He knew he’d be an hour proofreading the stupid report, but Buck was enjoying the angry snapping of the keys as he battered his unfortunate keyboard.  He’d gladly pay the price of fixing all the stupid typos.  Or replacing the keyboard, if it came to that.

Damned stubborn, self-centered grouch of a Larabee.  The man hadn’t stuck his perfect nose out that door in the last two hours.

He hadn’t any idea whether his little confrontation had made things better or worse.  At least the man hadn’t shot him.  He had a vague memory of giving him permission.

His head snapped up at the sound of Chris’s office door sweeping open.

“Conference room.  Ten minutes!” Larabee barked, before pulling the door closed again.

Okay.  Well, was that good or bad?  The man still looked like he’d been biting the heads off rattlers.

“Buck?”

JD’s anxious face popped up over the top of his monitor.  Distracted anxiety advertised the young man’s mental search for whatever transgression might have earned him a flaying.

“Dunno, Kid.  But you haven’t done anything to set him off.  If he’s gonna let any of us have it, it’ll be me.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Yes, Mister Wilmington.  I’d be interested in the answer to that question myself.”

Buck met the shrewd green eyes boldly.  “Private, Ezra.  Between him and me.”

Finely shaped brows rose.  “Not if your ‘private’ confrontation is fated to visit additional strife upon the rest of us.”

Buck shook his head, shrugging.  “Honestly, guys.  I’ve got no idea what this is about.”

“We have all suffered just about enough of Mister Larabee’s foul mood.”  Ezra’s gaze shifted to the space across from Larabee’s office, where their newest team member sat, fingers gripping the edge of his desk with white-knuckled force.  “Some more than others.”

“Yeah, well, we gotta stop lettin’ Chris get away with that crap!” Buck let his soft voice sharpen.  “Baker’s taken about all he can.  And Ez, you ain’t making things any better by pullin’ Larabee’s damned tail every chance you get!”

If he weren’t convinced the other man would never risk the potential damage to his perfect (and expensive) bite, Buck would have sworn he heard teeth grinding.

“Much as it galls me, I find I must agree with you, Mister Wilmington.  Frankly, I’m quite surprised and disappointed in myself.”  He gave his head a small shake.  “It is as clear to me as to you that Mister Larabee is not a man who responds to opposition in a… productive manner.  I am not generally so incapable of controlling my baser urges.”

Buck sighed, then leered at Ezra.  “Well, I wouldn’t know nothin’ about ‘baser urges.’”  He grinned at the southerner’s disparaging snort. 

Lifting his head to stare across the partition at the door to Chris’s office, Ezra pursed his lips in contemplation.  “Of course, we are all aware that the actual problem with our fearless leader is only indirectly related to Mister Baker.”

“Oh, yeah!”  JD’s expressive eyes reflected the sad loss they all felt.  “If only…”

Ezra again met Buck’s eyes.  “I don’t suppose that little conversation you had concerned… ?”

Something in the other man’s eyes startled Buck into straightening sharply.  “Private, Ez.”

The knowing green eyes didn’t waver.  “Perhaps Mister Larabee would benefit from another perspective on this… private matter.”

“Shit, Ez!  You got a death wish?  I half figured he’d let me have it before I got out of the room!  You’d never… Aw, hell.  Damn you, you slippery worm!”

The rather smug little smile on Ezra’s smooth face told him just how much he’d given away.  And how much Ezra had already figured out.

“What, Ezra?  Buck?” 

“Nothin’, Kid.”

“Buck!”

“Brothers?  Ten minutes.”  Josiah swept by Buck’s desk, extended arm inviting them to follow him onto the battlefield.  “Under current circumstances, keeping the boss waiting would not be a great idea.”

As they passed the new sharpshooter’s desk, Ezra and Buck pulled Baker out of his desk chair and tucked him between them.  Moving around to the far side of the conference table, they deliberately chose spots on either side of the young man.  A bit of physical support couldn’t hurt.

JD and Josiah seated themselves along the other side of the table.  Nathan hurried through the door and sank down beside JD just as Chris emerged from his sanctuary.

Conspicuously, none of them made a move toward the empty chair at the foot of the table, the one right beside the coffee bar.

Buck would have sworn the air thinned as Chris joined them, thanks to the deeply indrawn breaths of the six seated men.

They remained frozen, staring at their volatile leader.  His face was tight and pale.

Larabee’s chest heaved as he sucked air into his lungs.  Closing his eyes tightly, he dropped his chin on his chest.

