"I feel s' old as you, Larabee," Vin rasped.

"Right now, I'd be lucky if I felt that good."

Vin's gaze sharpened. "Maybe we oughtta take Travis up on his offer."

"You want to?"

"Hell, no! But wantin' and needin' ain't 'xactly the same thing."

"Let's take it to the others, see what they think."

Privately, Vin thought that if they took one look at him and Chris, they'd hand over the case on a silver platter. But that wasn't what he wanted and he was pretty sure it wasn't what Chris wanted, either. "Yeah," he agreed quietly.

Chris paused outside the office door. "You sure?"

"Sure as shootin'."

Knowing Vin, that was pretty damn sure. He opened the door, letting Tanner drift in ahead of him. The other members of the team were seated at their desks. JD was playing a video game on his computer, Buck was reading reports, Ezra was playing Solitaire, Nathan and Josiah were reading professional journals. Or at least that's what it looked like they were doing. What was going on in their collective minds was entirely another matter.

Regardless, all activity ceased when they heard Chris step inside. He knew they were waiting, but he had to take care of his head and stomach first. "Give me five minutes before you all start firing questions, okay?" He went into his office, to the small lavatory and took out his migraine meds. He used the nasal spray, then took an ulcer pill. He splashed water on his face, dried off. He avoided looking in the mirror. Five minutes. He should have taken ten, but he lay down on the couch anyway, knowing they would be knocking on his door if he drifted off ...

"Chris?"

A light touch on his shoulder. He opened his eyes. "Five minutes already?"

"Ten." Buck stood looking down at him. "Old son, you're in about as bad a shape as I've ever seen ya."

Chris pushed himself upright. "I'm fi --"

"Sure you are." Buck perched on the arm of the sofa. "You wanna tell me what the hell is goin' on here?"

Chris sighed. Rubbed his forehead. "Need to talk to everybody about this, Buck." He stood up, swaying, and Buck's strong arm came over his shoulders.

"Maybe they oughtta come in here, partner. You just get yourself horizontal and I'll get the others and some water."

"I'm f-"

"Unless you're about t'say yer a fucked-up mess, you'd best keep that lie to yourself. I've known ya too long to be faked out by Larabee cussedness." He pushed Chris down on the couch, not at all amused by the ease of Larabee's surrender. This was bad ... real bad.

He returned to the outer office and glared at Vin. "You got any idea what's goin' on here?"

"I'm in the middle of it, ain't I?" Vin returned the glare; hard to do when he was so tired he could barely see straight to begin with.

"You gonna tell us?"

"That's Chris's job, not mine. So back off, Buck, an' give me a chance t'breathe, okay?" He went to the coffeepot and hesitated over pouring a cup. Caffeine would only give him the shakes at this point.

"Perhaps this might help?" Ezra handed him a cold bottle of Evian.

"Thanks, Ez," Vin said, surprised by the kindness. The bottle was cold, sweaty, and he wanted to press it to his aching eyes like an ice-pack and rest it against his hot, dry cheeks. But aware that he was being watched, he opened it and drank. It was gone too fast, and he was even more surprised when Standish took the empty bottle and replaced it with a fresh one. He gave Ezra a grateful nod and cracked the plastic seal. He drank a few sips, relishing the feel of the cool liquid sliding down his throat. It was as welcome as dew in the desert.

Buck's hostility eased back a bit as he watched Vin. He was in no better shape than Chris, and maybe worse seeing as he was coming off being wounded. He sighed, walked over to Vin and set a light hand on his tense shoulder. "Sorry, Junior. I ain't angry with you. I just want ta know what's got Chris so tied up in knots he can't see straight."

"Get in here and I'll tell you," Chris was hanging on to the door frame. "You inclined to share any more of that water, Ezra?"

"I might be persuaded, Mr. Larabee." Ezra went to the small refrigerator and took out another bottle.

"Then bring it on in. We've got a decision to make and we don't have much time."

