Chris strode silently through the darkened outer office.  No point in going home.  He’d only get a few minutes’ sleep, then have to turn right around and head back.

Besides, his mind was unsettled, squirrelly.  He couldn’t relax, couldn’t seriously think about sleeping.  Somewhere, Vin was in trouble.

So he’d come here instead.  To spend a few private hours resurrecting the tangible evidence of what he’d had and thrown away.

Unlocking his office door, he moved to the big desk, lowering himself slowly into his padded chair and reaching for the bottom left drawer.  Gently, he pulled the drawer out, then slid his fingers under the stack of framed photos.

He remembered grabbing them off the bookshelf and tossing them roughly into the drawer, slamming it shut on that crooked grin, those mischievous, bright blue eyes.

Sadly, he spread them out on his desk, fingering a diagonal break in the glass protecting his favorite image—the one of the two of them, standing side by side with the heads of Pony and Peso draped over their shoulders. 

The break cut right across the picture—right between their grinning faces.

At last.  At last.

Home.  Safe.

He knew it was his door.  Knew every crack in the paint, every smudge.

And knew it would be unlocked.  He never locked the outer door.

Convulsively, he dragged the voluminous jacket off his shoulders and dropped it onto the threadbare carpet of the hallway.  Couldn’t stand the feel of fabric that had clothed that filthy bastard.

He’d made it home.  Didn’t need it.  Didn’t ever want it.

He almost sobbed as the door obligingly yielded under his hand.  Inside, he leaned back, allowing the weight of his body to push the door shut between him and that rag that represented uncounted hours of hell.

As waves of relief swept through him, his knees buckled, dropping him to the floor.  For a moment, he let himself sit, huddled against the rough wood, feeling the draft from under the door against his naked buttocks. 

Home.

Keys.  He needed his keys.

Heaving himself over onto his hands and knees, he crawled to the couch, and the end table beside it.

Lock box.  Keys were in the lock box.

He panicked when he couldn’t recall the combination.  Then he forced himself to close his eyes, breathe deeply.  There it was.

It took his puffy fingers three tries to get it right, but he finally had the keys in his hand.

Safe.

Bedroom.  He fumbled over the locks, but finally that door also yielded.  He slid into the dark bedroom, shoved the door closed behind him, and meticulously reengaged every lock on the door.

Finally, finally.

Securely barricaded, he allowed the keys to slip from his fingers and drop to the floor.

Agony singing fiercely through every part of his body, he stumbled to the bed and collapsed.  Slowly, painfully, he drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs.

Home.  Safe.

Buck grabbed JD and waltzed him through the office door, delighting in the kid’s protests and the laughter from the rest of the team.

The simulation exercises had been a whole different story this morning.  Not perfect, not their usual nearly-telepathic coordination, but worlds better than the disasters of earlier in the week.  Chris had been on his best behavior, stopping and re-running the botch-ups without yelling or pointing fingers, dropping one or two of his rare compliments when something went smoothly.

Baker had been solid and right on the mark.  Again, they’d had to pay a lot more attention to him, give him a lot more support than they were used to.  But he’d done great.

Couldn’t expect to have what they’d enjoyed for the last year or so.  One Vin Tanner was all you got.

But Baker was going to shape up to be a good, solid high man.

“All right, boys,” Chris shouted over the laughter and jibes.  “Pretty good morning.”

Whoops and a rather shocking rebel yell from Ezra answered.  Chris actually smiled.

“Glad you enjoyed yourself, Agent Standish.  Now listen up!”

The celebratory noise gradually died.

“Things went pretty well this morning.”  He paused slightly, gaze moving to the young stranger in their midst.  “Good job, Baker.”

The kid’s face glowed.

Yeah!  Good job, Chris!

“I’ve got that damned staff meeting this afternoon, so I’ll be out of the office.  Not…”  He raised his hand as the antics picked up again.  “Not that you’re going to be unsupervised.  Josiah, you have the wheel.”

“Aye aye, Sir!” Josiah barked, snapping a sharp salute.  “Twenty lashes at sunset.”

