SAVING GRACE

By AJB

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 wasn't badly hurt, he or a nurse would have called home. If he were 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 further 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 was 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 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 TWO

Ezra stood at the edge of the trees and pondered. He didn’t want to believe what his eyes were telling him, but he certainly couldn’t deny it. He wasn’t much of a tracker but the little things he’d learned over the years were enough in this case. Agent Standish hoped there was more to it and that they would come across Vin at any moment, but his mind whispered otherwise.

Vin had been taken.

Someone had tried to cover the tracks but had done an appallingly poor job. Now all he had to do was tell someone what he had found and that was proving to be more difficult than he could ever imagine. He’d almost rather find his precious adopted nephew near-frozen in a ditch; the implications of this kind of kidnapping turned his stomach.

They had been searching for hours. Other officers were called in and the circle of searchers slowly grew and expanded, none of them finding any evidence that Vin had ever been here. Most of them gathered now by the nearly frozen pond a hundred yards from the crash scene, waiting for the cold water rescue team.

Ezra, though, knew it would be futile. As he stood with a fluttering heart staring at the faint marks in the patches of old snow and damp earth, the sound of crunching footfall told him someone was approaching.

“Ezra.” Nathan sounded as weary as Ezra felt.

“Mr. Jackson,” Ezra responded automatically, his voice as whispery like the cloudy puff that came from his mouth.

“You comin’ to the pond?”

Ezra considered the idea. He knew, though, that the motion would only serve to harbor false hope for a brief while. He ducked his head and jammed his hands more deeply into the pockets of his custom cut wool overcoat. “No,” he finally whispered, accepting the inevitable. “Vin’s not there.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Jackson’s head snap in his direction. “What? How do you know that? Where is he, then?”

“I fear he’s gone, Mr. Jackson; spirited away by a nefarious soul.” He withdrew one hand and waved it over the hastily covered tracks. “He’s gone.”

Nathan turned his attention to the ground. Ezra’s finger indicated the trail he’d visually exhumed from the snow. Seeing Nathan’s confused look, Standish retrieved his flashlight, flicked it on and held it low to the ground, perpendicular to the nearly invisible tracks. The resulting shadows jumped out as black on white and told the tale.

“Damn,” Nathan breathed.

There was a visible line of tracks leading from where they stood into the woods. They both knew that the line lead directly to the crash site and paralleled the tracks of the doomed deer. Nathan’s gaze followed the trail backwards to an area behind them. Ezra shifted his flashlight in that direction, showing that the trail stopped perpendicular to two parallel tracks.

“Tire tracks. Vin was carried to another vehicle and then they tried to cover the tracks,” Nathan realized. “They took the booster seat, too. That’s why there was no indication of a passenger.”

Ezra nodded to one side. “The branch they used to sweep the evidence is over there. The leaves – I mean needles – of the branch do not match the tree under which is lies, although the responsible party tried to conceal that fact.”

Nathan pressed the flat of his hand against his stomach and looked decidedly ill as the realization obviously sunk in. “Oh, Lord,” he whispered. “We have to tell the others and check all the clinics and hospitals in the area. We also gotta check the list of registered sex offenders around here.”

“I know for a fact that Mr. Wilmington has already called the hospitals in the area. Whoever did this does not want to be found. The first thing we need to do is initiate an Amber Alert.” He pulled out his cell phone and began to dial. “Although I think that, too, is a moot point.”

Nathan headed to the pond. After a few steps, he stopped and turned. “I sure don’t want to be the one to tell Chris about this. I’m gonna pray we find Vin before Chris wakes up.”

“I am on board with that train of thought, Mr. Jackson.”

_______________________________

“WHAT?” Buck realized that every head on the floor whipped in his direction. Unfazed, he only turned his back to them and strode to the deepest corner of the waiting room. Enroute, he glanced at his watch and automatically realized that JD would be waking up in less than two hours. “You’re telling me Vin’s been kidnapped?”

It was hard to hear with his heart pounding so loudly in his ears. Buck rubbed his dry eyes and took a breath as he tried to focus his thoughts. “That makes the truck a crime scene. Ezra, make sure forensics goes over it with a fine-toothed comb. Josiah and Nathan need to make sure the crash site is sealed off until morning and another forensics team gets there and then someone has to get over here. Chris can’t wake up alone.” Buck ran his hand over his eyes and swallowed the large lump growing in his throat. “I need to get to the ranch. JD will need me when he wakes up.”

Satisfied things were in control as much as they could possibly be under the circumstances, Buck slipped his cell phone away and sank into the closest chair, head in hands. “Where are you, Vin?” he whispered, his voice raw.

_______________________________

Four days passed, four long, agony-ridden days with no further information and no results. No clues. No chances to find his second son.

Buck walked wearily down the crowded hospital corridor feeling absolutely alone. The doctors said Chris would be allowed out of his medically induced coma today since the swelling on his brain had reduced to a safe level. They didn’t predict any brain damage; Buck shook his head with the thought. They didn’t take into account the heart damage that would occur when his friend found out that Vin was gone.

Simply gone.

The F.B.I. worked very hard in the past three days and had nothing. Vin had vanished like a puff of smoke in the wind. Buck’s eyes burned anew, not an unfamiliar feeling in these last days. Unconsciously, he rubbed his biceps where JD’s tiny finger bruises reminded him both physically and visually that he wasn’t the only family member in pain. And soon there’d be another name on that list.

Buck Wilmington was tired – exhausted beyond any imagined belief. Between searching, checking on Chris and trying to soothe JD, he hadn’t had much time to rest. Or eat. Or attend to any of the basics of living day to day. He just wanted this to be over, but it was beginning to look like it would never be over.

Buck scrubbed his weary eyes knowing they were bloodshot. He’d spent the last three nights in the rocking chair with JD until the boy cried himself to sleep, clutched to his Da’s clothing like a frightened kitten. Morning always brought a sore neck, stiff back, sweaty shirts and red-rimmed, puffy eyes.

He sighed, continuing on with the day without really thinking anymore. “Just do it,” was his mantra for each motion he was required to perform. With a miserable sigh, Buck pushed open the hospital room door, pausing with a tentative smile at the woman sitting there holding Chris’ hand as best as she could around his cast. It had taken Claire Larabee a while to accept Vin as Chris’ son, but once done, she was as devoted as a grandmother should be. Her red-rimmed eyes and gaunt cheeks were proof enough of her sense of loss.