They filed into his office, took their usual positions; Vin leaning against the wall closest to Chris's desk, the others in chairs or on the sofa. Chris took the time to drink the water Ezra had given him. The migraine medicine had kicked in and his stomach wasn't on fire any longer, but to say he felt better would have been a bald-faced lie. But he could function, and that was all that was required with this team. He didn't have to tap dance around politically correct issues, he didn't have to sugar-coat unpleasant realities, or curb his emotions to spare others their blistering impact. And in turn, they would be honest to the point of pain with him.

He took a breath. "If we could get out of this case without any further involvement, would you do it?"

Silence.

"After how many months?" Buck asked tightly. "After Vin and Ezra riskin' their lives and nearly gettin' killed? After the crazy fuckers tried to take you down right here in this building? You're jokin', right?"

"No."

"Do you want out, Chris?" Josiah asked.

Chris sighed. "It's not just about me or Vin. It's about all of us. Is the work we've done on this case worth it to you to continue?"

"Well, yeah!" JD exclaimed. "I mean, we've spilt blood over this and if we back down, isn't that the same thing as letting D'Amico win?"

"I don't believe we should withdraw for my benefit," Ezra drawled. "Personally, I was anticipating the pleasure of seeing Troy D'Amico and his associates led away in restraints to some appropriate federal facility."

"Ezra's right," Nathan added. "We sign off on this, we're sayin' we've been beat. And we ain't. Not by a long shot."

"Vin?"

His mouth twisted into a smile. "I'm still standin', Larabee. Ain't nothin' wrong with my eyes."

Chris looked at each of them, pride swelling in his heart. He picked up the phone and dialed Travis's direct number. "Orrin, we're in. All of us." Travis didn't say much, just a sigh of what sounded like relief rather than resignation. Chris hung up. "Now, I'm gonna tell you what I know about this whole sorry mess."

He stood up, thrust his hands in his pockets, paced. "Ed Williams joined the ATF about the same time I did. I didn't know him well. We weren't on the same teams. He was more paperwork oriented. Licenses, permits - white collar stuff. He was only in Denver for a few months before he went down to Phoenix. I was pretty deep into an investigation of some paramilitary splinter groups. They were getting guns from all over, we were working 24/7 trying to trace the sources, but the leads were vanishing like water running into sand."

The memory of those days was blurred by the shadow of his exhaustion, but still painful to recount. He stood at the window, feeling the eyes of his team on him as they waited for him to continue. "There were rumors even then that some of the permits and licenses being issued in Phoenix were questionable. Williams was promoted to SAC of the department. He got the job because he said he would be hard on fraudulent applicants, that he'd clean the town up. I remember seeing a picture of him wearing a white cowboy hat, like he was the re-incarnation of the Lone Ranger."

Chris sighed. "Then things got complicated. Cases I was working on started going to hell. Paperwork disappeared. There was a scandal involving some dealers that Williams approved which turned out to be fronts for illegal weapons importers."

"You gonna tell us something we don't know?" Buck asked tersely.

"You gonna let me tell it my way?" Chris shot back, angry that his flow of thought had been interrupted. It was hard enough putting all this together when his head felt like it was about to fly apart without Buck throwing in his two-cents worth.

"Take your time, Chris. We got it," Josiah soothed.

"I wish we did." Chris gathered his thoughts. "Washington knew something was wrong going back to Waco. But with the bad blood out there - and with every move under scrutiny - they kept quiet. Just kept tabs on what was coming in, where it came from. Eventually, it led to Phoenix. That's when the heat came to bear on Ed Williams for issuing questionable permits." He gave JD a look. "We know what happened to that investigation."

"Are you sayin' the brass *knew* and they still kept him on the job?"

Chris nodded. "They hoped Williams would lead them down the money trail. So they transferred him here."

Buck ran a hand through his hair. "Did *Williams* know?"

"He musta suspected somethin'." Vin said quietly. "Why else'd he put us between himself an' D'Amico? He set up Ezra and me for a fall, figurin' he could make it look like we'd been turned. Thought he could force Travis t'back off from the investigation and turn it all over to him in Treasury. He was good, real good. But he warn't smart enough t'see he was sleepin' with the devil."

"Now he's sleeping with the fishes," JD commented under his breath to Buck, and was speared with a look from Chris that made him blush. "Sorry, Chris," he apologized. "I ain't laughing."