Chris’s wry smile actually reached his eyes.  “No need to go overboard.  You’ve all got the assessment of this morning’s exercise to write up.  When you’ve finished, take a look at these.”  He pulled a stack of files out of his briefcase, eyes narrowing at the groans from the team. 

“Knock it off, kiddies.  You’re all still working for a living.  These are Team Five’s notes on the Mellin case.  They’re getting close to the takedown, and Two’s been pulled off to concentrate on that Navy smuggling thing.  So we’ve inherited second string on this one.  Anything goes wrong, we need to be ready to pick up the slack.  So get a good idea of what’s going on.”

Pages fluttered as they all took a first look at the documents. 

“Got it?” Chris asked.

A chorus of assent and the slow dispersal of their little mob answered him.

“Buck?”

Buck followed the beckoning finger into Chris’s private office.  He stood in the doorway as his friend moved to stare out the window, over the dreary vista of Denver in November.  And he noticed, with a warm wash of approval, that the shelves, walls and desktop were once again graced by images and mementoes of their missing teammate.

“Shut the door, Buck.”  Chris stood silently as Buck obliged, pulling the door closed and moving further into the office.

“You were in early this morning.”

Chris nodded.  “Went to Vin’s.  Waited for him to come home.”  He turned away from the window, anxious eyes meeting Buck’s.  “He didn’t, Buck.  I waited until after four.  No sign of him.  No point going home, and I knew I wouldn’t sleep.  So I came in and took care of some stuff.”  His eyes flickered as he glanced at the framed photo taking pride of position on his bookcase.  Buck’s brows furrowed as he realized the image had a new frame.  “And I still can’t get him to answer the phone.”

Buck sighed.  “Well, I hate to point this out, ol’ buddy, but we all know what Vin does when he’s upset.  Doesn’t surprise me that he’d take off for the hills.”

Chris shook his head, rubbing his forehead tiredly and turning back to the window.  “That was my first thought as well.  But… I don’t think so, Buck.  I… There… I just have this feeling.  I think he’s in trouble.”

Grasping the other man’s shoulder, Buck pulled Chris around to face him.  “Hey, Chris.  You aren’t exactly at your best right now.  You’re tired, you’ve been on a temper high all week.  Don’t surprise me that you’re feeling a bit off.  And you’re fussing over that boy, so of course you’re gonna figure he’s in trouble.”  He grinned gently.  “Hey, we always figure he gets himself in trouble soon as we let him out without a minder.  But this is Vin.  Despite our knee-jerk mothering, there ain’t nobody I know better at taking care of himself.”

Chris stared at him for a moment, then dropped his gaze, shaking his head slowly.  “That’s what I’ve been telling myself for the past eight hours.  But I…  Damn!”

He turned sharply back to the desk, grabbing a stack of folders and papers and shoving them roughly into his brief case.

“I’ve got no choice, Buck.  I have to go to this damned administrators’ meeting.”  He dragged the case off the desk, then turned back to Buck.  “Just promise me that you’ll try calling him.  And if this waste of time holds me past five, go by his place and check it out.”

Buck nodded, gently escorting the other man toward the office door.  “I’ll call, and I’ll check.  I’ll look for his stuff, check out the jeep and the Harley.  Keep your mind on your stupid meeting, and trust me.  I’ll let you know.”

Chris stopped at the door, meeting Buck’s eyes.  “You know I do.  Trust you, I mean.   But I’m sure something’s happened to him.”

“You got it, pard.  I’m takin’ you seriously.  We’ll find him.  You still gotta have that little talk, I reckon.”

Chris’s mouth twisted. 

“Oh, yeah.  I’ve got a lot I have to tell him.  Find him, Buck.”

Buck glanced at the clock.  One forty-five.  Damn, nothing like paperwork to make an afternoon last forever.

At least he was nearly finished with the assessment report from the sims this morning.  Nothing like a smooth exercise to make for an easy report.

Smiling in satisfaction, he sent his completed report to the printer.  A few moments later, he held his arm out, not bothering to look.  He’d heard Ezra head for the printer, and wasn’t surprised when the pages of his own report dropped into his hand.

“Some day, Mister Wilmington, your legs will atrophy and drop off your body.”

“Nah, my legs get lots of exercise, Slick.  But there’s no point in wasting them when you’re available.  I got much better plans for ‘em.”