“Buck.” Chris’ father extended his hand as he pushed up from the wobbly chair at his wife’s side.

“Matt,” Buck said, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears. They shook hands briefly. “Did you get any rest yesterday?”

“Some,” Matthew Larabee replied, taking his seat. Husband and wife looked rumpled and worn.

Buck found a place on the other side of Chris’ bed and rested his hands on the cold side rail. “Did the docs say when he’d come around?”

“Any time now,” Claire answered softly. Buck could see her thumb gently stroke the back of Chris’ fingers protruding from the cast as her hand rested on top. “They removed the ventilator around three this morning.”

“Good.” Buck appraised his friend’s face with sad eyes. Tape marks were still visible around his mouth and the general swelling had receded, leaving behind red-streaked bruises and multiple scrapes. The line of stitches that bisected his left eyebrow looked blacker than the fading bruises and, under all that, Chris’ skin was a sickly pallor. The unshaven stubble of beard was the only natural color the man had at the moment.

And when he opened his eyes, the natural hazel would be dull and shadowed, lacking the spark that Vin had rekindled.

Buck took a deep breath to keep back the tears. They had decided to let Claire tell him about Vin; she had insisted, actually. Buck would then fill in the facts they knew. Matthew would be there to support his wife when she broke down, as they held no illusion that she wouldn’t. They were ready. All that was left was for Chris to do his part and wake up.

The subtle signs of awareness slowly began to show. Matthew stepped aside and called for the doctor. By the time he got there, a nurse trailing behind, wakefulness was apparent. Chris’ heart rate sped up slightly and his breathing hitched. Arms and legs twitched and then shifted. The casts on his left side limbs allowed minimal movement.

“Mr. Larabee?” Doctor Mills dropped the rail on Buck’s side and leaned over. He peeled back an eyelid, flashing the pupil with a light. “You’re in the hospital, Chris. Don’t move too quickly. Are you awake now?” Returning the flashlight to his pocket, he rested on hand on Chris’ shoulder and the other on his hip to keep him from rolling too much to either side as he woke.

A low moan rumbled from Chris’ dry throat and Buck saw his eyes roll under his eyelids.

“Christopher?” Claire said lowly, now on her feet and leaning close. “Honey, do you hear me?”

Finally, slivers of dusty green emerged and he blinked, confused.

“Chris?” Matt peered over his wife’s shoulder. “How’re ya doin’, son?”

Chris’ head rolled slightly in his direction. “Dad?” Buck saw the word form on his lips rather than hear it. Chris coughed a little. “Mom?” The second word was scratchy and soft, but more easily understood.

“Hi, honey. I’m so happy to see your eyes open.” Claire stroked his cheek and smiled.

Chris blinked at her and tried to say something again. It came out as a croak.

“Here.” The nurse moved in and raised the head of the bed as Dr. Mills scribbled on Chris’ chart. “How about some ice chips? Not too much.”

Buck took the cue and grabbed the plastic cup on the bedside table. He angled it, dug out a few shards with the plastic spoon, and bumped it against Chris’ lip.

“Careful now,” he said, causing Chris to frown as he parted his dry lips. Buck let the ice slide into Chris’ mouth and he worked his jaw a moment. Then Chris’ eyes found him and a small furrow creased his forehead in thought.

“Buck?”

“Hey, pard. You look like a mile ‘o bad road.”

One corner of Chris’ lips twitched, attempting a grin. “Feel . . . shit.” His gaze flicked toward Claire. “Sorry.”

She smiled, her eyes shiny. “It’s okay, son.”

After she said the word, Chris’ expression fell and he looked puzzled for a moment, then his eyes widened and the heart monitor sang. “Vin!” he choked, struggling to sit up. “Where . . . where's Vin?”

The nurse moved to keep her patent from rising but Buck pushed his way in and took over. He pressed his friend’s shoulders into the mattress with little effort and leaned over, telling him to calm down. Claire kept her hold on Chris’ cast with both hands, tears running down her cheeks. Matt held the leg cast to the bed.

“Chris, stop. Stop movin’ around or you’re gonna hurt yourself more.” Buck heard the doctor behind him say something to the nurse, who then pulled a bottle and syringe from her pocket as the doctor moved closer.

“Mr. Larabee – Chris – calm down or we will have to sedate you,” the doctor gently insisted. “You’ve had surgery. . .”

Chris ignored the doctor and locked his eyes on Buck’s. “Where’s he, Buck? Where’s Vin?”

Buck opened his mouth but nothing came out. He licked his lips and tried again, taking a breath. “Chris . . .” he started.

So much for the plan for Claire to break the news gently.

“WHERE IS HE?” Chris surged upward as the nurse grabbed the IV line. “TELL ME!”

“Honey,” Claire sobbed.

Chris’ hard eyes turned on his mother and instantly softened. When they focused again on Buck, they were etched with a pain that been gone for years. “Buck!" he begged. "Just tell me . . . please!”

“We don’t know, Chris,” Buck finally admitted in a shaky voice. “We just don’t know. We can’t find him anywhere. We think someone took him.”

Whether from drugs, shock or pain Chris collapsed back into the mattress. “What do you mean? You can’t find him?” He tried to sit up again, but pain made him wince and twist awkwardly. “Then look harder! He was with me!”

“I know, I know, Chris." Buck relaxed the pressure on his friend's shoulders. Beneath his hands, Chris trembled like a lost leaf in the wind. "It looks like he was taken from the crash site. He’s gone. It’s been four days and we don’t have a clue. I’m sorry, Chris. I’m so sorry.” Buck’s voice cracked at the last and hot tears seared a path down his unshaven face.

Chris looked stunned as the sedation kicked in. He shifted his wide-eyed gaze from Buck to Claire. She could only stroke his arm, sorrow and tears stealing away any platitudes.

“They’re still looking, Chris,” Matthew said in a tentative voice. His son’s eyes drifted, shocked and dazed, in his direction. “We’ll never give up looking.”