"I know." Chris returned to his chair. He was suddenly so tired that it was an effort to remain upright. "Now that you know what we're up against, do you still want to see this through?"

"Hell, yes!" Buck said, anger ripping through his voice. "Though I got a few choice words I'd like to throw Travis's way!"

"It's not Orrin's fault, Buck." Chris recalled the strain and weariness he had seen in the AD's face. "He's been living with this for longer than we have."

"Yeah, at least he's still alive! You and Ez, and Vin -"

"Last I looked we were all still standin', Bucklin."

"Fer how damn long?" Buck fumed. "How the hell does he expect us to fight D'Amico with one hand tied behind our back and the other handcuffed to an anvil?" He started pacing, so agitated that it didn't take more than four long strides to cover the length of Chris's office.

Chris let him make three turns before he covered his eyes with his hands, dizzied by the big man's agitation. Josiah stood up, breaking the path of Buck's pacing. He set a hand on Buck's arm and directed a meaningful look at Chris. "Think we need to give Chris a few minutes, brother."

Chris looked up. "All of you, out. Go home. Eat something, get some sleep. We aren't doing anything more tonight. If something comes up, I'll call."

Buck turned to him. "Where are you gonna be?"

Chris was about to answer that he would be staying at the office, when Vin spoke up.

"My place." Chris arched a brow, questioning and Vin laughed softly. "Figure ol' Troy's got other things on his mind."

The others rose, stretching out weary muscles, even JD, whose youthful spring seemed to have run down after the weeks of tension. Nathan called Rain on his cell phone to tell her that he was on his way home. She obviously asked him how Chris was, because he cast a wary glance at Larabee before replying softly that he seemed all right. Chris didn't notice, but Vin saw the concern on Nathan's face. He smiled slightly, assuring Jackson that he would keep an eye on Chris.

Buck laid a hand on JD's shoulder and looked back at Ezra. "You comin'?"

"I-I thought I might take a room ..."

"Ya got a place with me n' JD, Ez. I ain't even changed the sheets, yet."

"How can I refuse so gracious an invitation?" Ezra drawled, hoping to disguise the relief and gratitude in his voice. He didn't, but Buck just grinned back at him as he headed out the door.

When he and Vin were alone, Chris slumped in his chair, his eyes closed, his hands clenched hard on the arms of his chair. He looked so haggard, so pale, that Vin didn't even want to speak, as if the sound of his voice could hurt his friend. "You want one of those pills ya take, Chris?"

"Yeah. In the medicine chest. Imitrex."

"I know. Seen ya take 'em often enough." He got the bottle and a glass of water, shook out a pill and opened Chris's clenched hand. "Here. And drink."

Chris obeyed, then grinned weakly. "Seems like we've got some role reversal going on here."

"'Bout time, Larabee. Soon as ya feel better, we'll get outta here. I'll give ya a few while I check my mail."

Chris barely had the strength to nod his head. He closed his eyes. He heard Vin's quiet steps, then the sound of his fingers tapping his computer keyes. He didn't drift off, but he tried some of the breathing exercises he recalled from the therapist he'd consulted - no, that Buck had forced him to consult - after Sarah and Adam's deaths. His pulse finally slowed and the beat no longer felt like drums pounding in his skull. He didn't want to move, but he didn't want to stay there all night, either.

He stood up, went into his bathroom and cleaned up. He took his leather jacket from the hook on the wall and went into the outer office. Vin was hunched forward, his face illuminated by the light of his computer screen, his eyes narrowed and his lips moving as he sounded out the lines of text.

"Anything good?" Chris asked quietly.

Vin slewed around his his chair. "Not unless ya git yer rocks off over the latest update of the procedural manual ." He manipulated the windows on his screen, shutting it down. "Ya ready t' git outta here?"

"Anytime you are."

They locked up and retrieved the Ram from the garage. When they were finally inside Vin's apartment, Chris started heading towards the couch. Vin caught his shoulders and steered him towards the bedroom. "Y'ain't gonna git much sleep on the couch, cowboy."

