PROLOGUE

     The hum of the engine was soothing. Almost eight-year-old Vin, settled happily in his booster seat next to Chris, was enamored by the play of headlights over the wet asphalt in the darkness. With each turn in the road the silver rays probed the darkness and then swept around to reveal their path in trusted brightness. Where the light ventured off road, bright patches of snow caused the beam to explode into a galaxy of sparkles. That sight, coupled with the rare alone time with his adopted dad, were things to be savored with every one of his almost eight year old senses and Vin did so with silent appreciation.

It was cold outside. He could feel the aura of it emanating from the side window near his face. When he leaned toward it, the little boy could feel the temperature drop with each inch but the heat blasting on his feet from the truck’s vents thoroughly warmed him.  The cab had a slight tang of damp leather and enveloped him in comfort. Vin saw Chris glance his way and smile, making him grin in return. They didn’t need words to communicate their feelings.

It was dark outside because the side road they had chosen to take home had no artificial illumination to spoil the night. Through the broad windshield Vin caught glimpses of a star-splattered sky beyond the tips of winter-bare trees whose branches reached up like needy children. The nearly full moon played peek-a-boo between their boney fingers.

Like the trees, Vin wished he would stand on his toes and touch the stars. He imagined they would feel cool and sharp, like diamonds. He’d seen a diamonds once in a store window, glittering against black velvet like ice.  He didn’t get to look at them too long, though, before being shooed away like a stray dog. “That’s what I must have looked like when I lived in the warehouse,” he realized. “A hungry dog.” He hugged Cat closer, the stuffed toy representing how his life had changed.

Vin’s thoughts turned inward as he mulled over the past and especially the last two years. So much change and all for the better since he’d found Chris. Or Chris had found him. Cat, his adopted dad’s first gift to him, was one of his most cherished possessions and a constant reminder of how much he’d grown from his time of living in a warehouse.

“Looks like you’re havin’ some heavy thoughts,” Chris said softly. He released one hand from the steering wheel and stroked Vin’s hair, smiling. “You okay?”

Again, Vin warmed. He smiled at his dad. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Chris grinned. “I bet Cat was glad to get out for awhile.”

Vin rolled his eyes. “Dad, he’s just a toy!” Still, he laughed shortly and stroked Cat’s back.

“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting.” Chris chuckled as he returned his hand to the wheel. It was wonderful to see the boy acting like a boy. At times, Vin seemed to carry the world on his narrow, bony shoulders and for a long time after they had come together Vin was wary, reserved and skittish. “Want some music?” he offered. “You can choose.”

“Nah. I like the quiet.”

“Yeah, it’s nice, huh? There’s something about winter, moonlight and the open road.”

“”n no JD talkin’.”  

Chris snorted and glanced at Vin again. “I do love the boy, but quiet is nice on occasion.”  

Vin giggled again.  His acquired little brother didn’t really have an ‘off’ switch and tended to wear most everyone in their extended family down. He sighed and let the smooth hum of the Dodge engine soothe him as he dropped his head back onto the seat back, Cat cradled safely and snugly in his arms.  

The truck vent blew a gentle heat that made him drowsy. Vin’s eyes slipped closed, his body completely and totally relaxed. He was lulled into that floaty phase of pre-sleep by comforting warmth and contentment when the truck suddenly jerked violently to one side. His head knocked against the side window. Vin’s eyes snapped open as Chris spat an expletive.  

“SHIT!”  

Vin felt a hard thud and then a blur of brown flew toward him. He saw the deer’s shiny, dark eye ringed white in terror a fraction of a moment before the windshield exploded and his world slammed into darkness.  

CHAPTER ONE  

     Buck glanced at the wall clock and debated his next move. It was a few minutes before ten P.M. and Chris was now three hours late. If he were a single man Buck would smile at the thought that maybe his friend and roommate was getting lucky – that Allison Watkins sure was a looker and she’d made it abundantly clear at the budget meeting this afternoon that her sights were on Chris. But neither he nor Chris were really single anymore since adopting two homeless boys, and Buck knew that Chris had ducked out of today’s meeting early to take Vin to the dentist. Then he’d called Buck to declare it “boys’ night out” so he could take Vin to an early dinner and movie.  

Buck chuffed softly. Chris sure did “get lucky”, but the definition had certainly changed in the past couple of years! His gaze drifted to the clock again as his hand absently stroked the cuddled lump in his lap. JD was deeply asleep yet still squirmed like a pile of worms. Buck adjusted his legs to keep his adopted son from sliding off his lap and tucked the loosened quilt snugly around him.  

The movie should have been over by seven o’clock . If they’d had to attend a later showing, Chris would have called. Now Buck was worried. His cell phone was in the other room and the house phone was in the kitchen. Was he worried enough, though, to dislodge the snoozing bundle in his lap?  

Yes, he was. Gently, Buck twisted and lowered his long legs from the couch, gathering up JD as he moved. By the time he settled the boy into the lower bunk and returned to the kitchen it was a quarter past ten. He snatched up the kitchen phone and dialed Chris’ cell.  

“Mercy General,” a female voice replied, momentarily stunning Buck.  

“What? Who is this?” he demanded as his heart rate increased.  

“This is Nurse Simmons at Mercy General Hospital . Are you related to Christopher Larabee? I have his cell phone.”  

“No. Yes. I mean, I have his medical power of attorney. What happened?”  

“It seems, Mr. . . ?"

“ Wilmington . Buck Wilmington.”  

“Mr. Wilmington, Mr. Larabee has been in an accident and was air lifted to us.”  

Buck fought to keep his voice low and began to pace the kitchen. “Why wasn’t he taken to Four Corners ?”  

“Mercy General is the designated trauma center for major injuries. Mr. Larabee is alive, but he’s been severely injured. It seems he hit a deer and then swerved into a tree. He’s been unconscious.”  

“What about Vin?” Buck breathed.  

There was a hesitation. “Vin?”  

“Yeah, his son. Vin was with him.”  

“Mr. Larabee came in alone. I didn’t hear anything about a passenger. The boy could have been transported to Four Corners if he wasn’t badly hurt.”  