Chris’ eyes filled as his body relaxed from the drug but he didn’t drop his gaze. “He’s mine, dad. Vin’s mine. I can’t lose him . . . I can’t take it again – I just can’t. I have to find him. I will find him . . . Vin . . . I was just talkin’ to him . . .” Finally, he couldn’t fight it any more and Chris’ eyelids flagged shut. Even in his forced sleep, his breath hitched and tears trickled from under his lashes. His lips moved in wordless begging.

The nurse slid in front of Buck and adjusted the nasal cannula as she took his pulse. The doctor stood back, making notes and looking a bit grim.

“I don’t think I can take it again, either, Pard,” Buck muttered, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. One glance at the others told him that he didn’t stand alone.

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 FOUR

“Chris is home, Da.” JD sat in the window sill watching for the familiar vehicle, forehead pressed against the glass. He didn’t move after the announcement, but continued to absently fondle his dog Elvis’ ear.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll get things goin’ here, then.” Buck moved around the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner, wondering again how he got stuck with making a majority of the evening meals. Chris had agreed months ago to try and get home earlier in the evening and he did for awhile, but he’d slipped back into his “all work, no play” schedule since finding Cat.

JD missed him and Buck was starting to resent dinner making. He’d have to sit his friend down yet again and inform him of the importance of his day-to-day input with their unconventional family. Chris had stopped taking anti-depressants months ago and Buck expected to see ups and downs in his friend’s moods, but he still had a way to go to get back to himself – where ever that was.

Buck saw his long time friend as several people: The original Chris, the Sarah and Adam Chris, the post-family Chris and the Vin period Chris. The post-Vin Chris was simply a less volatile version of the post-family man – probably because of JD and Chris’ parents. This time around, there was some semblance of family support to help him adjust to his – their - loss.

Buck tightened his lips at the thought, but that’s exactly what Vin was, lost, and Buck was starting to accept the fact that they may not ever find out what happened to him. Heaven forbid if he ever speak the thought aloud.

Buck heard the front door open and close. “Hey, JD,” he heard Chris say tiredly. There was a rustle of clothing and short, low conversation and then Chris came to the kitchen with the boy perched on his hip. JD was brightly animated, telling Chris about an upcoming field trip in school. Buck was glad to see that Chris was actually paying attention and asking questions, much to JD’s obvious delight. It was a good thing, Buck decided, that they hadn’t told the boy about finding Cat. JD was nearly- just nearly - back to the boy he was before Vin’s disappearance.

Dinner was as close to normal as it could possibly be considering the circumstances of the past two years and Buck decided to swallow his resentment for now. He just hoped Chris would continue to be as engaged as he seemed to be this night.

After the meal Chris dove into the dishes while Buck got JD ready for bed. The boy must have latched onto Chris’ easy mood because he chatted nonstop through his bath, what little homework he had and picking up his room. Buck even had to tell him to “breathe, Lil’ Bit!” for the first time in a long time. Chris came in to say good night and even offered to read the bedtime story so Buck could put his feet up in the living room.

When Chris returned to the living room, he settled on the couch with a Coke and a sigh. “JD wants me to be one of the chaperones on his field trip,” Chris mentioned after a bit. “I’ll see what I can do about that. That okay with you?”

Buck laid down the paper and stretched. “Sure, Pard, go for it. Maybe you’ll get lucky and Chrissy’s mama’ll volunteer, too. Being with her would make the job a lot more enjoyable, if ya know what I mean.” Buck waggled a suggestive eyebrow and Chris laughed shortly. It was a good sound.

“Yeah, maybe she will,” Chris said softly as he rolled the Coke can between his hands.

Buck turned on the television and started flipping through channels, eventually settling on a women’s water skiing event. Chris shook his head, amused and clearly not surprised that his roommate found such a show entertaining. They watched in comfortable silence for a while and at one of the commercial breaks, after Buck hit the “mute” key, Chris started to talk.

“We’ve checked out just about everyone that has been involved with Harry Evans,” he started, studying the television without really seeing it. “And we’re no closer to finding out what happened to Vin. All we have is the DNA from Cat. That’s all we have left of him, Buck.”

“That’s not true,” Buck corrected softly. “We have wonderful memories and great pictures. He’s in our hearts and always will be. I know how corny that sounds but, damn it, it’s the truth.”

Chris ran his hand through his hair, scratching his scalp thoughtfully. “I just can’t let go. I can’t say he’s gone because I truly feel he’s out there, somewhere. Serritella was the last one on our list that had direct contact with Evans. We’ve no where to go now. No more clues.”

“Those F.B.I. agents in New York still send us stuff once in awhile,” Buck reminded him. “Updates on the other missing boys from New York and all the states between here and there that they’ve tied to Evans. Something will turn up, especially as the boys get older. They’ll talk, eventually. I’m not ready to close the book either, Chris, but I am ready to start living my life again. So is JD and so is the team.”

Chris’ head snapped up at the last comment. “We’ve made some damned good busts lately. We’re doing our job as good as before.”

“I know, I know, and that’s not what I meant. We have made some great arrests using the information we’ve gathered. The more bad guys behind bars, the better, but it’s time we started taking our share of assignments from Travis again, Chris. The other teams are spread pretty thin.”

Appeased, Chris relaxed again and picked at the pull tab of the Coke can. “I know. In fact, Travis just gave us one. Since Serritella and his cronies are off the street, there’s been some skirmishes by smaller groups to fill the void Serritella left in the black market. Travis got word of an outsider from up north somewhere bringing in a load of handguns. I sent Ezra to see what he could set up. New sellers need buyers, right?”

Chris lifted his head, the grin he gave Buck seemingly forced. Buck was happy that he even tried. “Yup, that’s what keeps us in business, alright. Good. Sounds like we got some homework tomorrow.”

_______________________________

The phone rang just before dawn. Chris’ hand flopped across his nightstand in search of the offensive source, knocking over a partial glass of water and a near empty bottle of over- the- counter sleep aid pills before finding his cell. He fumbled it open. “Larabee,” he grumbled.

“Mr. Larabee,” Ezra replied, sounding as tired a Chris felt. “We need to palaver on our next course. Things, I fear, are moving rapidly and we do not have much time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chris dropped his feet to the floor and scrubbed his eyes. It wasn’t even light yet! “Can you come into the office? I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“I will be there.”

“When's the last time you slept?” Chris heard a dry chuckle.

“I have heard that such activity is over-rated. I will see you in an hour.”