Chris was too tired to protest. He sank down on the bed, felt Vin pull off his boots. Then he tipped over onto the pillows and fell into the soft darkness waiting to envelop him.

Ezra drank his third glass of Laphroig in bed, hoping that the liquor would relax him enough to let sleep claim him. He felt as if every nerve in his body was firing sparks through their synapses and he just wanted it to stop so he could sleep.

He didn't have the excuse of utter physical exhaustion as he had the night before; he'd had plenty of rest and had spent most of the day in the office waiting for Chris and Vin to return from their reconnaissance. But that knowledge didn't calm his nerves or prevent his mind from chasing down dark and unknown paths. He reached for the techno-thriller novel he had selected from JD's shelves. It wasn't his reading material of choice, but he was hoping it would be sufficiently boring and in combination with the scotch, would prove to be an effective soporific.

It worked. Between the techno-speak and the flat characterizations, his eyelids began to close and he reached to turn off the bedside lamp. He sank down against the pillows, settled the blanket over his shoulders. He was drifting off when his cell phone shrilled to life, startling him awake. He fumbled for it on the nightstand, his mind in a turmoil. Vin? Chris? Maude, forgetful of the time zones?

"Hello."

"Death doesn't always come in a bullet." A soft raspy voice, low and hard. Then silence.

Ezra was now thoroughly awake. His hand shook slightly as he pressed the button for the caller ID. Unknown. He lay back against the pillows, listening to his heart pound. He tried to think logically, to replay the call in his mind. What had the caller said?

Meaning what?

He pulled the robe he borrowed from Buck over his shoulders and went down the hall to Buck's door. He knocked, waited. Knocked again. "Buck!"

"What?" Cranky. The door cracked open and a sleepy blue eye peered out. "What's goin' on? Can't sleep?"

"Yes, I awoke you from your slumber solely so you could keep me entertained in my insomniac state."

"Sarcastic at this time of night, ain't ya?" The door closed a bit, then opened again. Buck came out into the hallway. "So, what's up?"

"I received a call on my cell phone. I don't know what to make of it. Unknown caller. A message. 'Death doesn't always come with a bullet.'"

Buck looked at him. "Any chance you recognized the voice?" Ezra shot him a such a venomous look that Buck recanted. "Don't suppose you did. So, ya got this call. You wanta tell Chris?"

"Do I want to wake Mr. Larabee from his undoubtedly much needed slumber to tell him I have received a cryptic phone call from an unidentified source in the middle of the night?"

Buck smiled. "Nope, I reckon ya don't. And neither do I. First thing in the morning is something else, though. Think you can go back to sleep 'til then?"

Ezra nodded. "Thank you."

"Sure thing, partner." Buck winked and closed the door. Ezra stood in the hall a moment before heading back to his room. Not even JD's thriller could put him back to sleep before 3am.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

The sounds of Chris moving about the apartment woke Vin up. He unstuck one eye. Dark but for the artificial light that shone through the blinds. He shoved the hair out of his eyes and sat up. "Chris? Y'all right?"

"Yeah. Go back to sleep." His voice from the darkness sounded infinitely weary. Vin padded over to the hallway and waited for Chris to emerge from the bathroom. "You hungry?"

Chris came out into the hall. The light from the bathroom spilled over his hair, pale as tumbled straw. "You need t'sleep, Vin."

"Like you?" Vin slanted a brow, and Chris gave him a ghost of a smile. "Thought so." He headed off towards the kitchen, leaving Chris to follow.

He switched on the light, heard Chris cuss at the brightness and squinted at him. Larabee had thrown his hand over his eyes. He stumbled over to the breakfast bar and sat on a stool, keeping his head averted from the light. If Vin hadn't known better, he would have said the man looked like had had just come off a three day bender.

"Didn't that stuff ya took work?" he asked.

"Mostly." Chris dropped his hand and blinked at him. "It's three in the morning, and nothing feels real good right now."

Vin ran the tap water until it was cold, filled a glass and dropped in an ice cube. "Start with this. Think you could handle some eggs?"

Chris nodded and sipped the water. "You think any more about tomorrow?"