“Okay, boys.  Listen close, ‘cause I don’t think I’ve got it in me to go through this twice.”  He opened his eyes and let his gaze drift around the table, attention moving from face to face.  “I owe you all an apology.”

Buck’s throat tightened.  Atta boy, Stud!

“For several days now, I’ve been pretty unreasonable.  I’ve abused all of you, made this place pretty much impossible.  Most of you know at least part of the reason, but there isn’t any adequate excuse for the way I’ve been behaving.  Baker…”

Buck felt the young man’s body jerk.

“Son, I’m sorry.  You walked into something you couldn’t have expected.  I’ll be talking to all of you, but this apology needs to be public.  I’m really sorry.  I’m hoping you’re ready to give me another chance.”

“Sir?  An… another chance?  I…”

“Another chance.  Stick with us just a bit longer before you decide to run for your life, will you?”

Baker nodded mutely, tongue still not cooperating enough to produce a coherent response.

“The rest of you… Hell, boys.  I’ve got no business at all treating you like this.  You know what…  Well, you just know.”

He glanced around at the now-smiling faces, and nodded gratefully. 

“All right.  I figure you bozos wouldn’t mind getting out of this office an hour early.  Short day today, and I’m buying the first couple of rounds at Inez’s.  Tomorrow, we’re doing those sims again, this time with all of us on board.  I’ll do my damnedest to do my part this time.  Are we agreed?”

Grins and nods swept around the table.

“Right, then shut off those computers and go order that first round.  Make it whiskey.”

They whooped and stood, slapping each other on the back and heading out the door to their desks.  Josiah and Nathan paused to shake Chris’s hand and punch his shoulder as they passed.

Buck leaned back, grinning, as he watched his teammates file out of the conference room.  As Baker slithered past Chris and out the door behind Ezra, Buck cocked an eyebrow at Chris.

He lifted his right hand, thumb pointing upward, and mouthed, “Step one, pard.”

As Chris’s blond eyebrow arched, Buck tilted the hand, pointing the extended thumb right at that unused chair. 

And there’s step two.

He heard it as he turned the last corner.  Tires squealing, then a sharp, bitten-off shriek.

His first reaction was annoyance; he didn’t have time to mess with this stuff.  He had freedom to plan.

But the irritation was quickly swallowed by concern and he broke into a run, heading for the mid-block entrance to the alley.

He slid around the corner, seeing his worst fears realized.  A young woman, her mouth covered by a big, rough hand, her struggles ineffectual against two men, each half again her size, being dragged inexorably toward the open side of a pale van.

Shouting, he launched himself down the garbage-strewn passage.  The nearer of the two men looked up just in time for his belly to meet the heel of Vin’s Nike.  The other man dropped his hand from the girl’s mouth to reach toward his side, but never completed the movement as a sharp elbow slammed into the side of his head.  Bellowing, he released the now-screaming woman and dropped to his haunches, lurching away from his attacker.

Vin squared off to face the two toughs, yelling, “Run, ma’am!”

He kept his gaze fixed on the recovering men while turning slightly to follow the girl in his peripheral vision as she scrambled backward to rest against the wall. 

“Go!” he shouted, parrying a punch from the first thug. 

The slam of the second man’s body forced him to focus on keeping himself on his feet.  The two men didn’t have much in the way of technique, but they were big and strong.  Not to mention confident, and mad as hell.  Writhing, he freed himself, but not without gaining a few bruises and losing a bit of skin.  As he slid away, he used his fist and, again, his foot.

A quick glance showed the girl still leaning against the wall, staring with wide-eyed horror at the battle.

“Get the hell outta here!”

He shifted slightly away from his two opponents, seeking room to move.  Finally, he noted the flicker of movement as the girl took off down the alley.

Relieved, he dismissed her. 

He bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes flicking from one man to the other, watching for the tell-tale movements of shoulders preceding punches and jabs.  Vaguely, he noted the sound of an engine roaring into life as he delivered a round-house kick to the ribcage, dropping Thug Number Two to the ground.  He used the swing of his follow-up to duck under a flailing blow from Number One, then danced lightly backward, waiting for the opening he needed to put him on the ground with his friend.

He was conscious of a sudden blur of movement, followed by a massive, breath-stealing blow along his left side.  Then violent flashes bursting through his vision.  Then pain, and blackness drowning the lightning.

Then nothing.

Well, they weren’t right.  Wouldn’t be right until that empty chair was filled.  But they were sure as hell doing better.

