Chris was still sleeping when Vin came into the living room the next morning; surprising because Larabee was usually up before dawn to feed the horses when he was out at the ranch. He looked over the back of the couch. All he could see was a thatch of blond hair sticking up in odd places and the edge of one high cheekbone. He went into the kitchen, started up the coffee, then took a shower, figuring that the aroma of the coffee would be alarm enough for Chris. And when he came out of the bathroom, Chris was sitting on the edge of the couch running his fingers through his disordered hair. Vin fetched two mugs of coffee, added sugar and milk to his own, and set the black one on the table in front of Chris.

"Mornin.'"

A grunt, not surly, just the tired sound of a man who still wanted to be sleeping. Chris yawned, scrubbed his hands across his eyes, took a couple swallows of the coffee. "What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty. Saturday. No work."

Chris collapsed against the back of the couch. "Thank God."

"No work unless ya count talkin' to Ezra."

Chris gave him a sidelong glance. "You call him yet?"

Vin snorted. "And interrupt his beauty sleep? I'll give him another hour. Give you time t'wake up, shower an' have somethin' t'eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I am." He stood up. "I'll be back in a few." He went to the convenience store down the block, picked up bagels and cream cheese, juice, eggs, and bacon. Larabee might think he wasn't hungry, but Vin had been around often enough when Larabee hadn't eaten and knew the stress it put on somebody with a tendency for ulcers and migraines. He wasn't gonna put up with the foul temper that came with them.

When Chris emerged dressed and shaved, he was greeted by the aroma of a freshly cooked breakfast. Vin served out scrambled eggs and bacon, put bagels in to toast, poured more coffee. He tossed a newspaper on the table between them and slid into the chair across from Chris. He watched Chris from around the edges of the funny pages. For a man who said he wasn't hungry, Larabee was making a good show of eating. Or maybe he just wasn't thinking about the food. Chris read the paper with the same characteristics he brought to the job; quick, thorough, not missing a detail. Vin admired that -- he struggled through the funny pages. He finished, then glanced through the sports, looked at the headlines on the pages that Chris held. Read, then thought. Then tapped the paper.

"What?" Chris asked.

"Think I'm gonna call Ezra, see if he's awake."

"Yeah ..." Chris said, not really paying much attention to Vin. He was trying to digest the import of the latest round of security measures the government was implementing to counter terrorism when his own phone rang.

"Larabee."

"Chris -- JD. I've got something here on Williams."

Chris sat upright, looked around for Vin. Saw the impatient look on his face, and wondered what was up with Ezra. "Go ahead."

"Chris, I don't wanna get into this on the phone, okay?" JD sounded funny; nervous, breathless, excited and worried at the same time.

"Where are you?"

"At home. You and Vin coming over?"

"I guess. Vin's trying to reach Ezra. You heard from him?"

"N-no."

Vin came into the kitchen, an unhappy look on his face. "He ain't picking up," he said, and Chris felt a shiver run the length of his spine.

"JD, you and Buck meet us at Ezra's ASAP."

"Sure, Chris." The phone clicked off. Chris shut his cell and looked at Vin.

"He answer yet?"

"No. I've tried his home, his cell -- nothing. I got a bad feeling about this."

"You and me, both. JD and Buck are meeting us at Ezra's. We drivin' together?"

"Your truck." Vin said, conceding his jeep's limitations. They snatched up jackets and were out the door.

The drive was tense, nearly silent; Chris focused on driving, Vin continuing to try to reach Ezra. Still no answer. They swung into Ezra's condo development, Vin half expecting to see police vehicles or fire engines in the lot. All was quiet. Chris pulled into a parking space, and Vin was out the door, loping towards the garage where Ezra parked his car. He looked through the glass. The car was there, quiet. He reached up, took something down from the overhang. He drew his gun from his ankle holster and returned to the Ram, where Chris was waiting, his own gun drawn. "Ezra's car is in the garage." He didn't have to say that it was a bad sign. Chris swore softly. "Let's move in."