"Hard to think of anything but." Vin broke and scrambled four eggs in a bowl, put butter in a skillet to melt and put the eggs on to cook. "You?"

Chris laughed softly. "About the same. I keep going over the site. Trying to figure out what could happen, where it could happen, how it could happen."

"No wonder ya got migraines."

"It's a wonder you don't."

Vin shrugged. "Got other problems instead."

He divided the eggs and set a plate and fork in front of Chris. He chewed on mouthful of eggs. "Seems like I'm missin' part of a puzzle. I got one piece left and no matter which way I twist it, it don't fit."

"Maybe it will in the morning." Chris scrubbed a hand over his face. "Lord, I'm tired."

"Reckon we all are. Think we c'n hold on fer another day?"

Chris pushed away from the breakfast bar and stood, stretching out the kinks in his shoulders. "Don't see that we have any other choice, partner. Thanks for the eggs."

"Well, it ain't goor-may cookin'," Vin quipped. "G'night, or good mornin', or whatever the hell it is at this time a' day."

Chris nodded and walked slowly down the hall to the bedroom. Vin returned to the couch, pulled the quilt Nettie had made for him over his shoulders and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to come.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Chris woke as the room slowly lightened from black, to dark gray, to pale blue. Deciding that sleep wouldn't return, he slid from the bed and raised the blinds, bracing his forearms against the window sill and limbering up his back muscles. He straightened, did a series of long stretches and pulled on his jeans. Still barefoot and shirtless, he crossed silently into the living room.

The TV flickered soundlessly, CNN giving the early-morning news. Vin was sprawled face-down on the couch, his long hair tumbling across his cheek. One arm hung over the side of the cushions, the TV remote just beyond the reach of his lax fingers. Chris reached for the remote and slowly increased the volume until Vin stirred. He fumbled for the remote and when he didn't find it, he pushed himself upright, sweeping the strands of his hair aside.

"Morning," Chris said quietly.

Vin startled, slewed around too quickly and winced as his back tightened. "Hell, Larabee! Ya scared me."

"That's a first," Chris grinned. "You get any sleep?"

"Guess so, else ya wouldn't a' been able to sneak up on me." Tanner, grumpy that morning as usual and dragged down with exhaustion, wasn't much up for conversation. He got himself upright and headed in the general direction of bathroom and bedroom. Chris went into the kitchen and started coffee brewing. His cell phone rang as he started rummaging through the refrigerator for breakfast.

"Larabee."

"I am sorry to disturb you so early in the mornin' ..."

"Morning, Ezra. Just spit it out."

A moment of silence as Chris figured it was against Ezra's nature to spit out anything without preamble. "I received a phone call last evenin' which sounded suspiciously similar to the one Mr. Tanner and I received in the hospital."

"What did it say?"

"Death does not always come with a bullet."

"That's it?"

"I regret to say it is. Unfortunately, since it was on my cell phone I have no way of tracing the call and no recording of it for Mr. Dunne to analyze."

Chris rubbed his forehead and leaned against the counter. "Hell."

"Indeed."

"Thanks, Ezra. I'll pass that on to Vin. We'll meet you at the capitol in an hour."

"We will be there, Mr. Larabee."

Chris closed his phone. The coffee pot finished dripping with a final hiss of steam. He stared at it, not seeing anything but the darkness in his own mind.

"You gonna pour some a' that or jist figger it'll leap into the mug all by itself if ya glare at it hard enough?"

Chris blinked. "Funny." Vin's hair was still damp, but he was dressed in his usual jeans and t-shirt. His returned Sig-Sauer was buckled in his shoulder holster. Chris found that sight reassuring. Balance returning to his team and to his life.

"Chris?"

"What?"

"Yer starin' again, partner." He took two mugs from the hooks over the sink and poured coffee. Sugar and milk in his, black for Chris. He handed Larabee the mug and raised a quizzical brow.

Chris took a sip of the hot coffee. "Ezra got another threatening call. Message was, 'Death doesn't always come with a bullet.' Possibly the same caller as previously, but no way to check voice patterns."

"Hmm."

"Mean anything to you?"