That didn’t make sense to the anxious agent. If Vin weren’t badly hurt, he or a nurse would have called home. If he was badly hurt, he would have been transported with Chris. Suddenly, Buck felt sick.  

“What agency responded to the crash?” he asked, now all business. “Where did it happen?”  

The next part of the hour was frantic, both cell and house phones utilized in Buck’s search for information. He got the accident location from the responding agency’s dispatch and sent Josiah to the scene since he lived closest to it. While he waited for the officer handling the report to call, Buck checked every hospital in the area. The county morgue number was at his fingertips but he couldn’t get himself to dial it. Just the thought made his palms sweat and his eyes burn.  

The cell vibrated and Buck snatched it up from the counter. “ Wilmington .”  

“Agent Wilmington ? This is Officer Beckett. I’m taking the paper on Agent Larabee’s crash.”  

“Did you get to the scene before the paramedics?”  

“Yeah. It was relayed by On Star from the truck itself at about 7:10 this evening after the airbags deployed. Good thing, because he was hurt pretty bad.”  

“Did you see Vin? Chris’ eight-year-old son? They were together.”  

The momentary hesitation made Buck’s stomach twist. “No, I didn’t. There was no indication of a passenger at all. Hold on.” Officer Beckett spoke rapidly to someone else. “You sure they were together? My partner checked the area around the truck when we got here, but if the boy was small enough he could have been ejected quite a distance through the windshield. We’re still here taking measurements. We’ll check again and I’ll call you back.”  

Buck could hear Officer Beckett yell to someone prior to disconnecting. He took a deep breath to stop his hands from trembling and immediately called Josiah.  

“Sanchez,” the team profiler answered.  

"Josiah, are you on scene?”  

“Just got here.”  

“They’re looking for Vin. He may have been ejected. Keep me updated, will you?”  

“You don’t have to ask, Buck. It looks like the officer and his partner are the only ones here.” Josiah’s breathing told Buck the agent was walking. “The truck’s been towed already and everyone else is gone. I’m sure they can use the help searching.”  

“Josiah . . .” Buck found it difficult push words through his thickening throat.  

“We’ll find him, Buck. Call Ezra and Nathan to help. It’s pretty dark out here. And if the damage to the tree is any indication, there’s a good chance Vin’s hurt.”  

Buck swallowed, a strangled noise escaping from his mouth.

“I’ll check in regularly,” Josiah said calmly. “Now go call the other guys. We can use ‘em.” Buck was grateful for Josiah’s steadiness.  

“Okay,” Buck managed to choke before hanging up. Every instinct told him to bolt, to get to the scene and look for his other son but he knew he had to be here for JD. He called Nathan and Ezra, telling them what had happened and where to meet Josiah. The conversations were very short.  

With nothing else to do for the moment Buck called Mercy General to get an update on Chris. It was going to be a long night; he just hoped there would be answers by dawn.  

By midnight , Josiah had checked in twice without any news and Buck felt like screaming. He paced a track in the living room rug, even wearing out their two young dogs. Finally, he knew he had to act. Snapping up the phone he started to dial Mrs. Potter, the boys’ regular weekday caretaker, but remembered that she was out of town for the weekend. Nettie? He considered the boys’ old caseworker for a moment but knew she’d recently taken on raising her niece and Buck didn’t want to disrupt the two of them. Raine – no doubt she wasn’t asleep anyway after Nathan had been called away.  

The phone was picked up on the second ring. “Buck? You need me?” she said immediately.  

Buck nearly cried in relief. “Yeah, sweetheart, I do. I don’t want to leave JD and I don’t want to wake him up, either. I don’t want to upset him without any news.”  

“I’m already dressed. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Good thing I know all the local cops from the hospital.”  

That gave Buck a welcomed laugh. “Be careful, woman. It’s dark and cold out there.” When he thought of Vin, his throat constricted and he fought back a sob.  

“I’m on my way.”  

When Raine arrived just before 1:00 Buck burst from the house, pulling on his heavy coat. “Chris is at Mercy General. I’ll call when I know anything. If you hear anything. . .”  

“I’ll call,” she said softly, quickly giving him a wave. “Go.”  

It was just before 2:00 when Buck blew into Mercy’s Emergency Room, demanding to see Chris. Waylaid by a nurse to fill out some paperwork, he hurried through the sheets and then was directed to the second floor, Intensive Care. When he arrived in the area he slowed, looking for the nurse’s station. Once there, a middle aged nurse led him to the center room.  

“He had surgery to stop some bleeding in his abdomen and they had to remove his spleen, according to the doctor. He has a major concussion, a small skull fracture and stitches over his left eye. His left arm and leg are broken, but they broke cleanly and should heal without any problems. Considering what happened, he was lucky to have survived.”  

“He hit a deer?” Buck choked, unable to tear his eyes from the still, bruised form of his friend and boss.  

“Apparently so, then ran into a tree. The deer should have killed him, as far as it was inside the truck, and the truck was wrapped well around the tree. The medics had a time extricating him.”  

Buck watched the monitors flicker blue light across Chris’ face. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only indication that he was alive.  

“You can go in for ten minutes. Talk to him.”  

Nodding, Buck entered the room and found a spot between wires, tubes and IV racks where he could reach Chris’ right hand. Taking it in his own, Buck was shocked at how cold it felt so he covered Chris’ hand with both of his own as he leaned in. “Hey, Chris. I can’t lie, Pard, but I’ve seen ya look better. You just rest and I’ll take care of everything, you hear? Relax while you have a chance.”  

Buck noticed how translucent Chris’ right eyelid was – he could see tiny blue veins running through it like rivers on a roadmap. Heavy bandages, spotted red, covered his left eye and the left side of his forehead. Purpling bruises peeked out from the snowy gauze. “Looks like you’re gonna have a hell of a headache, boss, but hey – you work with Ezra so you’re used to it.” Buck swallowed hard, fighting to keep his cool. “I’ll watch over the boys, Chris, don’t you worry about that one little bit.”  

“Time,” the nurse called softly from the doorway.  

“Gotta go, ol’ son, but I’ll be back, okay? You rest easy. Buck’s in charge now.”  