He grinned at the Southerner’s well-dressed back as the other man continued on toward Chris’s office, free hand shaping an obscene gesture over his shoulder.

Chuckling, he turned his attention to the file on the Mellin case.  Standish was a real stitch.   All that garbage about what gentlemen did and did not do, say, wear.  But given the appropriate moment, the man could be as crude as a two-bit gangsta rapper.

Half an hour later, he was deeply into figuring out the complex case being developed by Team Five.  Damn, this was a nasty one.

The ring of his desk phone startled him, and he grabbed the handset to silence the racket as quickly as possible.  He didn’t recognize the number shown in the caller ID.

“Wilmington.”

“Hey, Buck.  How’s it hanging?”

“Hey, Nicky!  How’s the DPD treating you these days?”  Grinning at the familiar voice, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out to the side of the desk.

“Can’t complain.  Things are a lot quieter around the station since you jumped ship.”

Buck laughed.  “Well, quiet ain’t exactly the way I’d describe a typical day around here.  Maybe I’ll lend you JD for a while, just so you guys’ll know how good you got it.”

Laughter tickled his ear.  “Pass, buddy.  Uh… This isn’t exactly a social call, Buck.”

Buck sat up, sobering.  “Yeah?  Whatcha got, Nick.”

“I’m thinking you’ve got a man named Tanner on your team.  Right?”

A frisson of fear crept down Buck’s spine.

“Did have.”

A sigh, then a pause.  “Um… any chance you can get away and…”  Nick’s hesitant voice faded.

“Nick, what the hell are you talking about?  And how is Vin Tanner involved?”

“Look, Buck.  This isn’t official.  We’re not asking for ATF interference.  But Tanner’s name has come up in a new case.  I think you want in on this.”

“God damn it, Nick!  What the fuck is this about?”

“It’s not something I want to discuss on the phone, Buck.  But… I’m also thinking I remember this guy Tanner is a friend.  You need to come down here.”

Buck lurched to his feet.  “Gotcha.  The station…?”

“No,” Nick interrupted.  “Here’s the address…”

Buck scribbled the location on the corner of his desk blotter.

“And Buck… This is a crime scene.  Use your head coming in.”

“Yeah, okay.  I’ll be there in… twenty minutes.  Less if I can dodge your buddies in their blue suits.”

“Thanks, Buck.  I’m thinking this is going to be important, so don’t drag your feet.”

Grabbing a scrap of paper, Buck copied the address and shoved it into his pocket.

“Josiah!” he shouted across the room.  “I gotta go!”

“Buck?”  The profiler stood and moved between Buck and the door.  “It’s not even two thirty yet.  You planning on gettin’ me in trouble with the boss?”

Buck met Josiah’s eyes, pouring his distress through his own, willing the other man to recognize his desperation.

“I gotta go, Josiah.”

Sanchez tilted his head, contemplating his teammate.  Slowly, he began to nod. 

“Go.  But report back.”

“When I can.  If I can.”

“Good enough.” 

Buck grabbed his jacket and fled.

Buck paused outside the building, feeling the chill in the air seep into his spirit.  Crime scene people were working around the door and along the floor and walls in the hallway. 

He could see the blood, on the ground, on the glass of the door, on the grimy walls.

Oh, God, Junior.

He showed his ID, then eased past the people in the entryway, feeling their dubious gazes as he carefully avoided the more obvious bits of evidence they were examining. 

The hallway, the steps, the upper corridor.  All along, the streaks and splotches of blood.  It was hard to decide where to step to avoid contaminating what might be important evidence.

He had to show his ID again at the door to the apartment.  He swallowed hard, staring at the very bloody body sprawled just inside.  The officer’s touch on his shoulder startled him.

“Be careful coming through the door, Agent Wilmington.  Detective Adamson is in the bedroom.”

Buck nodded and stepped cautiously over the dead man.  The man’s chest had been torn apart by multiple gunshot wounds.  But he’d clearly dropped where he was assaulted.  So where did all the rest of the gore come from?

“Buck”

Buck dragged his stunned gaze from the body, and held out his hand to the tall, thin man stepping through an inner door.