Vin hitched a hip onto a barstool. "Could be a threat, could be a warning. Could be D'Amico thumbing his nose at us."

Chris didn't have a response. He drank some more coffee and set the mug down. "I'll be ready in ten minutes. I told Ezra we'd meet him and the others at the capitol building."

"Reckon that'll do." He watched Chris down the hall. Larabee was looking pretty thin these days. Hell, maybe they all were. His own jeans were hanging on his hips and he was beginning to wonder if there had ever been a time when he'd sat down and eaten a regular meal. The last one he rightly remembered had been that fancy Italian dinner at Caruso's. Looked like he and Chris would be eating on the run again that morning. It was wearing on him and he didn't like what it was doing to Chris.

One way or another, it would have to come to an end.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

They grabbed coffee and bagels from a shop on the way to the park surrounding the capitol where Travis was waiting with the other members of the team, FBI agents, and law enforcement officials.

Vin looked up at the sky. It was overcast, no shadows, virtually no wind. Perfect sniper weather. He had little confidence that they had found the sniper’s nest – it had all seemed too perfect. He’d wait to see what the lab had come up with on the DNA and fingerprint analysis, but he was willing to bet that they had been set up. D’Amico enjoyed playing with his prey, leading them to believe they were on the verge of winning, and then pushing them away, taunting their efforts. He shivered, rubbing his forearms, wishing he’d worn flannel instead of a thin denim shirt over his tee.

"Here," Chris tossed an ATF sweatshirt at him. "Don’t leave home without it."

Vin laughed. "Thanks." He pulled it over his head, dug in his pocket for the leather thong he used to tie his hair back. He looped it around the thick tail of hair, wrapped and knotted it. Buck came over and held out a long black leather rifle case.

"I thought ya might be lookin’ fer this."

Vin took the weight in his hands, hefted it, smiled slightly when he realized that Chris was watching him. "Almost feels good."

"Let’s find Travis," Chris growled. He didn’t like it that Vin made an easy target with the M24 SWS cradled in his arms. "Can’t you make that a little less obvious?" he whispered grimly.

Vin raised a brow. "Ya worried about me, pard?" When Chris didn’t answer, he smirked and dropped the gun against his side, shielding it from plain view. "Better?"

Chris failed to see the humor. He glared back. "Thanks."

Vin gave him a nod, tilted his head a bit. "It’s m’job, Chris. Jist let me worry about it, okay?"

Orrin Travis was walking towards them, followed by a team of soberly dressed agents trailing him in a phalanx. He stopped about five paces from Chris and squinted up at the golden dome of the capitol building. They were at the front, formal portico. Behind them, an emerald green sweep of lawn flowed down a hillside to the formal gardens that surrounded the park. All vehicle access to the front of the building had been blocked, but the two major traffic arteries alongside the capitol had been allowed to remain open, if heavily guarded by motorcycle patrols and mounted police.

Travis nodded his approval. "Looks good."

"You think?" Chris asked dourly. "I feel like I’m in a shooting gallery." His sea-green gaze swept along the horizon of office buildings that surrounded the capitol.

Travis frowned. "I thought that had been covered."

Vin stepped forward. "Unless you got a guard at every window in every building or on every rooftop, that’s a mighty reckless assumption t’make."

Travis’s expression hardened. "I’ve done the best I can with what Washington has seen fit to give me. God help us if it’s not enough."

Chris was smart enough not to reply that it wasn’t enough, it was never enough when the lives of his men were at stake. He glanced at his watch. Two hours until the dignitaries started gathering on the portico. The shooting gallery analogy struck him once again, making him shiver.

Vin stood next to him, their shoulders just brushing. "Reckon I’d better start my sweep."

"Yeah. Check in, okay?"

"Oh, I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Think I might take up a stand on that roof where we were yesterday. Somethin’ about that place ..."

