his face, it was hard to tell how badly the man was injured. Both arms were bandaged and one had been secured to the man's chest, which led Kleese to believe that it might be broken.

The body shuddered, and then the eyes snapped open. "VIN!" He yelled through the mask, and then started struggling. "CHRIS!" His second bellow came when tried to sit up, nearly knocking all of them - his handlers and him - over with his thrashing.

Dressed in the blue jumpsuit with reflective stripes, the medic leaned down, getting inches from his face. "Pupils are good. Sir, I need you to listen. We're getting them out, but we need to get you treated."

"Alive?" The voice sounded raspy. "Tell truth," he wheezed around the mask.

"Yes, alive. But we need you to cooperate so we can get them out of here. Easier you go, the sooner they can," replied the paramedic. "Deal?"

Buck managed a small nod. The group continued to the first ambulance, pulling away as a third came to stop nearby.

Kleese blew out a breath. Alive, all three of them, for now he had his miracle. 'The Magnificent Seven' of the ATF were ranked among the living legends, and if someone died while on his watch, during his investigation, he didn't know what he would do, or how he would live with his failure to get here sooner.

"Wait...I hate head wounds. They bleed too much."

"We're clear - let's go."

"Let's move, people. Longer he stays in this crap, the more likely we're going to lose him."

A second backboard went by, and it was the longhaired, cowboy booted man. Crimson covered almost all of his head, even under where the oxygen mask rested, and his clothes looked charred.

The third backboard passed the ATF Agent, and this one had the smoky, naked body of an unconscious man. From the amount of soot, dirt, blood, and gore, he didn't look too healthy, but he was breathing. For now. Since there weren't any clothes, and he didn't recognize the form, it was probably Chris Larabee. The rumor was his men would go through hell for each other, and this qualified. More than qualified.

"Anyone else?" asked the Scene Commander.

"I don't know," Kleese replied honestly. "Those were the three I wanted. The third one there had just been reported by his men as possibly abducted; I was just starting an investigation. He could have had someone with him."

"We'll assume there's someone else still inside then." Lifting his radio, the Scene Commander said, "Keep searching, possibly one maybe more victims inside."

Kleese stayed for another half hour, until the search teams were called off and it appeared no one was left alive in the building. It would take a few hours for the fire to cool enough to do a body recovery, but Kleese had what he needed. The Fire Marshall assured the scene would stay secure until the investigation was complete. Driving to the hospital, he found the ER in its normal state of controlled confusion, with one exception. One of the new arrivals was being more than difficult.

Allowed back to 'talk some sense into him', Kleese found Buck Wilmington involved in a glare and stare contest with a male nurse. Neither appeared to be giving any ground, but the IV tubes, nasal canula, and white bandaging on his hand spoke of some treatment, and it was keeping him from leaping off the gurney for the moment. "What's the problem?" he asked.

"They ain't telling me anything about Vin and Chris."

"He won't let us take him to x-ray for his arm and leg. Not counting the fight I had to get the IV in him," the nurse added.

"If I get you some information, will you let them treat you?"

"I want the truth," Buck said stubbornly.

"You'll get it," Kleese promised.

"When I know, I'll cooperate."

"Fair enough." Kleese walked out, talking to the charge nurse and explaining he was the investigating Agent regarding the kidnapping of one Chris Larabee, and subsequent injuries to Vin Tanner and Buck Wilmington. She explained to him that obviously they were all suffering from burns and smoke inhalation. Vin Tanner was on the surgical ward, getting a CAT scan for possibly head trauma, and he was still unconscious. A burn and a hand specialist were en route to the hospital for both Vin and Buck, but they needed to get Buck into x-ray to see how severe the injuries were to his arm and leg before turning him over to the specialists. When she reached the evaluation on Chris, she sighed. "He's got some problems."

"Tell me."

The nurse looked sadly up at the investigator. "Perhaps you should talk to the doctor."

Kleese blew out a frustrated breath, knowing the news wouldn't be good. "Please just a brief summary to give me some idea."

She shook her head, "I've been nursing for fifteen years and seen a lot of things, but never someone so abused. The main problem is he has a multitude of open wounds from one end to the other, many of which the size of a pin. The bottoms of his feet are highly infected. He's running a fever and we haven't finished the internal evaluation yet, but he has some severe bruising . . .the list keeps growing. What that poor man must have been through."

Kleese sighed. He was right; he didn't like what he heard. "So two out of three stable, one critical?"

She nodded.

He thanked her for her time, and then calling his office from the nurse's phone, Kleese got the number for Denver, and then stepped to his car to use his cellphone. This was not a call he wanted to make. Flipping the phone to speaker, he searched the car for the proper forms he needed to complete for all these injuries to fellow Agents.

"Agent Standish."