Shaking his head and fighting against the remnants of the sleeping pill, Chris hung his head for a moment. “Get your ass in gear, Larabee,” he mumbled, gaining his feet and heading to the shower. From there, he quickly dressed and wobbled his way to Buck’s bedroom door. Almost there, he paused and took a moment to peek in on JD. The boy’s arm hung over the side of the bed and his head was on a well-worn stuffed Scooby-Doo. Chris smiled at the sight and quietly shut the door.

Then he went to Buck’s door and rapped on it lightly before pushing it open and sticking his head in. “Buck!” he called. He had to call again, louder, before Wilmington’s body twitched awake.

“Hunh?” he croaked, raising his head.

“I’m going to the office to meet Ezra. I’ll feed the horses on the way out.”

“Sure, sure.”

Buck’s head dropped back on the pillow and Chris doubted he’d remember the conversation. On his way out he hastily jotted a note and left the house.

An hour later he was in the elevator of the Federal building, stopping at his office floor. Really missing his usual morning jolt of coffee, he walked to Team Seven’s briefing room where he was greeted by the sensual smell of fresh Starbucks. He dropped into his chair and gratefully accepted the cup shoved his way by the undercover agent.

“I am on familiar terms with a barista that serves early,” Ezra informed him.

After a fortifying sip, Chris faced his agent and was surprised at how tired he looked. Ezra usually managed to conceal his physical weaknesses.

“Let’s have it,” Chris started.

Ezra briefed him on his meeting with the representative of one Jesse Faraday, who claimed to have the ability to cover what Ezra considered an over-the-top order; the undercover agent had gone fishing and apparently hooked a big one.

“It seems that Mr. Faraday has references from here to Atlantic City. I checked into many of the deals, and every one was successful and legitimate. Well, 'legitimate' being a relative term . . ."

"I get it. Go on."

"When I asked why I had not dealt with him before, he told me that his ‘area’ was usually more north and east. He wants to expand and was not only willing, but very able to supply what Serritella had promised. The man has a business head on his shoulders.”

Chris rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “If that’s so, he’s a big fish. Why haven’t we heard of him before?”

“I inquired along those lines. Apparently, Jesse Faraday is a very careful man – and as I eluded before, smart - who keeps everything close to the vest. He has a small crew that is very loyal, my contact being one of them. Faraday thoroughly investigates everyone before working with them and does not tolerate anyone speaking of him out-of-turn. He’s one of the few drug dealers that doesn’t use, and an artillery dealer that does not know much about guns. He specializes in getting things – any things.” Ezra paused to sip his coffee. “I feel he should be called ‘fence’ rather than a dealer, which is more than likely why we have never heard of him. He's a high roller, so to speak, and the gentleman is thoroughly and smartly diversified, never focusing on one particular commodity. Faraday is what you’d call a ‘wheeler-dealer’. And the most irksome part of his empire is that no one can, or will, describe him. I have no idea what he looks like and apparently I am not alone in this dilemma.”

The information slowly sunk into Chris' brain, kick starting his mind into action. "So, what are we up against?"

Ezra took a thoughtful sip of his latte as if reluctant to speak. "There are a few . . . disturbing . . . facts that I have uncovered. And mind you, finding anything on this man has been difficult and I believe I know why."

Chris waited patiently as Ezra annoyingly took the time to frame his thoughts.

"Word is that Mr. Faraday started out with two partners. Both have disappeared. His 'turf' has been challenged no less than three times in the past five years. Each one of the challengers has also 'disappeared'. The man is considered paranoid beyond the realm of what is considered normal."

That rolled around in Chris' head. "Do you think he or one of his toadies set up Serritella? Because if he did, he may know you. Or us."

Ezra tilted his head a moment, his hazel eyes dimming slightly as he considered the idea. "No. I don't believe so. Faraday is a businessman that has seized upon an opportunity and if we get him, I do believe we will cut off a stream of trafficking that covers most of the north east. He is big, Mr. Larabee. Quite a catch."

"You be careful, Ezra, I'm not kidding. One hint of trouble and you're out, you hear me?"

The unflappable agent smoothed a sleeve. "I never go in to anything with the intent to commit suicide, Mr. Larabee."

Chris snorted. "Sometimes I wonder. Check in every three hours. Can you wear a GPS?"

"No. He is very careful. No GPS, no wires. Our first planning meeting is at 1:00 this afternoon via video conference. It stops there if I do not show cash." Ezra rose, coffee in hand. "I do not know the location at the moment but I will keep you informed. If you don’t mind, I would like to get some sleep. Here are some names I managed to overhear in connection with Mr. Faraday and Mr. Serritella." He slid a neatly printed list to Chris. "I do not know in what capacity that they are involved with Faraday. They could be mere paperboys or poolboys, for all I have uncovered.”

"Gotcha. Go get some sleep." After Ezra left, Chris perused the list, divvied up the work, and started to call in the others to prepare for the 1:00 meeting.

_______________________________

Buck picked up the phone on the second ring, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he flipped a pancake. “Start talkin’,” he answered.

“Buck, it’s me. I’m calling in the boys to run some names Ezra gave me. This looks like it's movin’ fast.”

The sound of Spongebob Squarepants in the living room forced Buck to walk to the far side of the kitchen. “Do ya need me to come in?” He shuffled the latest addition of the hotcake tower to the top and switched off the stove. “Mrs. Potter said she’d be home today.”

“Nah, spend the time with JD. We have it covered for now. I’ll be pullin’ you in soon enough so you two have a good day. Ez has a video conference meeting at 1:00 with someone trying to take Serritella’s place. We’ll know the face-to-face time after that. I’ll call you.”

Buck put the platter of cakes on the table and dropped into a chair. A photo on the first page of the Denver Post caught his eye. “Hey, boss-man, you got your mug in the paper.”

“What?”

Buck opened the paper all the way. There was a picture on the bottom quarter of a man getting escorted from a court room. “Picture of Serritella leaving court. You’re in the background. You’re lookin’ at your feet or something. You could have at least smiled, stud.”

Chris snorted on the other end of the line.

“You know what that means, don’t cha?” Buck teased.

“Hell, Buck, that’s a stupid game.” Chris started to protest.