They did, trying to be inconspicuous in that suburban development where guns and violence were something most residents only saw on TV. Chris took hold of the door handle and thumbed the latch. Locked, of course. He made a frustrated sound in his throat and Vin caught his arm. "Got a key," he said and opened his hand. "Ezra keeps it under the garage overhang," he explained.

"Just another ace," Chris said as he slid the key into the bolt and turned it. At first, he noticed the quiet, then something else. Rotten eggs. *Gas* he thought, and then couldn't think as his eyes began burning and watering.

"Back. Back!" Vin grabbed hold of him, impelled him off the steps. "Call 911! And see if ya cain't find the cut-off." Leaving Chris, he ran to a neighbor's yard, soaked his handkerchief in the ornamental fountain on the front lawn and holding it over his nose and mouth, plunged into the condo.

He found Ezra in the kitchen, slumped over the table. He grabbed him under the arms, dragged him from the chair. His lungs were burning, he was getting dizzy from exertion and fumes. Ezra was dead weight, lax and unresponsive. Vin wrestled him to the sliding doors leading from the kitchen to the deck, tugged the doors open, and with the last of his strength, forced their way through to the fresh air, before he collapsed on his knees, gasping and hurting. His side felt like pokers were running through his ribs, and he remembered for the first time that he had been injured, and might have well torn something inside that would cause him grief.

He felt hands on his shoulders, setting him aside, and Chris rolled Ezra to his back and started CPR. Vin lay down, hands clasped to his side, curled up tightly. He heard Chris give a small, triumphant sound as Ezra began coughing and moaning. He closed his eyes in gratitude. Alive. Ezra was alive. Sirens blared, then whined to silence as the fire department arrived. He felt Chris take his hand, then nothing as darkness overwhelmed him.

***********************

Three hours. Buck paced, JD hunched over his laptop, Josiah sat patiently, his big body slouched down, his arms crossed, watching the others from beneath heavy brows. Nathan, being something of an insider at the hospital ran interference with the doctors. Chris smoked, felt acid building in his stomach despite the medication Rain had forced on him, and worried. Every now and then he sensed JD watching him, and knew he wanted to talk about what he'd found out about Williams -- and Chris wanted to hear it, but not now. Not until he knew Vin and Ezra were all right. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, as close to praying as he ever got these days.

"Vin!" JD's joyful cry sat him upright fast. Vin raised a hand to JD, gave him a wan smile and dropped into the vacant chair next to Chris.

"Looks like y'all 'r stuck with me for a while."

At the moment Chris didn't find much humor in that statement. "Not if I kill ya first," he growled. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Thought I was savin' Ezra." Stubborn blue eyes met green granite. "Back down, Larabee. I'm all right. No harm done but a couple 'a busted stitches." He said it lightly, but behind the words there was gratitude for their concern. He looked around at the others. "What's the word on Ezra? They lettin' him out, too?"

"We're still waiting," Josiah said. He looked up hopefully as the doors to the treatment room opened, and then cleared his throat as he recognized the doctor standing there. Elizabeth Stone did not look like a compassionate physician, she looked like an avenging fury.

"Hey, doc," JD said, in a futile attempt to diffuse the charged atmosphere.

The ER was Dr. Stone's domain, and she stood there frowning at her most faithful subjects. *Hell, couldn't *any* of these guys stay out of harm's way long enough for her to get a good night's sleep?* Her irritation faded as she saw the expression in six pairs of eyes, identical in their concern for their brother in arms.

She took a breath. "Ezra will be fine. I'm admitting him overnight to keep an eye on his blood gasses, but I don't anticipate any problems. So you can *all* go home, now." She focused on Vin. "Especially you, Mr. Tanner."

Vin had the grace to blush. "C'n we see him?" he asked.

"Not tonight. I'll tell him you were all here, but he's pretty groggy still. Go home." This time she said it with a smile.

Chris wasn't about to let her dismiss them so easily. He rose, followed her back to the treatment area. "Dr. Stone!"