"Agent Standish, this is Agent Kleese."

"Well thank you for your prompt response, Agent Kleese, however you might speak up I fear I've aged a bit in waiting."

Kleese let the sarcasm go, knowing the wounded agents' teammates were worried. "I wanted hard facts, Agent, and not suppositions so the rest of you don't fly out here half-cocked."

"Fair enough," Standish agreed. "Tell me what you have found out."

Kleese briefly went over what little he knew of what had occurred since getting the information of a possible kidnapped ATF agent and starting his investigation. During the discourse he let his displeasure show at Wilmington and Tanner leaving him behind to chase after the suspect on their own. Then he finally got to the information they really wanted to know, and how the three agents where doing now.

"Right now, Agents Wilmington and Tanner are in stable condition, and Agent Larabee is in critical condition. It's too early to say more than that." Finding his last form, he figured to end the call finally and get back inside.

"What aren't you saying, Agent?" Standish asked.

Kleese sighed. "Wilmington and Tanner have injuries from the explosion; Larabee's been tortured." He didn't mean to sound so uncaring and abrupt but he wanted to get back to what he needed to be doing. This was his territory anyway, and these guys were the ones disrupting his life. "I don't have information on the suspect; whoever it was is believed to have died on scene. Please do me a favor, I know you are worried, but don't descend on me. Give me a chance to find out what happened. I know your reputation, and that will hurt more than help right now. Don't worry; your men are in good hands and being taking care of, I'll make sure of it."

"I should be offended, sir, but I see your point. We will give you four hours to call us back. Take down my cell number, and reach us there. After four hours, I promise I will be most irritating in trying to reach you," Ezra stated.

"I can appreciate that. Give me the number." Kleese scribbled, and then disconnected.

Over the next four hours, Kleese paced holes in the waiting rooms, before he could find out the extent of injuries. He walked the floors, going from the first to the second where the Agents were, harassing the staff for continual updates, and still receiving information from his own people on what was found at the house and the hotel. He happened to have just hung up the telephone when a sound reached his ears. It was a cross between a scream, a moan, and an animal's death throes. And it came from Larabee's room.

Kleese hit the door at a run, but was immediately shoved out of the way by arriving staff. He stood in the doorway, watching the strapped down form of Chris Larabee twitch spasmodically, screaming and howling.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked the closest person.

"Get back," she snarled, as she tried to retrieve a flailing arm that escaped its restraint.

"His tox screen back yet?" yelled the doctor.

"On it's way, Doctor."

The screams ceased. After a few moments of tense silence studying the monitors, the puzzled medical team breathed a sigh of relief that he was still with them. Even though unconscious, the body still twitched and trembled at some unknown stimulus.

"How is he?" Kleese asked.

"Unconscious," the doctor replied. He took the report from the technician that delivered it, reading it quickly. "And dying."

"What?" Kleese took a step toward the doctor. "He can't die."

The man looked up. "I didn't say we couldn't fix it, Agent," he chided softly. "Someone didn't like your boy very much. Torture wasn't good enough; looks like he's got a pretty lethal cocktail of narcotics and poisons running through his system. It's going to take awhile to flush this stuff out of his system and keep him stable. I'm afraid he's in for a pretty uncomfortable time of it."

"You'll have detailed lab and progress reports?"

"Yes. We're going to move him to a semi-private room at the end of the hall. We'll do what we can to keep him comfortable. I don't want to add more drugs until we get some of these flushed out. We might be in for some more episodes like this."

"That painful?"

The doctor pulled him into a quiet corner. "This combination of drugs and poison designed to kill in forty-eight hours. Only reason I know what to do is because of the heightened chemical weapons' training that's been offered. Do you know if he's tough?"

"Tough as they come, ex-SEAL, I believe," Kleese said, thinking back on the reputation of Chris Larabee.

"That'll help."

"Any way to get his men close to him? I've heard rumors they drive hospital staffs nuts if they're not near each other."

"Hmm." The doctor considered. "I'll get them on the floor. Once we have Larabee's system flushed out, I'll move someone in with him."

"Thanks, Doctor."

"If you'll excuse me, I have to write some orders for what to give him."

Kleese nodded, and then went to the telephone. He called his office, having them transfer him to Standish's cellphone. Giving an update, he had the feeling that a representative would visit him shortly, perhaps more than one.

"Sir?" Standish walked over to the Assistant Director, currently sitting in their offices waiting for news.

"Yes, Ezra?" Travis replied.

"It has been determined that Mr. Larabee has been poisoned, and the doctor has started treatment. He also suffered significant injuries to his feet, along with multiple wounds on various parts of his body. He will be in considerable pain until they can get the drugs flushed from his system. He is still considered in critical condition."

"Is there any good news?"