Smiling with smug self-satisfaction, Buck leaned back, arm stretched along the padded rim of the booth behind JD’s head.  Damn, he was good.  Chris, though subdued, was making a real effort to be a part of the group.  And he was talking to Baker as if the youngster were an actual human being.

Buck snickered.  Not that Baker was doing much talking back.  Boy looked shell-shocked.  Hopefully, he’d recover before they hit those sims again tomorrow.

“Hey, Preacher!” Buck called as Josiah headed for the rest room.  “Bring another pitcher!”

“Bring two!” JD shouted, waving his empty glass over his head.

Choosing not to compete with the uproar in the busy bar, Josiah simply waved agreement over his shoulder.

Buck went back to watching his old friend.  Larabee tipped his head back, finishing off his drink.  Setting the mug on the moisture-ringed surface of the table, he sat for a long moment, contemplating the foam at the bottom of the glass.  His hand stole into the pocket of his jacket, and emerged clutched around his cell phone.  Absently, his fingers brushed across the buttons—hovering over the speed dial, and the number two.

Buck’s smile widened.  He knew exactly who was at the other end of Chris’s speed-two.  Leaning forward, he gripped Chris’s shoulder and spoke quietly into the other man’s ear.

“Do it, Chris.  Don’t think—just do it.”

Troubled green eyes met his; white teeth worried at Larabee’s lower lip.

“Damn it, pard.  Don’t let this go on any longer.  Let yourself have this!”

Another moment of troubled indecision, then those cheek muscles ridged, and Larabee nodded sharply, rising to his feet.

“Save my place.”

“Depends who wants it.”  Buck laughed at the glare he earned as Chris turned and headed for the door, seeking the quiet of the parking lot.

Buck mentally crossed his fingers. 

Pick up, Vin.  Give him his chance.

He felt a twinge of disappointment as Chris returned in far too short a time to have had the conversation Buck had hoped for. He raised his brows in question as Larabee dodged the pitcher-laden Josiah and lowered himself back into his chair.

Shaking his head, Chris dropped his eyes as he pocketed the phone.  “Got the answering machine.” 

Buck grimaced.  “Damn.  He wasn’t picking up.  Just listening to the messages build up.”

“Shit, I gave him a few to contemplate.”  The self-disgust in Chris’s voice was clear.

“Well, old dog, you just gotta keep tryin’.  Give that boy something different to listen to.  He’s stubborn, and he’s hurtin’ bad.  But I figure he’s gonna want to hear what you’ve got to say.  So you just keep on callin’.”

He hurt.

He hurt. 

Head, back, shoulder, ribs. 

Everywhere.  He just flat-out hurt.

Damned hands wouldn’t work.

And he couldn’t figure out whether the floor really was tossing him around, or whether it was just the horrible chaos in his head making him feel like he was rolling and pitching.

Vaguely, he heard a distant roaring, and voices.  High, angry men’s voices, shouting something he couldn’t really follow.

But mostly he just heard the ringing, beating against the inside of his miserable head.

And he hurt, goddamit!

Chris watched the other six men as they made their noisy ways toward their various vehicles.  Slowing, he pulled back against the building and tried one more time. 

Still no answer.

Damn it, Vin.  Please.  Pick up the damn phone.

As the voice mail message sounded again in his ear, he snapped the phone closed and leaned forward, hands on his knees, letting his head hang.

God, what a mess he’d made. 

He straightened, clenched his jaw, and shoved the small instrument into his pocket, setting off toward his truck with determined strides.

This was better, anyway.  He couldn’t really fix this over the telephone.  He had to see those eyes; confront the man face to face. 

He had a key, if it came to it.  It probably wouldn’t, but who knew what kind of mood Vin would be in?  He might lock the damned door just to be contrary.

But he couldn’t refuse to listen if Chris was in the same room, staring into his face.

It took only a few minutes to cover the distance to Vin’s home.  He grimaced as he locked the truck.  Not that it was liable to make any difference if he were unlucky.  How the man could continue to live in this kind of neighborhood, he’d never figure out.

Well, maybe he finally had the bargaining chip he needed to persuade him to leave. 

The flights of stairs passed too rapidly under his feet.  Too soon, he found himself standing outside that door, key in hand.

And there he stuck, heart pounding. 

What if he doesn’t want to listen?  What if he won’t… ?

Gritting his teeth, he forced his fingers to move those final few inches. 

The door opened easily, to darkness. 

“Vin?”  He called the name, but he could tell even without the lack of response that the apartment was empty.

No Vin. 

His shoulders slumped as his heart seemed to contract in pain.

Part 5