She had known he was following her. She had felt those green eyes of his boring into her back. She halted, wheeled to face him, so suddenly that he nearly ran into her. "What?" she demanded. "You shouldn't be back here, Mr. Larabee."

Chris grinned. "So, I'm back to Mr. Larabee." That got another smile from her. "I sure hope Vin didn't badger you into releasing him?"

"The day hasn't come that long-haired sharpshooter can bully me in medical matters," she said severely, but her eyes were warm. "He's all right. It really was just a few external stitches."

"Then why did he pass out?"

"Over-exertion. His hemoglobin levels are still a bit low and being in the fumes didn't help him hold on to the oxygen in his blood, so he passed out." She shrugged. "But he's fine. Or at least he will be as long as he can resist playing Superman for another week or so."

"Great. You don't know Vin Tanner as well as you think you do, Doc."

She clasped a sympathetic hand over his forearm. "Yeah, I do. Keep your eye on him, Chris."

He watched her retreat down the hall before he returned to the waiting room. He looked at his team; all weary, even JD seemed to have run out of his earlier enthusiasm. Chris stood there, his hands on his hips. "Well, you heard the lady. Go home."

Buck was the one who voiced what they all were thinking. "JD's got some information, Chris. And I had the fire marshal fax over the preliminary report to the office. We're all tired, but we ain't so tired that we can't put in another couple 'a hours. Right?"

Chris had to look down at the toes of his boots. He cleared his throat. "All right, let's ride, then."

*********************

Chris tried his damnedest to get Vin to go home, but he'd resisted with all the iron in that Tanner spine of his, and Chris relented with the proviso that Vin lay that same spine down on the couch in his office. Buck picked up pizzas and drinks on his way. They gathered in Chris's office. By tacit agreement, they didn't talk much about the case until they had finished eating. Then, at last, JD was able to open up his notebook.

Chris was willing to let the fire marshal's report wait until after JD had a chance to tell what he'd been holding inside all day. Food had put some color back in his face, and some of the excitement that had faded over the course of the long day sparkled in his eyes again.

"Well, it took some doing, but I finally found something on Williams. I looked everywhere, there wasn't much. He looks pretty much a straight arrow. His Treasury records are clean -- nothing exceptional though, just steady advancement through the ranks 'til he reached where he is now. But ... I looked at some other stuff ... where he lives, how he lives. Divorced after twenty years of marriage. Lives in Colorado Springs in pretty fancy digs."

Chris scrubbed a tired hand over his eyes. "People say the same thing about me, JD."

"Yeah, but he didn't live like that when he was married. In fact, last year his ex-wife petitioned to have his financial records opened, 'cause she felt she wasn't gettin' her fair share of his wealth. Said he was hidin' assets when alimony and child support was set."

"Was he?"

"Said he wasn't. And aside from a few investment accounts that he claimed he set up after the divorce, he looked clean. The judge upped the ante for his wife and kids, and it looked like case closed."

"But?" Buck prodded, and JD grinned widely.

"Well, I sorta had a chat with Williams's secretary."

"I'm so proud 'a you, son," Buck crooned, and JD blushed fiery red.

"Not *that* kind of talk," he protested. "Just got her to admit that she's made some travel reservations for him. According to her, Williams's been to Reno and Vegas several times in the last three months."

"Gambling?" Buck said incredulously. "Now that's just pitiful."

Chris had to agree with that. The thought that nothing more than greed and desperation lay beneath Williams's treachery made him sick. He wasn't willing to concede Vin and Ezra's lives to such a petty evil. There had to be more. "We'll talk to Ezra in the morning. Maybe he can help us with some insider information." He rotated his stiff shoulders. "Good work, JD. Is there anything else?"

"I've got Jimmy Constantine working on a couple 'a things out there, but I don't expect to hear anything before tomorrow."