He carefully laid the cold, still hand back on the mattress and backed away. “How the hell can I tell him we lost Vin?” he thought, his eyes starting to burn again.  

Once out of the room, he turned and fled.

CHAPTER THREE

     Two Years Later  

Buck entered Team Seven's office without looking up, flipping through an open folder as he walked. He paused by his desk, raising his brows at one particular part of a report.  

"Chris here?" he said out loud to no one in particular.  

"He is in his den," Ezra answered, never taking his eyes from his computer screen. "Beware."  

Buck glanced at Chris' closed office door and took the warning to heart. Chris Larabee wasn't one to approach lightly in his best days, but since Vin’s disappearance he’d become beyond unpredictable. “Unhinged” to some and simply “scary” to most, contacting Chris Larabee for any reason was a risky venture, even for his best friend. It had been awhile since the man had come to work hung over, but his mood was just as foul once he was in the office.  

The last two years had fouled him good.  

Buck's heart still clenched when ever he thought of Vin; it probably always would. It had been two years to the day, yesterday. Thoughts were all Buck had of his lost son because after those first, horrible six months, both JD and Chris refused to speak of him. That had lasted about six more months, then the two of them began to mention the boy in passing at home only – numerous and lengthy sessions with JD’s therapist Dr. Will had helped with that breakthrough. JD was the only thing that kept Chris from withdrawing completely into a black abyss and oddly, they seemed to keep each other afloat. At home, Chris was bearable.  

The ragged and ugly scar that carved a home across the left side of Chris’ forehead, though, never changed. It always looked red and angry, his eyebrow split apart like a broken heart. Chris refused to get it fixed; any good plastic surgeon could lessen the shock of it but Chris would have no part of that. First he’d refused to get it fixed because he didn’t want to take away the time from searching for Vin, and later, because . . . well, there was no reason stated later on. Buck figured it was the Larabee version of a hair coat, worn as a reminder to Chris of his failure as a protector and father.  

Everyone healed one event at a time. Chris broke off his close relationship with Jack Daniels by the end of the first year and JD was finally, and regularly, staying in his own bed. They had to shift around all the rooms in the house to achieve that feat. Chris’ den was now in the boy’s old room, along with the remnants of Vin. None of them voiced any desire to put the missing boy’s things entirely away and Dr Will said there was nothing wrong with that. Dr. Will even admitted that he hadn’t put away Vin’s case files, either.  

JD refused to get rid of the bunk beds, though. Buck finally stopped feeling the upper bunk for the huddled form of their long lost family member when he put JD to bed, and he occasionally found JD in Vin’s old bed, wrapped in Vin’s blankets. They healed one step at a time, each in their own way.  

One step at a time - it became a chant every time Buck was tempted to take JD and leave in that first year - one day at a time, one step at a time, one minute at a time, one second at a time. They all lived by that creed for the past two years but at least they were still together as a family even though it felt a bit lopsided at times.  

Buck took a breath, closed the folder and stepped up to the door. After a light rap, he pushed it open and stepped just inside the door frame. "Chris?"  

The office was encased in shadow and smelled sour. He saw the form of his friend and boss pulling up to a sit on the small, worn couch. What minimal light there was reflected off Chris’ pale face, the scar slanting through his eyebrow a black shadow. "What?" Chris growled, knuckling an eye.  

Buck knew by the tone to tread very carefully. They’d all worked long hours lately and were still on edge even though the huge bust in conjunction with the D.E.A. this past week was successfully completed. The ensuing cataloguing and paper work was boring and tiring, wearing them all thin. Especially Chris, who, for the last couple of years, didn't rest much, anyway. Thankfully, the D.E.A. was doing most of the follow-up legwork since the small amount of firearms was only a secondary haul compared to the methamphetamines. Getting the reports to satisfy both agencies was simply tedious.  

Buck stepped inside and snapped on the desk light. Chris blinked at the sudden intrusion and raised a hand to his face. "Shit!" he snarled. "Get it out of my eyes, damn it! Jesus, Buck, what the hell do you want?"  

Narrowing his eyes in the face of Chris' uncalled for rudeness Buck redirected the lamp downward and clenched his teeth to stop an automatic reply. The Larabee temper and drinking were the reasons he’d almost moved out with JD early on. The threat to do so was enough, though – Chris was still smart enough to realize he didn’t want to lose what family he still had.  

"Got some hits on the warrants from the bust," Buck said flatly, dropping the file on the desk. "There's one I thought you'd be interested in, but if you'd rather sit in the dark . . ."  

Chris, now sitting up with his feet on the floor and his head in his hands, cut a sorrowful picture and Buck regretted his snippy reply. Chris' voice was muffled by his hands covering his face, but the misery in his voice was still clear. "Just tell me what it is. I've got a headache."  

Buck accepted the back-handed apology. "Seems one of the addresses the D.E.A. hit had a hidden room that looked like a jail cell. Looks like the some kind of black market child trafficking or something. Hidden, kid-sized bed with a leg chain, dead bolt on the room door, stuff like that. There was a fifteen year old boy living there that finally admitted he'd been abducted years before by the occupant, Harold Evans. Joshua, the fifteen year old, said other boys have been held in the room for the past five years or so. Evans brought Joshua here from back east somewhere."  

Chris continued to rub his eyes, his shoulders a weary slump.  

Buck eyed him and continued. "Anyway, they're running Joshua's prints and DNA to find out who he really is, but Chris, here's the part you might find interesting." He waited until Larabee tilted his head aside and focused one bleary, hazel eye on him. "Seems Harold Evans was in the habit of poaching deer off season and outside the legal hunting areas but was never caught on it. And he owned a 2000 GMC truck. The address is up in Longmont ."  

Now Chris was sitting up and giving Buck his full attention. They'd been fruitlessly down this road many times in the past twenty-four months. The tire tracks Ezra had found near Chris' crash scene, although well-worn, had been deciphered to be a tire normally sold on 1999 through 2002 GMC trucks. And there had been a theory that the deer Chris hit had been chased onto the road by a poacher based on the hastily covered prints at the scene.  

Amazingly, there were a lot of known poachers with that vehicle profile and they'd checked out every single one without results. It had been the same result with every registered sex offender in the area, too. Vin and his captor had simply vanished into thin air.  