“It’s a longstanding ATF tradition, and you know it. Who are we to deny tradition?” Buck said, grinning. “Get your picture in the paper and you have to bring in breakfast for a week for the team! I suggest Inez’s huevos rancheros for Monday, boss!” He quickly slammed down the phone as Chris started to curse and laughed out loud. “JD! Breakfast!”

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.

CHAPTER SIX

Vin never uttered a word during the trip to the hospital. Chris was at his side the entire time and kept a constant physical connection - touching his shoulder, holding his hand, kissing his hair. He was unwilling to take the chance that his son would disappear again right before his eyes. Chris didn't mind that Vin didn't speak. It was the look in his son's glazed eyes worried him more.

The medics immediately inserted an IV to counteract dehydration and shock. When they arrived at the emergency room Vin shut down, closed his eyes and turned his head away, refusing to acknowledge anyone. Chris felt the pressure of too much action around him and fought the urge to order everyone away. He understood Vin's reaction completely - the boy was overwhelmed. Only when they were installed in a room and the bustle of taking the boy's vitals and preparing for an examination was over did Chris finally feel the rigidity leave Vin's frame.

Chris held his tongue and simply stroked Vin's hair with one hand while firmly holding a tiny hand with the other. Eventually, his silent calm was rewarded when tired, blue eyes crept opened again.

"Hey, Cowboy," Chris said lowly as Vin blinked in the brightness. There was no way to stop the hot tears he felt warming his cheek.

Vin's troubled gaze settled on his face. The dull haziness abated somewhat, replaced with obvious wariness. Chris remembered how still his boy could be when he didn't want to be noticed; was this Vin's wish? To be left alone?

The thought fled with Vin's quiet words. "It's really you?" Desperate hope cloaked the question, making his words sound tight. "Chris?"

Chris could only nod, his voice stolen away by boundless joy and a new flow of tears. He squeezed Vin's hand tighter with one hand as he cradled the hollow cheek with the other.

"Dad?" Vin choked as the wariness fled and his eyes filled. Tears released with a sharp gasp, followed by near silent sobbing. He reached out and clutched Chris' sleeve in a trembling grip. Chris folded, and drew his son into the comfort of his arms, rocking him as they both wept.

Unwilling to disturb the reunion, Buck and Nathan stood just outside the curtained area, unable to speak. Nathan finally excused himself to check on the others, swiping a hand across his eyes as he left. Buck glanced at his watch, finding the numbers tough to read, and tried to think if JD would still be awake. He wanted nothing more than to tell the boy that his brother had been found but Buck tempered the urge, deciding it would probably be better to let Vin and Chris get settled first.

Buck heard Nathan's low voice as he spoke to Josiah and Ezra as well as the quiet murmur of Chris’ voice as he calmed Vin. The boy’s hitched breaths didn’t abate. After several minutes, Buck realized that Vin wasn’t settling as he should and hadn’t said a word since acknowledging Chris. Knowing only too well that there were going to be problems reintegrating Vin back into their lives anyway, he knew he should back off, but Buck had to see him just once more before going home.

Clearing his throat, he stepped inside the curtained area and looked to Vin to see how he should proceed. Chris was sitting on the edge of the gurney holding onto both of the boy’s hands and spoke lowly and continuously, occasionally reaching up to wipe away a stray tear. But when he reached to do the same to Vin’s cheek, the boy startled.

Vin’s glassy gaze flicked nervously from the ceiling to Chris, apprehension clear in his eyes. He seemed to relax a little as Buck watched, but he was still a far cry from the boy he remembered. Buck’s throat went suddenly dry, realizing how hard this must be on Chris.

“Chris?” he said softly, moving slowly forward. “How’s he doin’?”

“He’s a little scared but he’s fine, Buck,” Chris replied without breaking the cadence of his voice. “Vin’s a little dehydrated and probably pretty tired, right?” There was no reaction from the boy.

“I’m gonna call Dr. Lowery, okay? Before I tell JD?”

The mention of JD made Vin blink rapidly a few times and tentatively turn his head in search of the voice.

“Hey, Junior,” Buck smiled. “I’m so happy you’re back. We’ve missed you.”

Thoughts swirled in the watery blue eyes as the tiny forehead crinkled. “JD?” The name was barely a whisper.

“He’s fine. He’s probably in bed right now, Vin.”

Things seemed to register in the boy’s brain and his eyes cleared a little. Then, in an instant, panic erupted.

“Miss Grace! You’ve gotta help Miss Grace! You need to save her!” Vin struggled to sit up, fighting against his father’s hands. Chris tried to calm him but Vin was having no part of it. “Save her, Dad! You c’n save her!”

Vin’s voice rose enough to bring a nurse to the room. Vin twisted and fought, insisting they help the unknown woman and begged to be let go. Both the nurse and Chris worked to calm him without success; Vin freed one arm and swung, his elbow catching the nurse hard on the cheek.

“Vin! Stop it!” Chris ordered, finally getting a grip on the boy’s arms and holding them firmly to the mattress. Buck jumped forward and pressed down on the boy’s legs, immobilizing him. Vin writhed under their hands, screaming hysterically, which brought in another nurse as well as a doctor.

The doctor barked out an order and one of the nurses retrieved a bottle from a drawer and drew some of the liquid into a syringe. Vin fought, crying and pleading, until the dose was injected into the saline line. Finally, his hysteria reduced to sobbing. “No, no, no,” he mumbled before falling to the influence of the sedative.

Chris was shaken, his skin pale and eyes bright. Feeling the attention of others on him, Buck released Vin’s legs and glanced back to see the rest of the team standing at the open curtain, stunned.

The doctor noticed them, too. “He doesn’t need a crowd.” Buck had to give him credit for standing up to the collection of glares he received in response. The doctor then turned to Chris and spoke lowly. “Your son needs to be admitted for evaluation. He’s shocky, dehydrated, anemic and obviously traumatized. He needs a full examination.”

By the stricken look in Chris’ eyes, the implications regarding a “full exam” were clear.

“Vin . . . he . . . he has a therapist. Dr. Lowery. I’d like his input. And I’d like his pediatrician, Dr. Two Eagles, to do the exam.”

“I’ll arrange it,” the doctor said, retreating to write on Vin’s chart. “Both of those doctors have practicing privilege here. Meanwhile, Vin will be moved to a single room.”