Chris nodded. Jimmy Constantine was one of JD's "contractors;" a whiz kid who had made a deal to stay out of federal prison after he'd hacked into several government sites and embarrassed the heck out of their so-called "security" experts. He'd been uncooperative until he met JD, decided he was cool, and had been doing work for them ever since. He was so far ahead of the game that his electronic inquiries were untraceable, and Chris wondered if he should feel a qualm of guilt at using him against a fellow agent. All he had to do was look at Vin's pale face, and recall breathing into Ezra's mouth to revive him for that doubt to vanish like smoke. He shifted in his chair, preparing to stand since it seemed there wasn't much else they could do.

Buck waved the fax in the air. "Old pard, I got this report we need to look at before we call it a day."

"Right." Chris sat back. "Go on."

"The gas line to the stove was disconnected. The hose was spewing fumes into the air. It wasn't an accident."

"Hell, we knew that," Vin spoke from the couch, the first words he'd said since arriving at the office.

"Yeah, but there's ways of being disconnected, and ways of bein' disconnected, if you catch my drift," Buck said, one dark brow lifted.

Vin pushed himself upright, wincing a bit, but holding up his hand to ward off any assistance. "So somebody went into Ezra's place and opened up that hose, hid it back behind the stove where Ezra couldn't see it had been tampered with, and opened up the gas line. And I got a pretty good hunch who did it."

"Who?" JD asked.

"That little shit Ronnie Fazio. He didn't exactly greet Ezra with open arms last evening. Last I saw a'him, he was lookin' at Ezra like he wished he could kill him right there in Caruso's. Wouldn't take much fer him t'break into Ezra's place and set the whole thing up.

"But Ezra's got alarms all over the place."

"Son, you know there's ways around alarms," Josiah said from his corner seat. "But would Fazio have had time to get to Ezra's and set this thing up?" He looked at Vin. "Did he go right home?"

"How the hell should I know?" Vin said irritably. "It ain't like he e-mailed me his agenda." He lay back down again. "He drove off. Didn't see where he went. Sorry."

Buck sighed. "Well, we ain't gonna find out more until there's an investigation. Maybe when Ezra wakes up he'll be able to fill in some of the blanks." He looked at Chris. "What's next, *jefe?*"

Chris groaned and thrust his fingers through his hair. He looked around at his team, the men who were his family. His blood. They were all worn out, tired as he was, and hurting. "Sleep." He stood up. "I'll see you all in the morning. Go home, take a break. JD, let me know if you hear anything from Constantine. That's all. Thanks."

One by one they left the room, a touch on the shoulder, a clasp of a hand, a nod. Chris sank down in his chair, laid his head in his hands.

"Y'ain't alone, Chris." The soft, humorous voice made him look up and smile.

"Thanks. I figure I knew that."

A chuckle. "Jist didn't want ya t'fergit I was here. This ain't the most comfortable couch in the world."

"Mind if I borrow yours again?"

Vin pushed himself upright and swung his legs to the floor. "It's yours fer the price of a good cheeseburger."

"Hell, I'll buy you a steak," Chris grinned.

Vin returned the grin. "Fer that I'll throw in the blankets."

"Deal."

They left the office and stopped at a local bar and grille where the steaks were rare, the beer cold, and the music quiet. Vin didn't eat much, but enough to keep Larabee from glaring at him. He sat back in his chair and studied his friend. He looked worn out, like the world was on his shoulders. And maybe it was. His green eyes were shadowed, dark circles beneath the pale skin. And the tight draw to his mouth even when he smiled spoke of stress and exhaustion.

As they waited for coffee, Chris took out his cell phone, dialed a number and waited. "Ezra Standish." And waited. "Thank you." And hung up.

Vin raised a brow. "How's he doin'?"

"He's out of intensive care and into a room. That's all they say anymore."

"Chris, ya know what Williams is gonna try t' pull?"

Chris leaned back in his chair. "Suicide?"

"Yeah. Figure they're gonna pull that collusion shit again." He sighed, a low breath of disgust. "We've got Williams on one side, D'Amico on the other, both trying t' git around us. Wish we could just step outta the way and let 'em hang themselves."

"Got news for you, pard. They ain't waiting for you and Ezra to step outta the way."