"Mr. Wilmington suffered burn damage to his hand, along with a broken clavicle and a sprained knee. He also bruised his ribs, and smoke inhalation."

"Not good, but not too bad."

"Mr. Tanner has a major concussion, thankfully no skull fractures, but they are monitoring him closely for any additional cerebral swelling. He also broke two ribs, his ankle, suffered a serious burn to his hand, along with other minor burns and smoke inhalation."

"Dear Lord."

The remaining members of Team Seven leaned back in their chairs, swallowing hard. This was the first chance they had been able to get together and hear the full report on their missing teammates.

"What happened to them?" Josiah asked.

"Agent Kleese was able to inform me that Buck and Vin followed a lead - without informing him - and chased the suspect to his house. Apparently, the suspect was dressed as Mr. Larabee, and had been impersonating him for some time."

"Let me guess: the house fell in on the fools?" Nathan queried.

Ezra rubbed a thumb down his cheek. "I'm told it burst into flame, and then exploded multiple times." He paused. "With them in it."

Travis groaned. "Can any of you do anything without massive destruction of property or bodily injury?"

Josiah, Nathan, JD, and Ezra exchanged glances. "No," they replied.

The Assistant Director shook his head in disgust. "Nathan, I'd like to send you out there to watch over them until they're ready to come home." He tossed up his hands. "Quit glaring, boys. I'm sending all of you. If those three are hurt, they're going to turn the hospital upside down, and I'll need all four of you there to keep them under control." He glanced around at the others and felt like rolling his eyes. "Like that'll happen."

Pushing himself to his feet, Travis continued to talk, half to himself, and half to them. "Why do I even bother? This was not what I intended when I sent Chris out there for a break. What happens? He gets abducted and tortured. When will I ever learn?" He headed for the door, stopping to glare at the four remaining members of his most productive team. "I realize nothing will get done around here while you are worried about them, so I'm not going to try to keep you from joining them. Use tomorrow to tie up loose ends here, get all of your cases in order and anything that needs to be transferred to another team. You can book a flight out the day after. Just make damn sure no one else ends up in the hospital as a patient, or else." Travis walked out.

"I wonder what he meant by or else," JD said.

"Mr. Dunne, I don't believe I want to find out." Ezra picked up the telephone, calling the airline to make reservations, and then the car rental to arrange for three vehicles at the other end, specifically SUV's.

Ezra for once overlooked the early hour and booked them on the first available flight the day after tomorrow. It was at four-thirty, but he could tolerate it. It was bad enough Travis was holding them back a day from rushing to their friend's sides. How they managed to concentrate the next day at work, no one knew. But they completed all the tasks Travis required of them. The following day, even Ezra had no problems making the early morning flight.

Of course, nothing ever went easily for Team Seven, and the four men were beginning to wonder if they could keep their own promise they made to Travis to stay out of the hospital. The flight went horribly. They should have heeded the omen when their departure was first delayed due to a malfunctioning heating unit in the galley. Finally in the air two hours later, their relief was short lived. Ending most unsatisfactorily with a harrowing forced landing halfway to their destination with engine trouble. Thankful to be on the ground safely, they nevertheless harassed airport reservation clerks to get them on the next available flight. Flustered by the four determined males in front her, the clerk could offer no available flights until the next day, but she registered them as standbys. Of course, there were no guarantees they would all get a flight together.

After about two hours of waiting they announced they had one seat on the next flight available. The four agreed Nathan should go; with his medical knowledge he be in the best position to help their friends. Reluctant to leave the others, but anxious to get to his injured friends, Nathan bid his three traveling companions goodbye. He got as far as the plane. As the medic fumed on the plane, the others watched perplexed as they saw the line of planes waiting for take off but nothing moving. Until finally the line did break into movement . . . back to the terminal.

In a sicky-sweet voice, the announcement blared over the terminal speakers that all flights were being cancelled due to severe weather moving in.

Everyone moved out of the way as the three aggravated men stalked to wait at the gate for the deplaning passengers. Quickly gathering Nathan and his luggage they decided to try the ground route. Moving immediately to the car rental counter, they managed to rent the last car available. The clerk was hesitant to release the vehicle, explaining the car was just returned and had not been cleaned. Startled by the angry blast of polite and not so polite words from the well-dressed gentleman of the group, she quickly changed her mind and turned the keys to the small subcompact over to them. Recovering from their shock at hearing such strong verbiage from the southerner, Josiah slapped Ezra on the back and they moved quickly to claim their transportation. Thankfully, hard experience taught them to travel light, so they each had one small piece of luggage. Thankfully because it was a tight enough fit in the small car already, with the trunk barely holding their bags. Ezra and JD found themselves admiring their knees near their noses while Josiah and Nathan hunched in the front seat of the car, their heads continually brushing against the ceiling. They would put up with the discomfort though; they were finally on their way.