"What do you mean, 'owned'? Evans doesn't have the truck anymore?"  

"Well, technically not since Evans was one of the two killed in the raid."  

"Great." Chris mumbled, rubbing his face again. " Longmont 's pretty far away," Chris mused. "Have they interviewed the kid yet?"  

"Briefly. As soon as they heard the jist of his story, they called the Fibbies. They're interviewing him this afternoon."  

Chris stood and snatched up his jacket. "Let's go," he snapped.  

"We haven't been properly invited, you know," Buck reminded him.  

"I'll take care of that."  

Buck laughed shortly. "With the famous Larabee charm? I don't think so. I suggest we try the Standish charm first."  

Chris glared at him as he slipped on his jacket and then stomped to the door. "EZRA!" he bellowed.  

Buck winced. "Yup, the infamous Larabee charm in action," he grumbled as he followed along.  

On their way to the interview Ezra threatened Chris to not open his mouth while in the F.B.I. building. The undercover agent said he called in a lot of favors to get them into the interview area. They would be behind the mirrored glass in the observation area and Chris had to control himself or they'd be tossed out on their collective ears.  

Buck had to admire Ezra’s backbone to stand up to their prickly team leader. Then again, Buck knew Vin’s absence wore on each one of them - it was as if the heart of the team had stopped beating – but Buck thanked God everyday for Ezra. If he hadn’t been around, Buck wasn’t sure JD would have gotten back on track in school so quickly. The undercover agent was essential to JD’s survival in that arena especially with the likes of Eli Joe Chavez and Freddy Chaney on campus. Nights of homework became additional counseling sessions in survival in the real world without a protector. Agent Standish was well qualified in that area.  

Larabee glared at Ezra’s demands but grudgingly acquiesced and now the three of them stood and watched as Joshua Doe entered the interview room with a young agent who made the boy comfortable. Soon, the agent was excused by a pretty blonde female and a tall Hispanic male with F.B.I. ID cards dangling from their necks.  

"Agents Spade and Taylor , from New York ," Ezra said lowly. "It seems that the boy, Joshua Daniels, was taken from Central Park six years ago."  

Chris' stomach inadvertently flipped, knowing exactly how the parents must have felt. He felt his teeth squeak as his jaws clenched.  

"Hi," the woman said sitting next to Joshua. "My name is Samantha and this is Danny. We're F.B.I. agents from New York . We've been looking for you for a long time, Joshua."  

The boy smiled tentatively then dropped his eyes and fidgeted without speaking.  

Buck snorted softly. "Samantha Spade. Poor gal." He shrugged when Chris frowned at him. "Easy on the eyes, though." Chris rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the interview.  

"Your mom and dad have been very worried. They can't wait to see you." Danny stood with one hip hitched on the far end of the table, giving the boy space. He smiled when Joshua glanced at him.  

"They . . . they're safe?" Joshua whispered.  

"They're safe and on their way here. Did someone want to hurt them?" Samantha kept her voice light.  

"He . . . he said he'd kill them if I left the house."  

"Harold Evans told you that?"  

"Harry," Joshua corrected. "He said to call him Harry."  

"Your parents are fine, Joshua. Everything will be okay. Harry can't hurt you or any one else any more."  

Joshua nodded and whispered, "Okay."  

Chris didn't think the boy was entirely convinced.  

"Did Harry threaten other boys?"  

Joshua looked around nervously and nodded. "He'd keep them for awhile and then they'd just be gone one day. I don't know why he kept me. He called my 'his only son.'"  

There was a slight pause. "Do you know where any of the boys went? Or where they came from?"  

Joshua shook his head. "I didn't ask. He hit me if I asked questions."  

Chris clenched his jaw unimaginably tighter. Buck's hand found a place on his upper back.  

"I know this is hard, Joshua, but we want to help those other boys. Do you want to help them, too, now that Harry can't hurt you?"  

Joshua hesitated a moment before nodding briefly. "How can I help them?"  

Samantha placed her hand on the boy's shoulder. Chris could see him lean slightly into her in a motion reminiscent of Vin - he'd lean into Chris the same way whenever Chris put his arm around his shoulders. Chris’ eyes burned and his breath hitched once. Buck squeezed his shoulder, acknowledging the pain.

"You can help by telling us any names you remember. If you spoke to the boys, anything they said that may help us to identify them. What they looked like. Anything can help, Joshua, any little thing. Can you do that?"  

Joshua took a deep breath and Samantha took out a notebook and opened it. The boy seemed to relax a little. "When Harry would go out I'd sometimes talk to the boys through the door. I wanted them to stop crying."  

"That's nice of you, Joshua," Danny said softly. “I’m sure they were scared.”  

Joshua nodded. "One boy said his name was Ryan. There was a . . . Matt, a Jeffrey . . . um, Steven. Mark . . ." Joshua was ticking off with his fingers as he said the names. "Um . . . I can't remember any more. One kid asked for his dad. Usually they asked for their mom."  

"But there were more? All boys?"  

Joshua nodded. "Yeah. There was one time I thought there was a girl but it was a boy with long hair."  

Chris stiffened where he stood then fumbled for his wallet. Buck kept his hand on Chris' shoulder, afraid he'd bolt. Ezra moved in closer. Chris' shaky fingers managed to pull out Vin's last school photo from his wallet and he looked to Ezra, who picked up the viewing room phone. In the interview room, Danny picked up the receiver.  

"I have a photo to show him," Ezra said much too calmly for Chris' taste. "May I bring it?"  

Chris saw Danny say yes and hang up the phone. Ezra took the photo and slipped by his partners and out of the viewing room. Chris sank down in the closest chair, his suddenly watery legs unable to hold him any longer. He watched as Danny opened the door and took the photo from Ezra. When the door was gently closed, Danny turned toward the boy.  

"Joshua? Can you look at this picture and tell me if you recognize this boy?"  

Joshua nodded and took the picture. He frowned.  

"Come on," Chris whispered.  

"Maybe. I think so . . ." Joshua said, still frowning. Then he shook his head. "The hair looks like what I saw, and the eyes, but I didn't see his face too much."  