Vin gave a snort of laughter. "Maybe we ought'a let 'em think we are outta the way." The expression on Chris's face told him that he'd said something that caught Larabee's fancy. The tired eyes took on a dangerous glitter, the weary slouch disappeared as he leaned forward.

"You want to elaborate on that?" he asked.

Vin shrugged. The idea had come to him, and now he was just making it up as he went along. "Why not let 'em have what they want? Me an' Ezra's already been tarred with the same brush. Williams thinks we're bent. D'Amico's afraid we're movin' in on him. Take me an' Ezra out of the mix -- suspend us. Make a big deal of it. Ask Mary t' leak it t'the press. See what happens."

"No."

"Jist like that?"

"Maybe that carbon monoxide cut off the oxygen to your brain, Tanner."

"Maybe." But he smiled slightly. "You got any better ideas?"

"How about paying the bill and getting some rest before that idea takes hold in your addled skull?"

"It'll still be there in the morning," Vin said.

"Yeah, but maybe it won't make so much damned sense in the clear light of day."

**************************

Pure physical exhaustion sent Vin to bed as soon as they returned to the apartment. But then, true to his body and his nerves, he found himself wide awake at 3am; the immediate need for rest satisfied, and his brain running like he'd taken speed.

He lay awake for a while, hoping he'd drift off again, but watching the minute hand creep along was frustrating, so he got up and moved silently through the apartment, careful not to wake Chris, who had to be at least as tired as he was. He poured a glass of milk and took a handful of graham crackers from the package, wincing at the rustle of the waxed paper. He went to the tall window and sank down on the ottoman he kept beneath the window sill.

That damned idea of his was still gnawing at his mind, and he wished it hadn't popped up so conveniently ... so tempting in thought, and so dangerous in practice.

He and Ezra would have to cut themselves off from the team. You wouldn't have thought it would be so hard for the two lone wolves of the pack to drop away, both him and Ezra being used to solitude far more than any of the others, and himself more used to it than Ezra. Hell, at least Ezra had Maude in his life, inconstant as she was. And maybe Ezra wouldn't go for the idea at all -- Vin couldn't blame him if he was a mite skittish after two attempts on his life.

But the thought was out there, and it needed some pondering. He ate and thought, and came to no immediate conclusion other than the one he had already arrived at. He sighed.

"Vin?"

Chris's sleep-roughened voice cut through his tangled thoughts. "I'm all right. Go back t'sleep."

But he didn't. He sat up, scrubbed sleep from his eyes. "What's keeping you awake?"

Vin shrugged. "Jist thinkin'." He got up from the ottoman. "You want somethin' t'drink?"

"Water." He pushed the blanket aside, went into the bathroom, came out a few minutes later. He took the glass of ice-water from Vin and they sat on the couch. "Talk to me, partner."

He did, his words elliptical, knowing Chris understood the paths he was traveling. "Gotta see Ezra tomorrow morning. Ask if he's up to doing this with me."

"It won't be easy for either of you -- or for us," Chris said. He knew he couldn't dissuade Vin, and half-hoped that Ezra would when they saw him.

"Hell, so much fer easy," Vin chuckled. He laid his head back against the cushions. "Gotta talk to Travis about this, too."

"We will." Chris breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that Vin was working through channels this time, and not haring off on his own. "He'll have to announce the suspensions. It'll be ugly, Vin."

"I know. But it's play-acting, Chris. Nothing else." He yawned, stood up and stretched, the lazy motion cut short as his muscles reminded him that he was still healing. "Think I'll try that sleep thing, again. G'night."

He went to the bedroom, lay down, watching the patterns on the ceiling. An occasional passing car's headlights slid bands of light across the shadows. He closed his eyes, went through the relaxation techniques he'd learned in sniper school to slow his heart and his breath, and slipped into a doze that eventually deepened into sleep until the sun stealing across his eyes woke him in the morning.