That satisfaction was short lived as they ran into the weather that grounded the flights. Now they could see why. The three men in the passenger seats continually said their prayers. They had to, because their spiritual member was busy blasting his own form of prayer to the heavens as he was forced to creep along, with near zero visibility at times through the driving rain.

It was as if the entire car heaved its own sigh of relief after over an hour of travel in this manner, and they left the storm behind. However, the others continued to pray as the slow, easy going team member they knew and loved turned into Speed Racer as he tried to make up lost time. Becoming use to flying over the ground and confident in their friend's driving skills, the other three finally relaxed. Once again, they turned their thoughts to the three they were rushing to see. That is until the sirens sounded behind them.

For a while, Josiah ignored the siren, not use to being on the receiving end of such an encounter. His slow and easy style was well known and teased about by the other six. Finally it sank into his mental state that his foot was further down on the foot pedal than normal. Easing off the accelerator, he finally backed off of warp speed and began to slow and pull to the side of the road. As he sat waiting for the officer to make an appearance at his window he turned an apologetic visage to his passengers. He rolled down his window but there was still no sign of the officer.

Curious that contact had not been made Josiah glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned as he noticed the officer standing behind the door of his vehicle and talking into the mike on his car radio. The others turned to look out the back window at what had put the frown lines in the preacher's forehead.

"Good lord, what now," Standish sounded aggrieved.

He didn't have long to find out as more sirens were heard and they soon found four more police cars, bearing the marking of at least three other agencies slide into place. One beside them but across the roadway, one in front and another at an angle behind them and to the side of the original patrol car.

Ordered from the car at gunpoint, it took almost over another hour explain why four ATF agents were setting speed records in a stolen rental car. Yes the clerk advised them the car was just returned, but she neglected to mention it was from a police impound lot. Just like the police record's clerk neglected to remove the recovered vehicle from their stolen files.

Finally released, but with a stern warning that further travel as such speeds as they were clocked would not garner further professional courtesy, the four were on their way once more. This time Nathan took the wheel. From then on they drove straight through to their destination. The only stopped twice more for gas and to change drivers. Then once more when JD found his own foot a little close to floor. This time the traffic stop did not include multiple units and fire power.

When the travel weary quartet finally reached their final destination, it was not pleasant; hell, it wasn't even pretty. Josiah's hair stood straight up from the constant static electricity of it rubbing against the ceiling, Nathan's knees cramped from his forced time in the back seat, Ezra's eyes burned from taking the longest stretch of driving, and JD's energy had been contained in the small vehicle too long, making him extremely edgy and restless.

Nathan talked sense into the other three, convincing them that it would not do the others any good to show up looking as bad and as mean as they were right then. It was agreed to check into their hotel first and make themselves presentable. After calling Kleese and the hospital, it was further determined that due to the late hour, they would not be allowed to see their friends until morning anyway. They argued with each other that they could find a way, but common sense reigned for once, deciding it would not be good to start off on the wrong side of the hospital staff. Finding a late night diner, they settled for getting a good meal and going back to the hotel for a good night sleep. The latter did not come for any of them.

Arriving en masse first thing the next morning at the hospital, and having used most of their considerable patience during the ride there, none of the four seemed agreeable to 'sit and wait for information', causing a disturbance at the admittance desk.

Having been prepared for this onslaught, Agent Kleese was notified, and went downstairs to greet them. "Gentlemen," he said. "This way, please. Sorry I couldn't have been of more help last night, but we were expecting you sooner."

"Unavoidable, unacceptable, frustrating delays," Ezra groused.

"Where and how are they now?" Nathan asked.

"Come with me." He led them up five floors, and then down a long hallway to the very end. "We managed to find a room that used to hold four patients, and put them all in together. Larabee handled the treatment well, and the doctors said his latest tox screens look good, he's still running a low-grade fever, in a lot of pain and weak. Wilmington's pretty much on the mend, he's already hitting on the nursing staff. Tanner's keeping to himself; I think he's still feeling the effects of the head injury, but he doesn't let on. I'll warn you, though, they're being a little difficult at times."

"They wouldn't be them if they weren't," Josiah said. "Will you stick around? I want to ask you about the case."

"Sure."

JD opened the door, staring in, three faces pressed behind him. The room was dark, the rising sun only beginning to make a muted entrance through the curtains across the window at the far end of the room. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, the four men could make out the three mummies on the beds within.

"Shit?" JD made the first comment, felt by all of them as he took the first few tentative steps in, closely followed by his friends. The size of the room was enormous, and the beds organized with two on one wall, the third opposing the bed closest to the door. All three were occupied, and the occupants honestly looked like they belonged under doctor's care.