Buck dropped his hand from Chris' shoulder and ran it through his own hair as Chris slumped.  

"Why's that? He didn't let you see the boys?"  

"Sure, I'd help with 'em, but that boy was trouble. That's what Harry said . . . trouble. He kicked 'n bit 'n stuff and Harry didn't want me to get hurt so I didn't go in there much. He wasn't there too long. Was real quiet, too, when Harry was gone."  

Samantha and Danny exchanged looks and Danny glanced quickly at the mirrored glass. Chris felt sick.  

"Where did the boys go, Joshua?" Danny asked casually. "Do you know?"  

That question got Chris and Buck's attention again.  

Joshua shook his head and handed the photo back. "I'm not sure about the others, but the long haired one got traded."  

"For what?"  

Joshua looked decidedly nervous again. "Um . . . pills and things. To keep the boys quiet. A bike an' a PS2 for me. A car – kinda beat up, but Harry said I could drive it when I was old enough."  

"Did he give you pills, Joshua?"  

"Sometimes, at first. Not for the last year or so."

 "Really? Do you know why he stopped giving them to you?"  

The boy became nervous and looked down. "Because I told him I wouldn't leave," Joshua said quietly, again fiddling with his fingers. "He said he trusted me. I just . . . didn’t think I could leave. That he’d hurt me or kill m’parents."  

He started to cry and Samantha put her arm around him again, murmuring quietly. Danny left the room and soon entered the viewing room. He handed the photo back to Ezra. "It's possible," he said. "We've collected lots of samples from the place to run DNA testing."  

"Has Joshua been examined?" Ezra asked.  

"Yes, there's been a thorough physical done," Danny said, flipping through the file.  

"Was he abused?" Ezra's question drew hard stares from Chris and Buck.  

"Yes, he was. Sexually, physically and obviously mentally." Danny Taylor glanced over to Chris when Ezra returned the photo. "It's a good thing Harold Evans is dead because I'd hate to lose my job for beating him to death," he said matter-of-factly.  

The comment broke the tense atmosphere a bit as Chris dropped his head, his jaw muscles rippling under his skin. Buck nodded, numb.  

When the phone buzzed, all of them jumped. Danny picked up the receiver. " Taylor ." He nodded at what he heard and said, "Thanks. He'll be ready," and hung up the phone. "Gotta go. Joshua's parents are in route from the airport."  

“Would it be possible for our agency, that is, us,” Ezra indicated the three of them, “to look at the evidence taken from the house?”  

“Sure. I’ll leave word with the tech that you can look at it. You know your way to Evidence?”  

"Yes. And thank you Agent Taylor," Ezra said politely, offering his hand. Taylor shook it with a nod.  

"It had to be him," Chris insisted on their way to Evidence. "Did you hear? Vin would fight. He'd fight."  

Buck exchanged a glance with Ezra as the three of them walked abreast through the hallway. "It's possible, Chris. Vin's DNA is on file and we've alerted them, so we just have to wait."  

"It's been so long, Buck. Do you really think any DNA is left in that place, the place where he was kept?" Chris' voice cracked and his voice dropped. "Did you see the photos of the room? No windows. Dark. Vin would have gone crazy." The team leader's voice shook as his throat tightened. He swallowed hard, fury obviously on the rise by the way he clenched his hands.  

No one said any more until they reached Evidence. Ezra signed them in and they were directed to a large set of shelves to one side, stuffed with labeled cardboard boxes.  

“Those boxes are what we have so far. There’s more stuff in the Lab.” The clerk pointed to an empty table against the wall. “You can use that table but make sure the items are returned to the boxes they came from.”  

“Thank you,” Ezra said.  

Buck had already removed the lid from one box and was rifling through the bagged contents. Ezra lifted down another box but Chris didn’t move. Instead, he stood staring at the dozens of various sized containers looking a bit shell shocked. The other two glanced his way a few times before he finally chose a box and brought it to the table.  

They’d gone through several boxes in tense silence, none of them commenting on any of the items they examined, obviously sickened by where the items had come from. Nearly an hour passed when Chris gasped. Buck and Ezra’s heads shot up to see their boss holding up a sealed, plastic bag that contained what looked like a very large, squashed dust bunny.  

“It’s Cat,” Chris said, dazed, eyes locked on the filthy stuffed animal inside.  

Buck stepped closer, Ezra at his side. “You sure?” Buck, though, knew Chris was right as soon as he got close enough to see more detail. “My God, Chris,” he whispered. He reached out and touched the bag.  

Chris noticeably paled. His first gift to Vin looked mange-ridden and physically stressed, the tail hanging on by a few threads and one eye missing, but it was definitely Vin’s Cat. The bag shook as Chris’ grip became white-knuckled.  

“We need to get that to the Lab immediately,” Ezra said quickly. “We need to confirm . . .”  

“I don’t need to confirm anything,” Chris said dangerously. “It’s Cat.”  

“I know that and you know that, Mr. Larabee, but the F.B.I. still requires physical confirmation. I am sure I can expedite the process.” Ezra paused, both his and Buck’s attention on their boss. They knew it would be difficult for Chris to let go of the only connection he had to his lost son. Slowly, Ezra reached out and took hold of one side of the bag, waiting for any acknowledgement from Chris.  

Buck put a hand on Chris’ shoulder. “Come on, Chris. The sooner they get to it, the sooner we get Cat back.”  

Without another word, Chris released the bag and stormed from the Evidence Room. Ezra and Buck quickly repacked the boxes and filled out the requested forms for testing on the stuffed animal. As Ezra wrote, Buck studied Cat a little closer, saddened by what he saw.  

Vin – or some child – had worried most of the fur from the animal’s stomach and chest and Cat had lost a lot of stuffing from the tear at the base of his tail. Bits of food were stuck to parts of the remaining fur and the animal’s color was definitely off, dark from dirt and what could have been blood. Buck was amazed he could tell it was Cat, but it was.  

They hand carried the toy to the Lab, and then went to find Chris. Larabee was waiting for them by the Ezra’s car, pacing a tight track in the snow. Wordlessly, they got in the vehicle and headed home with Chris in the back seat. Silence hung heavy. After a while, Buck heard ragged breathing from behind him.  