“Nick.  What the hell happened here?  And Vin… Dear God, don’t tell me he’s…”  His eyes were fixed on that inner doorway.

“Easy, buddy.  He’s not here.  But…”  The man shook his head.  “Here, you might as well see the rest of it, then I’ll explain.  It’s complicated and, well, nasty.”

Buck followed the other man toward that back room, belly tightening with apprehension.  He paused and glanced back over the front room.  There were more blood tracks dragging across the dingy carpet, bloody hand prints on the door and smeared on the handle.  Oddly, the bloody carpet in the center of the room was littered with tiny, fluffy white feathers.  Breathing deeply, he turned and moved into the other room.

“Shit!” he spat as he stepped through the door.  “God damn, if that ain’t a sight to make you lose your dinner!”

Another body sprawled beside the filthy bed.  A big man, clothing stained with blood, with a fat, blood-smeared cock hanging out the front of his worn jeans.  And a stringy-haired head that couldn’t possibly function properly at that angle.

“No argument there, Buck.  Check this out…”

Buck tore his eyes away from the repulsive body to examine the bed.  The sheets were stained with blood.  A lot of blood. 

He moved gingerly past the body toward the head of the bed, taking in the fresh abrasions on the wooden corner post, the knife dropped apparently haphazardly on the edge of the mattress.

At Nick’s touch on his shoulder, he turned to the pile of shredded fleece in the corner of the room.

And felt that chill, right to the core of his heart.  Because he was sure he knew those sweat pants.  Or at least he’d known them when they were sweat pants.

Oh, damn, damn, damn.  Chris, I will never doubt you again.

Nick gripped his shoulder.  “Come on back out here, Buck.  I’ll tell you what we’ve got.”

Numbly, Buck escaped back into the relatively calming outer room.  What the hell?  What the hell had happened here?

He yielded to pressure on his shoulders and dropped into a cheap kitchen chair, feeling the thud as his elbows impacted against the Formica surface of a battered table.  Suddenly weak, he allowed his heavy head to drop onto his cupped hands.

“Sorry, Buck.  I’d planned to meet you downstairs, let you know what you were walking in to.”  A gentle hand patted Buck’s shoulder.

“Tell…”  Buck cleared his tight throat.  “Tell me what the hell this is all about, Nick.”

He lifted his head as a glass mug of water appeared in front of him.  Nodding gratefully, he took a gulp, carefully avoiding any thought of the possible condition of a glass found in this place.

Nick sank into the chair beside him.  “Earlier today, a young woman came into the station, claiming that she’d been assaulted.  Yesterday.”  He shook his head ruefully.  “Why the hell she waited so long…  Anyway, she said two men jumped out of a van and grabbed her.  Location was a few blocks from here, in one of those blasted blind alleys.”

Buck nodded, lifting his eyes to meet the other man’s.  “Let me guess.  Robin Hood appeared and saved her.”

Nick’s lips curved in a tiny smile.  “How’d you guess?”

“You said Vin’s involved.  Robin Hood.”

“Yeah?”  Nick’s brow arched with interest.  “Sounds like a good man, if a bit reckless.”

Buck choked on a bitter laugh.  “You have no idea.”

“She said this man—Tanner, we assume--came tearing down the alley, shouting and throwing himself at the kidnappers.  Yelled at her to run, and laid into them.  So… she ran.  Last she knew, they were still fighting.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, damn.  Looks like the bad guys won.”

Buck’s fist clenched.  “Not unless the bastards cheated!  I’ve never seen two thugs Vin couldn’t take on one-handed!”

Nick made soothing sounds and stood to refill the mug.

“So… this woman comes in and says she was attacked.  How does that get you here?”

“Would you believe, she memorized the license.”

Feeling his jaw drop, Buck stared at the detective.  “Damn, man.  They never get the plate!”

“I know.”  Nick’s head shook in wonder.  “Thank God she did, or we might never have known what or who.  Plate was registered to a Wilbur Kaioty.  The DB in the bedroom is the lucky winner, and the lease to this place is in his name.  The other man’s ID says he’s Edward Jenner.  They are not exactly unknown to local authorities.  A pair of local thugs.  Not very bright, too big and strong for anyone’s good.  Between them, they’ve collected quite a list of small-scale offenses and short jail terms.”