“What about visitors?” Buck asked, knowing that would be the first thing JD would ask about.

“First things first. Let’s get Vin settled. He’s going to be asleep for a while. Maybe he’ll be up to family visiting tomorrow afternoon.”

_______________________________

The miles rolled by under the wheels of Buck’s truck but the man was oblivious to the trip. His mind whirled around the day’s events – although things had settled into a holding pattern, he knew there was one more step: Telling JD.

Vin was established in a room with Chris at his bedside when he finally escaped the hospital. Buck doubted the man could be pried from his boy’s side, and he couldn’t blame his friend. When JD was in his arms next, Buck would be hard pressed to let him go, too.

The off ramp for the winding road to the ranch suddenly popped up and Buck blinked in surprise. He didn’t recall any of drive. Shaken, he took the ramp and pulled over at the first dirt shoulder he could find.

It was well after nine, closer to ten, at night. The housekeeper, Mrs. Potter, had picked up JD from school as usual and was prepared to stay late – Buck had pre-warned her and she had made arrangements. He hadn’t called her back with the news of finding Vin because he wanted to tell JD face to face.

With that realization, Buck dug out his cell phone and stared at it a few moments before flipping it open and scrolling down to the number he needed.

“Dr. Lowery’s answering service,” the perky female voice stated.

“I need to speak to Dr. Lowery. It’s an emergency.”

The woman took Buck’s information and the agent snapped his phone shut, gripping it in his hand with expectation. In the meanwhile, he stared out the windshield and tried to focus his thoughts. The problem was, he didn’t know where to start. The problems he anticipated with Vin’s return – and those imagined problems multiplied by the minute – were so varied and complex Buck felt overwhelmed and therefore frozen, unable to make any plan of action. He hoped Dr. Will could get him pushed into the right direction.

And as if reading his troubled mind, Buck’s phone rang a lot sooner than he expected.

“Hello?” he said, sounding a little breathless.

“Mr. Wilmington? Dr. Lowery. I just received some exciting news from the hospital – Vin’s been found?”

“Yes,” Buck nearly stammered, dragging his hand through his hair. “Yes, he has, and I have no clue what to do next. This is . . . huge . . .” To Buck, the words seemed inadequate.

Dr. Will, though, seemed to grasp the situation immediately. “Are you with him now?”

“No.” Suddenly, a waterfall of words flowed forth summarizing Vin’s recovery all the way up to his current situation. The psychologist let the agent talk, uninterrupted, until he stalled at where he was. “How do I tell JD? Should I let him see Vin tomorrow?”

“Mr. Wilmington, Buck,” the doctor started calmly. “Of course you should tell JD as soon as possible and I think you telling him in person is a good decision. You’ll need to be there for the fallout, and there will be that – nightmares, clinginess, loss of focus in school. Don’t lie. Tell him honestly ‘I don’t know’ if you don’t know something and just keep him close. Let JD direct the follow up. Don’t give any promises you can’t keep. Be honest that you don’t know how Vin will react. JD will want everything to instantly be just like it was. Tell him that Vin will be scared to invest himself emotionally until he’s sure he won’t be taken away again, that he needs a solid home base, security and proof that none of you will leave him. Basically, that he will be scared. JD should be able to understand that emotion.”

Buck let out an explosive breath and a short laugh. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

“Exactly. I plan on seeing Vin in the morning along with Dr. Two Eagles. I understand he’s sedated at the moment and Mr. Larabee is with him?”

“Yeah. I don’t think Chris’ll be anywhere else for awhile.”

“I think a short visit by JD tomorrow will be fine. Let Vin set the tone. I’ll call you if I think there’s anything specific you should know. Otherwise, just let JD be JD.”

Buck smiled, feeling a lot better. “Thanks, doc. I think I need a dose of JD myself right now.”

Dr. Will laughed. “Go home. Hug your boy and tell him the good news and stay close. I’m sure he’ll understand that things are going to change and you’ll need to be his home base.”

“I can do that. Thanks for getting me focused, doc.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“No doubt about that. Thanks.”

With his wild thoughts finally corralled, Buck took a deep breath and dropped the truck into gear. The drive along the quiet, winding road was relaxing and when he pulled into the driveway, he paused for a moment to look behind the barn.

Barely visible was the crushed front end of Chris’ truck from that fateful night. Chris had the truck towed behind the barn and then refused to get it fixed – it just sat there like some sort of gruesome memorial, rusting, with blood-stained cloth seats that were disintegrating from the elements. Chris had thrown a tarp over it to spare JD but they all knew what was under there. The Ram’s replacement had been a used Jeep that was as cantankerous and moody as its owner. Chris seemed to need the distractions the vehicle supplied. It had been a rocky relationship for the past two years.

Buck sighed and continued up the drive, parking in his usual spot next to the house. He exited the vehicle, recalling the days when two boys would happily barrel out of the door on his or Chris’ arrival home. Since Vin’s disappearance the best he could hope for was to have his boy greet him with a smile when he came in the door. Whenever JD ran from the house to meet him now, it was because of fear.

When Buck topped the porch steps and pushed open the door he was greeted by two happy dogs. Elvis and Ringo seemed to smile up at him with wagging tails, as usual, but then Buck noticed how they slowly became still and sniffed him with dogged concentration.

“You smell right, boys,” he grinned, giving each of them a pat before dropping his keys and moving to the kitchen. The dogs trailed behind, noses glued to his legs, tails wagging. While the dogs followed the scent of their lost master, Buck followed the scent of fresh baked cookies.

When he stepped into the kitchen, JD, still somewhat awake and sitting at the table, was ready for bed with a mug of hot chocolate between his hands. He looked up and greeted him. “Hi Da! I got a 100% on my math test! We saved ya some dinner ‘n Mrs. Potter’s makin’ cookies. Where’s Chris?”

Buck chuckled at the verbose greeting. He walked over and dragged a chair next to JD, dropped down and threw an arm around his boy’s shoulders.

Mrs. Potter turned from the sink and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Like JD said, your dinner’s in the oven. He wouldn’t go to bed until you were home.” JD accented the comment with a yawn. “Will Chris be back tonight?”

“Well, no, and I need to tell you why.” When he turned to look at JD he saw that the boy had stilled and tensed under his arm. Those shining brown eyes went instantly flat. “It’s good news, JD. We’ve found Vin.”