"Chris," Buck said gently, turning around to get his friend's attention. "Chris . . ."  

"Stop the car!" Chris suddenly ordered, startling Ezra. "I SAID PULL OVER AND STOP THE CAR!"  

Ezra pulled off the road quickly and Chris was out of the back seat before they came to a full stop. 

"Shit!" Buck yelped, fumbling with his seatbelt before leaping out to follow his boss into the roadside woods.  

Chris simply ran for a while and then came to an abrupt stop, pulling out his duty weapon. By the time Buck reached him, Chris had emptied his clip into a downed tree. With the first click of the empty gun, Chris threw it at the trunk and then began pounding the chipped bark with his fists. Blood was already drawn by the time Buck interfered, and when Chris swung at him the glancing blow left a smear of red on Buck's cheek.  

"Oh, God, Buck, I'm sorry," Chris gasped, staggering to keep his feet. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry . . . I can't go home, can't you see that? I can't go home and look JD in the eye. It's too much . . . too. . . much . . . I’ll scare the shit outta him." Breathing heavily, he slumped against a mossy trunk, blood dripping from his dangling hands.  

Buck took a moment to catch his breath and wipe the blood from his face. "Chris," he said. "You have to keep it together, stud. You have to. JD looks up to ya and takes cues from you. You have to be strong or he'll fall apart."  

"That's bullshit, Buck," Chris muttered, also breathing hard. "He looks to you and you know it. He looks to you like Vin . . ." the air seemed vanish from his lungs. ". . . like Vin looked to me."  

Buck let his head drop, shaking it slowly. "No, you don't get it. We're a united front. If we don't mesh, he’ll feel threatened. I can't stand alone again, Pard. You think you're the only one suffering? You're not. We’re in this together. All six of us. When one hurts, we all hurt and I don't think JD needs any more hurt in his life, do you? Huh?"  

Chris took a moment. "No. Of course not. I couldn't stand that."  

"Good. Neither can I so pull yourself together and stand tall. JD needs you, Vin needs you and the rest of the team needs you. I know patience isn’t your thing, but right now all we can do is wait."  

Chris raised his head and focused on his closest friend. His eyes narrowed. "Fuck waiting. We can find every contact Harold Evans had in this state and follow up. I won't just sit and wait."  

Buck cocked his head, considering. "Then neither will I. None of us will so let's get to work, boss."

Ezra looked decidedly relieved when the pair returned to the car. He surreptitiously slipped his cell phone back into his coat pocket, glad he didn’t have to call the others for a Larabee hunt in the cold, snowy woods.  

The last time they’d done that had been a disaster he cared never to repeat.

CHAPTER FIVE

     The rest of the team spent the morning researching the names on Ezra’s list and brainstorming to figure out a way to monitor Ezra’s video conference. Chris was both disappointed and heartened that most of the names on Ezra’s list were already known to them from their investigation into Harold “Harry” Evans, and were either in prison, standing trial or dead. It confirmed the accuracy and thoroughness of his team but each one down was one less hope of finding what happened to Vin.

Faraday, though, was a whole new direction and if he was as connected as Ezra thought, there were more trails out there to follow.  

Ezra was contacted just after noon on his cell and told to go to a local cyber café with the money. He was given a tight time frame to arrive, the name of a public chat room and a moniker to call himself.  

The techs couldn’t trace the cell call as it was a disposable phone. Following a trail from a cyber café wouldn’t be impossible, but would definitely take some time and Faraday – or whoever showed on the connection - would be long gone by the time they did so. Still, they scrambled to follow on the leads.  

“Careful” and “paranoid” didn’t seem to quite cover the nature of Faraday and Chris didn’t like it. Things were moving too quickly and Ezra was already worn thin. If Faraday kept them on the run like this, they would have no advantage. Chris argued with Ezra about backing off, but Standish insisted that if they did, Faraday would be lost for good. The undercover agent would have no part of stopping the deal because of him.  

And, of course, things went the way they shouldn’t. At the video conference, once the talking head on the other side saw the case of money a time was set for the buy. It wasn’t negotiable. The buy would be in four hours.  

Chris was pressured to move quickly and that rankled him. He also wasn’t happy with the time Faraday chose – the buy would take place in the twilight time between dusk and dark, which was an awkward, dicey time for any kind of surveillance. They would need both day and night vision equipment, and with no time to prepare the scene, they would need more manpower to monitor. And more manpower meant more chances of detection.  

Every instinct told Chris to turn this one down – it was his gut versus his good sense and an internal battle raged right up to the moment they staged.  

“I gotta buy some stock in antacid companies,” Josiah joked as Chris threw back another pair of chewable tablets. Josiah earned a steely glare from their leader and threw up his hands. “I surrender!” he said, eyes sparkling as he stepped away and headed to Ezra’s car. The big profiler was posing as Ezra’s bodyguard. He folded into the car and pair departed. It was almost show time.  

Nathan sidled up to his boss. “Ezra looks tired,” he commented lowly.  

“He can rest all he wants in a couple of hours.” Chris continued to adjust his vest.  

“Chris, I’m not sure . . .”  

“Look,” Chris snapped. “Standish knows his limits. He’s not stupid. This won’t take long and I’ll make sure he takes some time off.” Nathan nodded, but didn’t drop his eyes. After a few moments, Chris glanced back at him. “What?”  

“You too, Chris. You take some time off, too. Don’t make me go over your head to Travis.” Nathan stood his ground in the face of a deadly glare.  

Without another word on the subject, he checked his weapons and loaded up. “Get to your post, Nathan. It’s time.”  

Team seven, along with team two, dissolved into the night when they arrived at the meeting area. Faraday had chosen an unlighted, outdoor parking facility in an industrial district that was practically empty on a weekend. There wasn’t any place for a cover sniper, or any cover nearby that would do any good in a firefight. Instead, they had to rely on numbers and absolute concealment.  

It also crossed Chris’ mind that Faraday could just be testing Ezra, and this was all a dry run to see if Standish was legitimate. And if Faraday was a paranoid as Ezra suspected, this was a possibility Larabee couldn’t dismiss.  