Kleese spoke softly in the gloom. "They like to keep it dark in here; both Larabee and Tanner are sensitive to the light, it seems."

"Head injury," Nathan nodded.

"In Tanner's case yeah," Kleese nodded. "Larabee, they aren't sure. Got real nasty and fought when they shined a light in his eyes to check for concussion, and tried to leave one of the lights on for the rest of them. Might be an after effect of the drugs he was on."

Silently, the four men studied their friends, checking out each of their injuries.

Buck's face was missing his mustache, and a slight redness lingered on his skin. His hair seemed to be a little shorter, especially in the front, and he almost looked younger. A sling immobilized his arm and shoulder, a brace covered most of his left leg and knee and it was resting raised on a pillow. The other arm was covered in a burn wrap and rested up on another pillow. His head was back, mouth open and slightly snoring, held further immobile by the canula feeding him oxygen, and the IV tree to one side of his bed. The less than flattering hospital gown gave him a wan appearance.

"Now ain't that a pretty picture," JD smiled, the other three chuckled softly as they moved to check on their other two friends.

Josiah and Nathan had moved to the bed across the room that held their missing leader. Both exchanged worried glances at each other over the bed. Like Wilmington, the blond was lying on his back, the head only slightly raised. Both legs were raised on pillows; his feet were not covered by the blankets, but swathed by heavy white bandages. The nasal canula fed oxygen, while the IV tree behind his head held quite a few bags, running lines to both arms. Large sections of his arms and torso sported gauze of their own, and what  was exposed between the bandages and hospital gown looked liked one giant scab, mixing with a multicolored palette of bruising.

"What's this he's laying on," JD asked softly fingering the fuzzy material Larabee was laying on.

Nathan reached down and felt the soft material, "Sheepskin."

"He's pretty touch sensitive right now," Kleese explained moving up to join the others, speaking softly to keep from disturbing the resting patients. "They found he rested easier if they used that."

Nathan nodded; wincing, knowing the multitude of minor injuries they'd been advised of would make the blond extremely uncomfortable. He turned, hearing a familiar sound from the third bed. Moving quickly, he reached the bedside just in time to get the chrome basin  in place.

As the bandaged swathed head was laid gently back onto the pillows, pain filled glazed blue eyes looked up at the dark face above him. "N – Nathan?"

There was a cough from the other bed and a groan as the ladies man woke up and tried to sit up. "Easy Buck," JD rushed to his side and tried to help him.

The strangely smooth, shaved face smiled broadly as he recognized his roommate, "Hey, Kid."

"Hey, Buck," JD smiled seeing his best friend awake. "You look like shit."

"Never happen." Wilmington went to shake his head, and then stopped.

"Hey guys," Wilmington noticed the others in the room. "I see y'all met Frankenstein. He's uglier than I am right now, and not pleasant company."

The subject in question had curled back into his bed on his side. The arm bandaged in burn dressing was resting on a pillow, and he ducked his head behind it to shield his eyes. The uncovered fingers sent their own quiet message to the ladies man. There was also the lightly mumbled phrase, barely distinguished, of, "Bride," aimed back at Buck.

Buck laughed. "See."

Nathan smiled; pleased to see their friends remained in good humor. He frowned, though, as he glanced down at the back exposed by the hospital gown on the sharpshooter. It was covered in a number of colors showing several levels of bruising.

"How many stitches?" Nathan asked.

"Seventy-five," Buck supplied.

Ezra stared at the sharpshooter. "Mr. Tanner, I do believe Mr. Wilmington has a point." His eyes took in the white bandages swathing Vin's head. "Of course, such a visible wound will surely make the ladies at the office swoon, and offer comfort." He smiled when he saw Buck frown and moved closer to the bed to continue teasing the two. "Add to that the soreness of his ribs, and his inability to run away from their ardent pursuit, and I would be persuaded to believe he is a bit… irritable."

Standish received his own silent salute, as there was another cough from the third bed. Josiah quickly moved to Chris's side as Larabee began to move restlessly on the bed. He placed a gently hand on one shoulder to reassure Chris, and keep him from making too many jarring moves. "Easy, brother."

Green eyes blinked up and stared disbelievingly for a moment. "J-Jos," the attempt to talk setting off a harsh round of coughing.

"Careful, Chris," Nathan also rushed to his side. He reached for water pitcher beside the bed and poured a glass, helping the blond drink through the straw. "Better?"

Chris gave a brief nod and relaxed back against the pillows. He glanced around the room and saw the rest of his friends standing anxiously by. A weak smile lifted the corners of his mouth, "Much."

"He's been out of it for awhile, he's only been conscious a little while. Still getting his bearings." Wilmington shook his head. "Might take a bit for him to get sociable again."

"That's all right," Nathan said. "We're just glad to see y'all."