“Oh, good God!” Mrs. Potter breathed, bringing her hands to her face.

JD straightened and his mouth dropped open. He stared at Buck, eyes wide, trying to find any indication of a lie. “Vin’s home?” he finally whispered. “Really?”

“Really. He’s getting a check up at the hospital right now. Chris is with him.”

Buck was nearly bowled off his chair when JD launched into his arms.

“Vin’s home! Vin’s home!” the boy shrieked, a semblance of the exuberant boy Buck remembered.

Buck wrapped his arms snugly around his son, stood, and twirled around, holding JD tight. “Yup, Little Bit, he’s back!”

Mrs. Potter openly cried and dabbed her eyes with a dish towel as JD jabbered with excitement. The dogs raced around the kitchen, feeling the energy. When they started barking a bit too robustly, Buck sat down with his boy in his lap and made an attempt to calm things, but he couldn’t stop chuckling. JD hugged his neck then dropped to the floor and hugged Elvis and Ringo. Then he launched himself back at Buck.

“Can we go see him? Can we go now? Can we bring him balloons and a card and . . .”

“Whoa, there, Little Bit, slow down. We can do all that but we have to wait until tomorrow. There’s more I need to tell you before we go visit.”

“Is he okay?” JD asked seriously. The boy had also learned in the past two years how to read both his fathers’ moods – something Vin had always been better at doing. Right now, he picked up that there something wasn’t quite right.

Mrs. Potter got her tears under control and now looked concerned. Buck could tell she was hesitant to ask any questions and knew there was more than Buck was saying.

“Vin’s sleeping right now because he’s really tired. We’ll see him tomorrow after school, after he’s had a night’s rest and the doctors get a look at him.”

“Did the bad man hurt him? How did he get away? Where has he been?”

Buck gave a very brief description of the bust and how Vin had somehow sneaked into the truck. “That’s really all we know right now. Like I said, Vin’s pretty tired and didn’t talk much.”

“This is such good news, Buck. I’m so happy for you.” Mrs. Potter gave Buck a hug and then leaned over and hugged JD. “I guess I’ll work on getting the boys’ room together tomorrow?” She asked.

JD just yelled, “YAAAAAAY! Vin’s back, Vin’s back!” and ran from the kitchen with two dogs at heel. Apparently, Buck’s explanation was good enough to satisfy him for now.

“Walk, JD!” Both Buck and Mrs. Potter yelled together.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The night was long and the chair uncomfortable. Chris, though, could not let any complaints enter his mind when everything he’d wanted for the past two years was right here in his grasp. He couldn’t take his eyes from the face he loved, a face that was etched deeply into his heart and memories and had been at the center of his dreams for the past two years.

Vin's face looked older. There was a length and hollowness to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He had never been a boy of rounded features – that was more like JD and Adam – and the angles of the boy’s frame he saw now were even more defined, any hint of boyishness gone. At ten years old, Chris could see what Vin would look like as an adult. And he’d definitely seen more than any boy should; Chris felt like something had been stolen from the both of them.

Chris, aware that he was grinding his teeth again, forced his jaws to relax. He stood and dropped the bed rail, hitching his hip onto the mattress. While one hand held Vin’s, the other stroked his boy’s cheek and hair. Vin’s pale lashes fluttered, fighting the sedative’s effects; he hadn’t rested peacefully for one minute since being here.

“Oh, Vin,” he breathed, his throat still raw. “You’re safe, son. No one’s gonna hurt you, I promise. I’m here.”

A soft query followed a muted tap on the door. “Still sleeping?” Nathan slipped into the room trailed closely by his wife, Raine.

“If you can call it that,” Chris said hoarsely.

“I’m so happy for you,” Raine said gently from across the bed. Her eyes were shining with gathering tears as she lightly rubbed Vin’s boney arm. “I’ve prayed for this day, every day since he disappeared.”

“Prayer didn’t get him home,” Chris said flatly. “Vin did that on his own. He did what I couldn’t.”

“Chris.” Nathan said firmly. “Don’t do that to yourself. Vin doesn’t need it now or ever.”

Chris pressed his lips tightly together, not daring to speak again. He knew he was on the edge of losing it, of screaming about the unjustness of it all, of grieving over the loss of two years, of crying in relief that his son was finally in his arms again. He only gained control again as he imagined what he planned do to the one responsible for his son’s extended absence.

“We’ll stay here while you take a break,” Raine offered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Chris managed to say.

Nathan snorted. “We thought you’d say that, so we brought you some dinner.” He placed a bag on the bedside table along with a tall cup of coffee.

Chris tore his gaze from Vin’s face to the bag – it was from the deli down the street and the scent of coffee was just hitting his nose. He shifted his gaze to the calm eyes of Nathan. Suddenly, the anger and self-doubt drained away in the light of what he had all along - devoted friends. Chris managed a flicker of a smile.

“Thanks, Nathan,” he said. “I’m sorry . . .”

“No need to apologize, Chris. We understand. Now if you don’t mind, we’ll stick around until you eat that.”

Chris nodded absently and finally released Vin’s hand and retrieved the food, setting back down in the hard, plastic nemesis. He shifted as sore muscles and tender spine painfully reacquainted themselves with the chair.

“Josiah’s spellin’ us,” Nathan said. “I’ll dig up a better chair before he settles in.”

“They released him?”

“Yup. He’s home, showering and changing. The bullet gouged him pretty good. He’s got a bunch of stitches and'll be okay. He’ll need to elevate his leg.”

“What about Ezra?”

“They pulled a bullet from his arm but it missed bones and nerves. He’ll be okay, too. He’s home, passed out hard. 'Bout time.”

Chris nodded, again grateful about how his team watched each other's back.

“Travis said to take as much time as you needed, Chris,” Nathan continued. “He’ll drop by tomorrow. We can cover most of the paper work and bring it to you for your approval.” He rested his hand on Chris’ shoulder for a moment. “You’re needed here for now. Buck’s bringing JD by tomorrow along with some more clothes for you and Vin.”

Chris continued to eat, his eyes always on Vin. “I guessin' there’s a ton of messages on my cell,” he said. “Suppose I should turn it on sometime.”