As he settled into his place, Chris couldn’t ignore the tingle that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Were they being watched? Only time would tell. Chris had taken all the precautions he could think of and a few suggested others so he shoved the nagging notions into one of the many dark corners of his mind.  

Most of the team seven was sequestered out of sight, close to where Ezra and Josiah waited.  Because of their proximity, they sacrificed a direct visual picture and used team two spotters positioned farther away. Microphones were hidden around the parking area instead of on the Standish and Sanchez. It was a precarious set-up. Chris hoped that if either of his men spoke the codeword to move the rest of them would hear it.  

Chris didn’t like having to trust another team's eyes, but it was the best they could do under the circumstances – as long as they weren’t already being observed. Chris sighed at his own paranoia and mumbled, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get ya.” He settled in and touched his ear bud. For now, all he could do was listen.  

As shadows of dusk began its descent into the darkness of night, rumbling and grinding gears announced the arrival of a box truck. It was time.  

Ezra slipped from the sleek BMW while Josiah unfolded from the passenger side. As the bodyguard, Josiah moved between Ezra and the arriving van, his hand resting on the butt of the automatic on his hip. The truck leisurely circled around the pair, finally stopping nose to nose with the BMW. Another vehicle, a smaller SUV, pulled up behind Ezra’s car, effectively blocking it.  

Two men exited from each vehicle. One man from the box truck walked to the back and the agents heard the sound of the back rolling door being opened. Ezra focused on the smaller, well-dressed man approaching from the SUV and faced him as Josiah eyed the remaining musclemen. They didn’t like the feeling of being surrounded but stood quietly with arms held out as they both were checked for wires.  

“Mr. Faraday?” Ezra greeted the lead man, whom he recognized from the video conference.  

“Nope,” was all the man said.  

“I was under the impression that Mr. Faraday would be joining us,” Ezra said casually as he shrugged his coat back in place.  

“Not this time,” the man informed him. “Money?"  

“I have the requested compensation for the goods.” Ezra nodded to Josiah, who reached inside the sedan and pulled out a metal case. He held it as Ezra dialed in the code and opened it. Ezra then stood between it and the speaker. “You understand my reluctance to render payment without inspecting the order,” he said.  

“I do. And when you’ve seen the guns, we get the cash and you get the truck and contents, as agreed.” The man dangled the keys from his fingertips.  

“Fair enough.” Ezra accepted the keys and stepped aside to allow the man to inspect the cash. He took a moment to scan the area for any movement or threat from any direction. “I am disappointed for not having the pleasure of meeting Mr. Faraday,” Ezra said casually.  

His mind, however, raced. They wanted Faraday. Should he trust that this person’s declaration that he wasn’t Faraday? With a lifetime of reading people in him, Ezra’s instinct was telling him that the man spoke truthfully. He wasn’t Faraday. In this scenario, they were to let the buy go through and Ezra or Josiah would say the codeword “sunny day,” allowing the deal to conclude without interference. Ezra was prepared to utter the phrase when something in his peripheral vision, in the well of growing darkness at the rear of the suspect’s van, made the agent’s senses tingle.  

Faraday’s spokesman began a verbal rundown on the contents in the truck as he rifled the money, but Ezra’s attention focused instead on something just out of his visual range in the shadows at the rear of the truck. He cast a casual glance beyond Josiah and the goons, looking, perhaps for a suspect hiding in the dark. As he did so, a pale face pushed itself from the blackness into the light at the rear corner of the boxy vehicle.  

The body below the face was shrouded in shadow, accenting the illusion of a ghostly face floating in the inky black. Ezra managed to keep any hint of surprise from his unreadable poker face as his mind quickly took in the fact that the shadowy newcomer was not only short but small featured and definitely young. When his gaze finally fixed on the bottomless blue eyes staring back at him, recognition flared like a blinding nova.  

“Good Lord. Vin!” Ezra realized, managing to drown the utterance of the boy’s name with a hard swallow. It took every morsel of self control to keep from leaping toward the boy; instead, his body twitched as if slapped. Vin, seeing his look of recognition, took a small step forward. Ezra sharply shook his head once, and then tore his stare away hoping Vin would understand the message to not move. Ezra looked to Josiah. The well dressed man noticed the exchange.  

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Thick suspicion tinged the goon’s question, which caused Ezra’s heart to jump another gear.  

The look that reflected back to Ezra from Josiah was one of instant, yet well-contained, alarm. Ezra knew the instant evaporation of his well known outward cool had put Josiah on immediate alert. The big man slammed the case shut and the contact spun on Ezra.  

“You got a problem?” The sound of guns clearing leather came from the other three goons that surrounded them.  

And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Ezra didn’t know what to do or say and the hesitation was instantly interpreted as something sinister by the delivery man.  

Ezra instantly held up his hands, empty and unthreatening, and froze. Josiah held his arms out from his sides, still gripping the case.  

Ezra felt his mouth open and the unfamiliar sound of stuttering came from his lips as he attempted to address the hostiles and his team at the same time.  “I . . . ah . . . I mean . . .” Behind the contact, he could see that Josiah’s astonished face was shiny with nervous sweat. “Well, it seems that . . . I . . . um . . .”  

Usually, this would be the moment the bad guy would take the undercover agents to examine the goods but Ezra didn’t want to go anywhere near Vin. He didn’t want Faraday’s man to go there without him, either, and he certainly did not want to walk away. No code word covered this situation and, apparently, none of the spotters saw the boy because no one was moving in.  

He had to find a way to get out of this and he simply . . . couldn’t. Mentally, Standish willed Vin to not move and pulled on every reserve he had deep inside to refrain from looking in the boy’s direction.  

“This is bullshit,” Faraday’s representative snapped, clearly nervous and getting too jumpy for Ezra’s taste. “I’m taking this now.” The big man snatched the case from Josiah and shoved him into Ezra. The other tightened their grip on handguns that suddenly looked the size of cannons.  

Ezra and Josiah untangled and the big man moved to stand next to his teammate. There were several tense seconds of silence before Josiah’s eyes flicked in the direction Ezra was trying desperately to ignore, causing their contacts to turn and look toward the truck.  

Then Ezra knew he had to move.  