"Vin ..." Quizzical blue eyes met his. All the words of caution he wanted to say weren’t enough. He held out his hand and Vin’s strong fingers closed over his forearm. Tanner just smiled, a slight tug of the lips before he released Chris’s arm. Then he was walking away, light and easy as if the idea of a man in the crosshairs of his rifle scope had never haunted him.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Vin stood on the rooftop of the office building, the small red x that marked the sniper’s firing position directly in front of him. Curious, he took out his rifle and set it there; the masonry wall was a perfect height to use as a rest, a bit too high for his liking, but that just told him that whoever had chosen the site was a taller man than he was. Not Ronnie Fazio, that was sure. Fazio didn’t have the height for that position or the temperament to be a sniper. Leaning slightly forward, bracing his knee against the wall, his other leg planted firmly to anchor his body, he peered through the scope.

Everything showed in sharp relief: the facade of the capitol, the podium set up for the speakers, the flags hanging limp on their staffs. A minute shift of his head, and Orrin Travis’s face was in his cross-hairs, clear and close as if Vin could reach out to touch him, and next to the AD, Chris. Pale light glinting on pale hair, his features taut and fine, the jumping nerve in his jaw betraying his nerves to Vin’s eyes. He shaded his eyes with his hands and turned, looking up at the building as if he had heard Vin speak his name.

Vin’s vision blurred and he pulled back from the scope, blinking. Damn sweat ... He stripped off the sweatshirt and dropped it to the roof. He drew a forearm over his eyes, clearing them. Yeah, this would have been a perfect emplacement for a sniper ... but so would have about ten other buildings in the vicinity. Why this one? Vin wondered.

He thumbed his cell phone open and pushed Chris’s number. Six stories beneath him, he saw the blond reach in his pocket. "Chris?" Before Larabee could speak, he asked, "Who owns this building?"

He saw the slow horror dawning as Chris slowly lowered the phone from his ear, watched as he motioned for JD to get the hell over to him, saw him speak to the young agent, and then JD dashed off for the van where the communications equipment and his laptop were kept. He was back quickly, but to Vin it had seemed an eternity waiting, listening to Chris breathe over the phone. JD gesticulated widely and Chris spun back to look up at the rooftop.

"Get down from there, NOW!"

"Chris?"

"Damn it, Vin! D’Amico –"

He turned, his balance slightly thrown off by shock and the weight of his rifle. Too late he saw the stairwell door swing open, too late, saw the flash of metal in sunlight and Ronnie Fazio charge out swinging a weighted sap. Before he could throw up an arm in defense, the sap connected soundly with the side of his skull and he went down, boneless and bleeding, his rifle sliding across the gravel and tar to rest at Troy D’Amico’s feet.

D’Amico knelt beside the semi-conscious agent and pried the cell phone from his fingers. "Mr. Larabee?" he said. "You will do exactly as I say or Ronnie Fazio will execute Agent Tanner. Is that clear?"

Through the ringing in his ears and the blinding pain, Vin held on to the thread of D’Amico’s voice. "C-Chris?" he tried to say, but his lips felt numb and his tongue thick, like he’d been drugged.

He must have made some sound, for D’Amico laughed softly. "You heard that, Agent Larabee? He’s alive, for now. However, I don’t know how long I will be able to restrain Ronnie’s less civilized instincts."

Vin tried to imagine Chris’s part of the conversation. He wanted to tell him to do what he had to do to keep the investigation intact, to worry about the others. He could take care of himself.

Right ...

He opened his eyes. Not a good idea. Fazio grabbed the collar of his sweatshirt and dragged him upright. He wrapped the long hank of Vin’s ponytail around his fist and pulled hard, stretching out Vin’s throat and held a cold blade to his skin. "I’ve been looking forward to this, Tanner. Now, walk real slow. Any fast moves and you’ll bleed to death in ten seconds. You got that?"

"Yeah," Vin managed to rasp out. The numbness was receding, but the blood from the cut made by the sap was still dripping freely down his collar. Fazio guided him back inside the building. They were inside the mechanical plant where the air conditioning, electrical, and water filtration systems were located. Pipes and conduit lined the walls, and the sound of the machinery throbbed all around them. Vin could scream his head off and nobody would hear him, he could die here, and nobody would come for him.

Or he could fight.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Orrin Travis watched in alarm as Chris Larabee’s expression changed from anxious to murderous; the blood draining from his face and his lips thinning into a feral snarl of rage.