"Care to explain how you found yourselves in these unfortunate circumstances?" Ezra sat in the chair beside Vin's bed.

"Don't know the whole of the Stud's story," Buck winked as he caught the glare from across the way. He was just happy to see his old friend awake and starting to get better. "When we got to the hotel, we found out someone was pretendin' ta be Chris. We set up a sting, and chased the guy down."

There was a low growl coming from Larabee's bed.

Buck rolled his eyes. "Pard, he was dressed like you. We didn't know he was a she, okay? Quit growling at us."

"Chris was kidnapped by a girl?" JD exclaimed.

One hand weakly raised and threw a cup at the youngest, actually hitting him.

"Hey!" JD turned to look at Chris, and then picked up the cup.

Vin chuckled weakly, then groaned as pain sliced through his head.

"Stubborn Texan cuss has probably been passing on the pain meds," Nathan grumbled and frowned, noticing Vin ducked his head guiltily. Chris groaned as he shifted in the bed, and Nathan wished there was more he could do for him.

"Kleese, have they found her body, yet?" Buck asked the silent form that had moved to a corner of the room to allow the friends their quiet reunion.

"Haven't gotten an update yet," he admitted. "But they haven't stopped looking."

Buck's red faced deepened to a dark crimson. "I want proof she's dead."

"I'll go call my office and see if there has been any thing new."

Josiah rose to shake Kleese's hand. "I'd like to thank you for your help. Before we leave, we'd like to go over what you've found in your investigation and compare notes."

Kleese nodded, "That can be arranged. I'll leave you to your reunion now and get back to you later. Take care of them."

Josiah nodded, "We will."

Kleese moved to the door but hesitated a moment and looked back over the room. The three bedridden agents were quietly grousing over the hovering the other four were giving them. He always admired the close-knit community that was a part of law enforcement. The never-ending source of support that community provided was often amazing. Looking at these seven men, though, he could see their closeness went beyond that. It was like invading on a small family moment. In some way, he envied them what they had. Smiling sadly, he left them to see if he could get them some closure on this case.

Epilogue

It took almost two full days for the house to be completely searched, to the investigators' satisfaction. It was sadly concluded that there still was no body among the ruins. Kleese still had a bunch of unanswered questions, and his background checks on the name Julie provided Chris was not turning anything up. Nor was the research into the ownership of the house.

After over a week of one dead end after another, the case was still nowhere near solved, and the three injured agents were finally given the okay to travel back to their home. Frustrated, he decided to accompany the team back to Denver, getting approval from his superiors, to help in the search for clues there. When he reached the airport, the Magnificent Seven were in rare form. Three of them were confined to wheelchairs, unable to walk unassisted. Well, Wilmington thought he could walk, but each step made him look 'worse than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest', in his own words. Nathan's voice was fading fast from the continual yelling.

Fortunately, after hearing about the 'road trip from perdition' from Ezra, Travis sent a charter jet for them. Three wheelchairs, rolled by three Agents, loaded onto the plane, and the last two men – Josiah and Kleese – took deep breaths before boarding.

In Denver, Travis paced, waiting for the charter to land. When it did, he watched three of his 'boys' unloaded in wheelchairs. That made his heart slow, but then he saw the smiles on Tanner and Wilmington's faces. Adopting his sternest visage, he waited for them.

They reached him soon enough, and sure enough, they were arguing amongst themselves.

Nathan's voice reached him first, "Chris, if you don't stop wiggling in the chair, I'm gonna restrict your diet even more."

"I ain't helpless," Chris grumbled. "I don't need help going to the bathroom, and I don't want the company." He pushed away from the paramedic, making it to the restroom.

"I'll be right here if you need me."

Chris let the door shut.

They hadn't noticed him yet, so he continued to watch silently.

"Buck, quit bitching about your hair. It will grow back," JD said.

"Better than that peach fuzz on your face."

"You know I've heard sometimes after burns and major trauma, like you've had, hair tends to grow back white." Dunne delivered that line with an earnest, straight face.

Buck blanched and reached a hand up to cover his singed locks, not catching the newly arrived shit eating grin on his roommate's face.

JD was pleased he could say he learned from the best.

"Mr. Tanner, perhaps you should refrain from leaning forward so far, and straining your already battered ribcage."

"Maybe ya should mind yer own business," Vin bit back, just wanting to lie down and forget the pain in his head.

Chris rolled out of the bathroom. "Look, Ma, I went by myself," he said to Nathan.

"Boys," Travis said, putting himself in their line of sight.

All chatter stopped, and the wheelchairs lined up in a row, the handlers behind them.

"Welcome home," he said. "Good to see all of you alive and breathing."

"For now," Josiah added.

"For now," Travis repeated smiling. "Agent Kleese."