“GET DOWN!” Ezra yelled as he ducked low and drove his shoulder into the contact, running over him to get to Vin. The gunfire was instant and deafening as Ezra plowed into the boy, knocking him flat. All he could think to do was to cover Vin with as much of his body as he could until this was over.  

“ MOVE IN! MOVE IN!” Chris surged forward quickly, already alerted by Ezra’s uncharacteristic attitude. One target dropped and another turned and ran toward the cover of darkness, wounded and leaving his weapon behind. Another man sprang from the SUV.  

Bullets sizzled over his head in both directions. Chris leaped to his secondary position and got a bead on a suspect taking aim on Josiah. Larabee dropped him, and then spared a glance in the direction of the van. Josiah was down but still firing. The spokesman dove under the van, seeking escape on the other side. Buck appeared out of the dark, his long legs covering the distance quickly, and jammed his heel in the man’s shoulders as they appeared from under the truck. Buck’s weapon trained unflinchingly at the man’s head.  

The pounding of running feet and barked orders prevailed as the gunfire finally ceased. Chris scanned the area and took a mental count of his men as they appeared out of thin air sharply tinged with gunpowder.  

“Check in!” he ordered hotly as an automatic reflex. He helped Buck drag the spokesman to his feet as Nathan sprinted to Josiah.  

The rest checked in verbally as the stealth-clad men of team two swarmed the scene, taking custody of the suspects. Medics appeared and headed Josiah’s way. The big man was sitting up, grimacing as he talked to Nathan.  

Chris then realized he hadn’t heard from Ezra and his blood pressure shot up. He holstered his weapon and stormed around the truck and toward the agent, still in a huddled lump on the ground by the back wheels.  

“Ezra!” he snapped, reaching his side in a pair of strides. Chris reached down and grabbed the undercover agent’s shoulder and forced him to roll aside.  “What the fuck . . .” The team leader was shocked into silence when he saw that his undercover agent tightly held a thin child. “Who the hell . . .” he started, and then froze when he was taken completely aback.  

Ezra struggled to sit up, ignoring Chris and murmuring quietly as if calming a fractious colt. The child’s back was to Chris as Ezra adjusted the squirming figure in his arms. After a moment, the small, pale head twisted sideways to rest on Ezra’s shoulder, eyes squeezed tightly shut.  

It was the hair that stopped Chris in his tracks – wavy, wild and a familiar tawny color that instantly ignited the pain of loss to the point of making his knees grow weak. Chris had to force himself to breathe. Then the small chin lifted and those eyes – those unforgettable, enigmatic eyes – opened wide, connected with his and jump-started his heart.  

“Oh, God!” Chris choked, his vision immediately swimming with tears. Without conscious effort he reached down and scooped the body from Ezra’s grip. “My God!” he whispered hoarsely, holding the boy tightly to his chest. Vin stilled but trembled silently in his arms as he worked his legs around Chris’ waist.  

Chris could hear others calling to him but the voices sounded faint and far away. All he noticed was the feel of his son, the smell of him and the salty taste of tears on his tongue. Vin’s heart pounded against his chest, confirming he wasn’t just a vision – his long, lost son was here in his arms. He turned from the noise and confusion, falling to his knees when his legs simply could not carry him any farther.  

Outside words vaguely buzzed in his ears. Chris’ focus was entirely on the bundle he couldn’t hold close enough. He spoke softly but didn’t know what he was saying – his only purpose at this point in time was to hold his boy, his son, his Vin.  

It could have been hours, or minutes, or even a scant second before Chris finally heard one voice clearly in his ear.  

“Chris, you have to loosen up on him. Chris! Nathan needs to check him out!” It was Buck’s voice slicing through the numbness, the tremble there more alarming than the words. “Come on, pard. He don’t look so good. Please, Chris.”  

Finally allowing his arms to release a little, Chris became aware of the press of people around him. He automatically shifted into protective parental mode.  

“Back off,” he pleaded, not relinquishing his hold. “Please. It’s too crowded.” In his peripheral sight, the pressure around him lessened and he was able to relax his grip until the thin body shifted lower. “Vin,” he said lowly. “Nathan needs to see you.”  

The small form in his arms seemed boneless. Chris, his mind snapping back into itself and working again, realized that Vin had not yet responded to him.  

“Chris, he’s in shock. Lay him down.” The medic’s hand rested sympathetically on Chris’ shoulder, his grip firm. His other hand was flat against Vin’s back. “Let me look at him.”  

Chris couldn’t let him go completely. Instead, he sank to the cold cement alongside his son, Vin’s head rested on his upper arm so they were face to face. Chris gently stroked Vin's hair back. Now able to see him closely, Chris saw the waxy quality to his skin. Under his fingers where he traced Vin’s cheek, the flesh felt cool and clammy. Those defining blue eyes were glassy and unfocused, blinking slowly. Chris’ hand shook.  

“He’s not hurt, is he? He’ll be okay, right?” Larabee didn’t try to control the emotion that tinged his voice.  

“Chris, let ‘em work,” Buck said softly near his ear. As he spoke, Chris saw Buck’s large hand gently stroke Vin’s hair. “God, Chris,” he choked. “It’s a miracle. . .”  

"A miracle," Chris thought. "That’s exactly what this is."  He felt his eyes burn with tears again. So much time gone, wasted – never to get back again. And what had Vin been through during that time?  

Pushing back a bit, Chris critically scanned his boy for any hint of what the past two years had wrought. Vin was thin – painfully so – and really hadn’t grown much from what Chris remembered. His hair was longer, rougher, his skin pale and unhealthy. Chris ran a trembling hand up and down an arm that was lean and wiry with no extra girth to it. When Nathan opened Vin’s threadbare shirt, the spread of healed scars and bruises on bone-shaped flesh made his blood boil.  

“Heavens,” he heard Ezra say somewhere behind him. “What has been done to this boy is an atrocity.”  

Chris glanced up to see his undercover agent supported wholly by Josiah’s strong arm. Blood stained one silk sleeve - Ezra had been hit and Josiah’s thigh was stained black-red under the bandages. Neither one seemed to notice their wounds at the moment.  

They were seven again and that was all that mattered.