“Sometime tomorrow. Get some sleep while you can. I don’t think you’ll be getting much this week.” Raine sounded sympathetic as she stroked Vin’s hair. “There’s bound to be immediate repercussions.”

“Yeah,” Chris uttered softly as his appetite dwindled. He wrapped the rest of the sandwich up and picked up the coffee. “Vin had nightmares for months when he was first with me.” In fact, it had been close to a year before the middle of the night disruptions disappeared completely. “I hope he’ll be able to put this behind him, Nathan. I . . . don’t want . . ." He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. "I only see the worst in my mind.”

“He’s strong and so are you. It may take awhile, but with you and Buck and JD there for him, I’m sure he’ll work it out. We’re all here to help, Chris, you know that.”

Chris nodded and sipped his coffee. “Has anyone called Nettie yet?”

Nathan gave Raine a questioning glance and she shrugged her shoulder. Chris reached for the room phone, unwilling to turn on his cell. A few queries later the number was connected. He watched Vin’s face as he spoke.

“Hello?”

“Nettie? Chris.”

“Chris Larabee, it’s about time you called me. I was beginning to think you’d dropped off the face of the Earth.”

How was it that this woman could make him squirm in guilt like a five year old? Still, he warmed at the sound of her voice. She’d been in his corner ever since he and Vin found each other. He swallowed hard to clear his suddenly clenched throat. “Nettie,” he managed to choke, his eyes starting to burn again. “Nettie, Vin’s home. He’s here with me, now.”

“What? You found him? Oh, Chris, that wonderful! How is he?”

“Actually, he found us. He’s sleeping at the moment. We’re at Four Corners Hospital for the night.”

“Is he hurt?”

“No, not on the outside, Nettie.”

“Oh, Chris, I’m so happy for you. That boy will only get better now that he’s back with you.” Chris heard a sniff and pictured her wiping misty eyes. “How did he find you?”

Chris gave her a short version of the bust, every second still clear in his mind. After arranging a visiting time for then next afternoon, he hung up and finished his coffee.

Vin stirred and Chris moved back to his side, whispering comforting words. Vin sighed and relaxed a little deeper into the mattress.

“Well, we’ll be camped in the waiting area until Josiah gets here.” Nathan said softly.

“It’s really not necessary,” Chris started.

“Yes, it is.” Nathan insisted. “You need a break sometime and we don’t intend for our boy to ever be alone again. We have to be here for him and you.”

Chris nodded, again grateful.

_______________________________

The tiny hand in his finally felt softer, rounder and generated a little of its own warmth. Chris lightly rubbed across the knuckles with his thumb, relieved to see any improvement even if it was as simple as hydration.

Dawn was less than an hour away – at home, this would be a peaceful time where the last of the moon might dip behind the distant mountain range as the first light of sun washed the opposite horizon. Rabbits and deer may wander into the yard. Birds would start to stir.

Here in the hospital, however, there was the staff's constant motion all night. The atmosphere rarely varied, the only difference between day and night in the little room being the amount of light coming in the window and the amount of foot traffic in the hallway.

Chris couldn’t wait to get Vin where he belonged - home. The boy he knew thrived on the out of doors and the nature surrounding the ranch. His eyes traced a path up Vin’s limp arm to his troubled face. Even in sleep, he looked as if the weight of the world rested on his fragile shoulders.

Dr. Will called early in the previous evening and listed the things Chris might see. As Vin’s blood chemistry was brought back to normal levels, the signs of shock would lessen bringing with it fallout that could express itself in many different ways. Being familiar with Vin’s history, the psychologist felt that Vin’s first instincts would probably be that of fight or flight. Trust, again, would be a huge issue; Chris’ history with the boy would make or break the speed of his recovery. It depended entirely on what Vin remembered, and two years in a ten-year-old’s life was a long time. Dr. Will closed the conversation by setting the time for his morning visit.

Chris was more than willing to start at square one again if they had to. The bond they felt from the very start was something too visceral to ignore. Chris truly felt it was in both his and Vin’s nature to be together and that’s what would bring his son back to them.

In a physical effort to stay awake, Chris stood and stretched, and then walked a small circle in the spare space of the room. The closet door was ajar, so he peeked inside and saw the small pile of Vin’s clothes on the top shelf. Curious, he pulled down the dirty, well-worn jeans and checked the pockets, hoping to find some hint as to where his son had been. All he found was a squashed and crumbled energy bar and a wadded up piece of newspaper. Chris carefully unfolded the paper, disappointed to see it was from the Denver Post, which had a huge circulation.

Then he noticed the picture - it was the one of Serritella being taken from the court house with Chris clearly in the background.

Is that what triggered Vin’s escape?

Chris sighed and tucked the clipping in his pocket, then folded the garment and put it back in the closet. Then, he returned to sit by the bedside once again and gently clasped both hands over Vin’s. A lull of noise in the building made Chris’ weariness creep to the forefront and he was unable to keep his eyelids from falling closed.

Suspended for an immeasurable span of time, Chris drifted until an inner urge nudged him back into awareness. When his eyes peeled open and he raised his head, the first thing he saw was his hand cradling Vin’s. Inexplicitly, his gaze flicked farther upward to find a hazy set of blues staring at him.

Chris’ heart lurched. “Vin,” he said softly as he gripped the hand more tightly. “'Mornin', son” The last word cracked as his throat tightened. He slowly reached to stroke Vin’s cheek, hesitating a second as his son flinched slightly from the motion. There was no fear in Vin’s eyes, but the haziness seeped away leaving behind a bright wariness that stung Chris’ heart.

After a short pause, Chris continued his motion, cradled Vin’s cheek and gently stroked it with his rough thumb. The tenseness around Vin’s eyes softened as the boy pressed ever so slightly into the caress. His eyelids partially closed and Chris felt him relax as their bond patched and strengthened.

The spell was broken with the sound of voices passing the doorway. Vin jerked into awareness, eyes wide, and pulled his hand free of Chris’, pressing his palms to the mattress in preparation to move. His eyes darted wildly, seeking an escape route.

“You’re okay, Cowboy. You’re in the hospital and I’m here. I'm not leaving . . .”

The soft cadence helped dispel panic and Vin’s breathing evened out. Although Chris kept his tone low and level, his own pulse raced with sorrow, anger and fear. Chris Larabee swore to himself that he would personally eviscerat