"Sir." Kleese stepped around the wheelchair brigade to shake hands with the Assistant Director. "Thank you for greasing the wheels to let me come."

"You still have an open investigation, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

Travis turned to JD. "Agent Dunne, I am requesting you use the resources at your disposal in assisting Agent Kleese in finding out the identity and connection of the suspect."

JD straightened. "Yes, sir."

"Sir, with respect, my people couldn't come up with much."

"You'll find Agent Dunne has the uncanny ability to find out information. Now, let's get this rag-tag group home. Where are you staying?"

"Larabee's ranch," Vin answered.

Everyone was asleep in the Larabee household, except the master. He needed some water, and he wanted another painkiller. Nathan gave him the minimal dose, knowing the man had enough drugs in his system lately. Normally he'd agree and deal with it, but his feet throbbed and all he could visualize between his closed eyelids was that damn clock. It had been this way since he woke up, and the waking nightmares, combined with the night terrors, kept him from getting any rest. He craved the blessed release of unconsciousness.

Wheeling himself carefully through the house, he tried not to make any noise and wake anyone else up. He didn't want to hear from Nathan, or see Josiah's silent offer of support, deal with JD's energy, or figure out a ten-dollar sentence from Ezra's mouth. The rest of them needed their rest too, but he should have known better.

"Need some help there, Stud?"

Chris eyed Buck skeptically over his shoulder. "Were you thinking about growing another arm?"

Wilmington chuckled, "Some company then."

"Would it do any good to refuse," Chris softened the remark with a grin for his oldest friend as they both moved slowly toward the kitchen.

Reaching the kitchen, they realized that someone else was in there.

"Quit gawkin' and get in here, Larabee. I can't do this alone."

Chris rolled in, with Buck right behind him, finding Vin sitting at the table in his chair, staring in frustration at the pitcher of orange juice and the spilled liquid around it. Larabee looked up at Buck, who raised his bandaged arms in response. Rolling his eyes, Chris wheeled to the counter, grabbed a dishtowel and mopped up the excess, and then filled his friend's cup, grumbling the entire time. "Like taking care of a bunch of babies."

Rolling backward, he grabbed a plastic cup for himself, getting himself some ice water. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his painkiller, setting it on the table. He chuckled finally when Vin brought out one of his own pills, and Buck tenderly reached into his sling adding his own to tabletop display.

The three friends shared a gentle laugh, not wanting to agitate the pain demons already chanting war cries in their bodies.

"Thanks." Vin finally sighed.

Larabee nodded. "How's the head?"

"Hurts like hell. How's yer feet?"

"Hurts like hell," Chris replied.

They sipped their drinks for a minute.

There in the dim lighting of the stove, the three friends sat in their chairs in companionable silence.

Vin and Buck shared a look across the table then looked at Chris. Both spoke up together, "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Shoulda known ya were in trouble." Vin spoke up first.

"How?" Chris asked.

"Had a feelin', and then Buck said ya had a lady, but it felt off."

"Yeah, sorry Chris," Buck sighed sadly. "I wasn't thinkin' on that one. I was just so pleased to think you might really be enjoying yourself, I didn't let it sink in how wrong it was along with everything else. Should have made her put you on the phone, instead of just accepting the bull she gave us."

"You guys couldn't have known." Chris gave each of them a hard look.

"Sure we should have, right from the start," Buck disagreed. "It wasn't like you not to return messages."

"That's right," Vin agreed. "And you didn't call to call to check on us every thirty minutes. That sure weren't like you."

"I don't do that," Chris glared at the sharpshooter.

Vin just leaned back in his chair and gave him a mischievous grin.

"Well maybe at least once or twice a day," Buck amended, drawing the glare to himself.

"Just plain stupid," Vin sighed.

Buck nodded, "Irresponsible."

"Sure, you were both so stupid and irresponsible enough to fly across the country, on very little information, rent a car, search my room, chase her down, and then break into a burning house. Followed by searching through, and braving a rapidly spreading fire to free me. Got yourselves burned and blown up in the process."

Chris paused, and then reached out and placed a hand on each of his friend's shoulders, "Yeah, that's real stupid and irresponsible, and for that, I'll be forever grateful." He squeezed. "A man's lucky if he has friends, and luckier if those friends are like brothers. You two saved my life and there's nothing I can say or do to say thanks enough."

"I don't remember much 'bout it," Vin frowned not wanting Chris to see the mistiness he felt in eyes.

"Then I'll remind you about it every day," Chris smiled and turned to Buck. "And you, Buck you've always been there when I've needed you most."

"I know when I saw you two stumbling up those stairs there was no why in hell I was going to lose you again." Buck swallowed hard. "But you've got to quit doin' stuff like this pard, I'm getting too old for this shit."