"I don’t know if you’re just plain stupid, or if you want us to file federal charges which could include capital murder, D’Amico. Let Agent Tanner go, and we’ll talk our way out of this."

Travis gesticulated a cut across his throat, indicating that Larabee should get off the line ASAP. Chris held up a hand, indicating that he understood. "Listen, I’m not authorized to negotiate this, but –"

"Negotiate?" D’Amico’s laugh trickled like cold water down his spine. "No, Agent Larabee. There is no negotiation. Vin Tanner is, at this moment, in the tender care of Ronnie Fazio. I don’t have to tell you what that means, do I?"

Chris closed his eyes, sickness eating away at him. "What do you want?" he asked thickly.

"I want the little presentation to go on as scheduled, that is all."

"What?"

The phone went silent. "Sonofabitch!" Chris cursed. "He’s got Vin," he said savagely to Travis. "That goddamned, murdering bastard has Vin!" He slapped the cell phone shut and reached for the gun strapped in his shoulder holster.

Travis grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"

"I’m going to get Vin –"

"Like hell you are, Agent Larabee!" Travis’s stern voice halted him. "First, you are going to tell me every word that D’Amico said. Then we will work out a plan. You go charging in there like a lit-up stick of dynamite, we’ll never get him back alive!"

Every instinct in Chris was screaming to run, to take off, to do anything to get Vin out of D’Amico’s clutches, but something of Travis’s cool logic stayed him in his tracks. He turned back slowly, nodding his comprehension.

"Good. Did he say what he wanted?"

"He wants the press conference to go on as planned."

"That’s it?"

Chris’s eyes hardened. "When you put that together with Ezra’s phone call --"

"What phone call?"

"The one he got that said ‘Death doesn’t always come with a bullet.’" He watched Travis’s expression change from puzzlement to alarm. "Yeah, I figured the same thing. It isn’t a sniper we have to worry about now."

Travis got on his phone and called the Denver PD to tell them to get the bomb squad over to the capitol immediately. He ordered a helicopter up to survey the surrounding rooftops and mobilized an extended blockade of motor traffic.

All of that took time, not much, but time that Chris felt slipping through his fingers like water, never to be retrieved. He saw Buck coming towards him, JD in tow, and tried to arrange his face in a less angry expression.

Buck saw, though, and came to such a rapid halt that JD nearly ran into his back. "What is it?" he asked, reading Chris’s rage and worry. "Junior?"

"D’Amico has him."

"Fuck! How the hell did that happen?"

"The sniper nest was a ruse, a set-up. D’Amico owns the building and he just waltzed up there with Ronnie Fazio and caught Vin flat."

"You talk to him?"

"Vin? No. I heard his voice. He sounded ... he sounded hurt."

Buck snarled a threat so obscene that JD blanched, and even Chris was rocked back by the big man’s anger. Chris found himself in the unfamiliar position of holding somebody else back from taking rash action. He took hold of Buck’s arm. "He’s hurting, but he’s alive. And I don’t know anybody more tenacious than Vin Tanner. We’ll get there."

"You b’lieve that?" Buck said. "I don’t trust Ronnie Fazio an inch."

"You think I do?"

The sound of sirens heralded the arrival of the bomb squad. Chris pulled his gun from the holster. "Sounds like the cavalry’s here."

"Where the hell do you think you’re going?" Travis barked.

"You wanted a plan? Well, here it is. You’ve got men, you’ve got the bomb squad. You worry about that. I’m getting Vin out. Buck, you with me?"

"The hell I am!" Wilmington’s blue eyes were lit with the fire of battle-joy, jolting Chris into the memory of what it had been like to fight with Buck next to him when they were in the SEALs. Nobody was better in a fight than Buck.

"Let’s bring him out," Chris said, echoing the SEAL creed to never leave a comrade behind, alive or dead.

Travis knew they were beyond stopping, and he had no inclination to try. He met Chris’s level, determined gaze. "Go on, son. Take care of your own." He watched them lope off, falling into old patterns that had never faded. Now he had to find some way to keep the other volatile members of the team from joining the rescue of their hostage sharpshooter.