Buck dropped his gaze to the mug, felt his fingers tightening dangerously around the cheap glass.  He knew he didn’t want to know the answer to his next question.

“So, Nick.”  He coughed, knowing the obstruction in his throat wasn’t due to anything he could dislodge.  “So, how did Vin’s name come into this?”

Gently, the other man eased a beat-up wallet and a set of keys onto the table.

Buck felt the blood drain from his face.  He knew those keys, knew that leather tag with the running horse etched into it.  And the wallet…

He reached out with slow care and nudged the wallet open, finding himself staring into the challenging face of his missing friend.  He’d given Vin a lot of grief about that photo.  Looked like he was about to pull a gun on the unfortunate photographer.

“Oh damn.”  His voice broke as he ran shaking fingers over the plastic-covered image.  “Damn, Junior.  I’m so sorry.”

“So I take it this is your Tanner, right?”

Buck nodded wordlessly. 

Nick leaned back, drawing a deep breath.  “You know what we figure they did, don’t you?”

A harsh bark of laughter forced itself past the lump in Buck’s throat.  “Oh, yeah.  Pretty clear.”

“What I don’t get is… what happened after?  I mean, where is he?  All the signs indicate that he’s got to be in pretty bad shape.  Who killed those two bastards?”

Buck squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in stunned sorrow.  “You just gotta really look at it, Nick.”  He lifted his head and stared at the door to that room of horrors.  “I’d bet any amount you name Vin’s the one killed these two.  I can’t tell you how, but I know that boy.”  He turned back to his old friend.  “And you have never met anyone with the kind of grit that sorry-assed Texan’s got.”  Fiercely, he choked down the useless screams of fury fighting to escape from his throat.  “He broke that filthy fucker’s neck.  And the other guy… well, Vin’s the best man with a gun you’ll ever see.  Only thing about that not typical of Vin is he used more than one bullet.”  He dragged in a noisy, heaving breath, then spat bitterly, “Guess he can be excused this once.” 

Nick’s brow furrowed as he gazed around the room.  He stood and moved into the living room, eyes following the bloody marks from the back room to the body slumped in the doorway.

“So… somehow he kills Kaioty, somehow gets his hands on a gun.  Not so strange… Idiots like these two always need to have guns around.”

His gaze swept over the pattern of bloody streaks ranging across the carpet.  It didn’t take much imagination to see them as the dragging trails of a crawling body.

“He drags himself out, but doesn’t make it before Jenner walks in.  Wonder where the bastard went?”

“What the shit does it matter where he went?” Buck snapped.

Nick shrugged apologetically, then went back to contemplating the marks on the rug.

“Your boy empties his clip into Jenner…”  He moved carefully past the body into the hall.  “… And drags himself out.”

Buck followed him into the corridor and let his gaze follow the rusty red smears down the hall’s dingy carpet.

“So… Still got a few questions.  Actually, I’ve got just two big ones.”

Buck lifted an eyebrow in question.

“I guess the biggest one is, well, where the hell is he?  Coroner makes the time of death for our DB’s between three and six this morning.  It was damn cold out.  I’ve had a team out checking the local alleys and dumpsters.”

Buck winced.

“No joy.  No body, no passed out victim.  Nothing from the hospitals or the morgues.  Where the hell did he go?”

Buck leaned back against the wall, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes.  How the hell did he get so damned tired?

“I figure I can answer that.  This is Vin’s neighborhood.  Where would you go if you were hurting and kind of confused?”

Nick’s brows rose.  “He lives in Purgatorio?  Shit, what do they pay you Feds, anyway?”

Buck scowled, perversely angered at Nick making exactly the observation he and the rest of the team had so often made.  “His choice, Nick.  But I figure he went home.”

The detective nodded sharply.  “Okay, then. Let’s check.  Because I figure that young man needs help.”

Thankfully, Buck moved away from the gruesome apartment, following down the stairs and into the street.

“Hey, Nick.  You said two questions…”

“Oh, yeah.”  The other man leaned over to unlock his car, then turned to Buck.  “What the hell is he wearing?”

Part 7