Chris smiled and patted Buck's shoulder. "I can never repay you two."

"Ya don't have to," Vin replied. "Ya would do it for us."

Chris nodded, and a wealth of emotion passed between them in one shared look. The three men finally dropped the gazes and coughed around the lumps in their throats, looking away to wipe their eyes, and then steadfastly downed their pills.

Nathan nudged Josiah and cocked his head towards the hallway behind them. Josiah nodded. They tapped the two kneeling in front of them on the shoulder and silently motioned them back. The four quietly bade their way back from the kitchen doorway where they'd been silently eavesdropping on their wounded companions. Before they parted ways to their own rooms, the four shared a smile. The trio wasn't quite there yet, but they were well on the way to healing all their wounds.

Using the little information Kleese's team had dug up, JD's skill  with the computer and ferreting information paid off; he found out Julie was Juliet Koons, a registered nurse. Before he was finished, JD discovered the twelve hospitals across the country where she worked, all of which she left for "personal reasons". Using some questionable methods, he discovered that she was fired or forced to resign several times, changing her name after each one. She had some computer skills in modifying some of her information and creating false identities for herself. It was taking some time though, and all Kleese could do was wait. But he couldn't afford any more time away from his own territory; it was time for him to leave.

Travis saw him to the airport, promising to give him information when it became available.

Night had fallen at the Larabee ranch, and only four were present. Chris, Buck, Vin, and JD, the appointed caretaker for the night. JD had his headphones on, continually tapping on the keyboard. He blocked the other three out.

"Buck," Chris said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Hand me that pillow, will you?" He pointed to the one beside the rogue.

"Sure." Buck passed it over to his friend.

"Thanks." Chris paused. "For everything," he added.

Dark blue eyes met green. "Pard, you don't need to keep saying it. I know it." He stretched a hand out, and they clasped forearms.

"Whoa!" JD exclaimed, knocking the headphones off his head.

"What?" Buck asked, winking once at Chris before leaning back.

"Chris, do you remember Sarah talking about a Julie or Julian Boyd?"

Larabee thought for a minute, and then shook his head. "Nope. I'm still having a hard time believing that psychopath even knew Sarah. Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part."

"Maybe," JD hesitated now. "High school, maybe?"

"Why?"

"I took a chance, went through that classmates website, figuring that if the person knew your wife, it would either be through college or high school. None of the Julies in college matched, so I went to high school."

"Whatcha got?" Vin asked.

"Well, there was a pair of twins in high school with Sarah, and apparently they were best friends."

"Julie became a nurse, right?"

"According to the hospital records, yes," JD said, his tone guarded. "But I don't think that was possible."

"Wait a minute. I remember Sarah telling me about one of her high school friends that was a twin, but she deliberately lost touch. Said the friend went crazy, got insanely jealous of any of Sarah's other friends or boyfriends."

"Sounds like your Julie," Buck suggested, ignoring the glare Chris shot his way.

"The nurse was terminated for psychological problems," JD carefully replied.

"Wonder why." Vin snorted. "Didn't have a gentle touch."

"Tell me about it," Chris replied.

"What's bugging you, JD?" Buck asked. "Sounds like you found our suspect, so what's the problem?"

"I don't know how to say this."

"Spit it out," Buck told him. "We're getting older by the second."

JD walked over to Chris. "Is this Julie?" He held out a printed page, showing a very young Sarah and a young woman.

"Close, but not quite." Chris shook his head.

"How about this one?" He passed a second page to his friend.

"Yeah. On the right. That's her." The shot showed three women dressed outrageously for Halloween as saloon girls.

"Are you sure?" JD asked.

"What's the problem?" Chris frowned.

JD passed another paper to Chris, who read it. As he read over the passage all he could think of was being in that room with that woman and what she did to him. Briefly his mind touched on the kiss that he thought came from Sarah. Suddenly, he dropped the paper and reached for the nearby trash can. While he was throwing up, Buck picked up the paper it and read aloud:

"In memory of Juliet 'Julie' Michelle Boyd, beloved twin of Julian 'Jules' Michael Boyd, killed in a tragic traffic accident. She will be missed by all of us, but especially by her twin, 'Jules' and best friend Sarah Connolly. Rest in peace, Julie!"

"Julian survived," Vin whispered. "Turned himself inta Julie."

Buck shuddered, and then winced in pain. Lord what thoughts raced through his mind when he heard her . . .his voice on the phone. He glanced over at Chris and despite the pain, shivered again.

Chris held his head in his hands, nausea rolling through his system. Damn, they'd all been had, especially him. He'd been blinded by the superb acting job perpetrated by a mental unbalanced person with too many skills to inflict pain. Yes, he'd been blinded by more than the light.

At least Julie/Julian was dead. He hoped.

The End