*******************

Ezra was dressed and waiting to be discharged when Vin went to the hospital the next morning. He had asked Chris if he could talk to Ezra alone, and Larabee, surprised and a bit unsettled to be out of the loop even for a short while, had agreed reluctantly.

Vin peered into Ezra's room. "Hey there, Ez. Ya ready to blow this pop stand?"

"More than ready." But Vin noticed that he didn't exactly leap to his feet, and he still looked pale and hollow-eyed. He seemed discomfitted to be wearing the same clothes he had worn the day before; sweat pants and a zip-front jacket, as if he had been planning to get on that treadmill he kept in the basement of his condo. Ezra might pretend to be lazy, but the demands of the job required physical stamina, and he kept in shape while looking like he never broke a sweat.

"I parked in Doc Stone's spot up front, so we better git goin' b'fore they tow my Jeep away. Told 'em she said I c'd park there while I picked you up."

Ezra grinned. "I'm sure Dr. Stone would be surprised at her generosity."

"Ain't like she's here -- and she'd say it was alright. 'Sides, she likes me," Vin said with a wink, and Ezra laughed.

"I might believe that if you were Buck Wilmington."

"Are you sayin' I cain't give Bucklin a run fer the money?"

"I am sayin' that you've ruined too many of Elizabeth Stone's dinner plans."

"Ain't my fault. Never asked to git shot 'r knifed." He grinned crookedly, high color on his cheekbones.

They argued genially on the way out to the Jeep, and listened to the classical music station Ezra preferred during the ride back to his condo. Vin parked, and Ezra stepped out. He stood for a moment, looking at the fluttering remains of yellow crime scene tape, and for a moment, he seemed to sway against the side of the Jeep, clinging to the roll bar for support, until Vin came around to his side.

"You all right?"

Ezra didn't like the wash of cold fear that had swept through him, and he shrugged carelessly. "A momentary weakness." But he was very glad that Vin was there to see him inside.

He didn't know why he expected anything to look different. The carpeting was as pristine, the walls as white, the artwork as soothing. If he had been robbed, if his possessions had been violated, he would have understood his disorientation. But this was home. As much a home as he'd ever had, and it felt as impersonal and cold as a room in a hotel.

*Nonsense*, he told himself, pulling his spine up from its cowardly slouch. "Thank you for returnin' me to my humble abode." He ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous gesture that he was unable to suppress.

"Sure." Vin's blue eyes were narrowed, and it was all Ezra could do to keep from squirming beneath that regard.

"What?" he snapped.

"Ezra, we need t'talk."

"Can it wait?" Slight panic because he didn't want to talk about what had happened. Not yet. "I'd like to change, clean up."

Vin shrugged. "Reckon so. I'll jist sit down here fer a bit." There was no diffidence in that suggestion, just a calm statement of intent.

"Fine." Beneath the shortness of the reply lay relief that he wouldn't be alone in the house, not just yet. He couldn't help wondering how much was true necessity, and how much was the kindness and comprehension of friendship. And he couldn't say which bothered him more. He went upstairs without saying anything else.

Vin waited until he heard the water running before he unclipped his cell phone from his waist and called Chris.

"How's Ezra?" was the first question.

"Home."

"You ask him yet?"

"No. Haven't had the chance. Chris, he ain't doin' too well."

A pause. "Should he still be hospitalized?"

Vin sighed. "His body's fine. His head's screwed up. Ain't never seen him spooked before."

"Christ." Another longer pause. "You still gonna ask him to join you on this?"

"I've got to. We don't have much choice. Maybe all he needs is some time t'git used to things again. I've been there. Know what it's like to feel like the world's been ripped out from under ya."

"Yeah, I know." Softly, understanding. "You want me to come out there?"

Vin thought. "I'll git back to you on that, okay?"

"Okay." Silence as Chris disconnected.

Ezra came down a while later. His hair was damp, he was wearing khakis and a Tommy Hilfiger golf shirt. He looked cool, expensive, and more like himself. He sat in the chair across from where Vin sat on the sofa. "Could I offer you some coffee?"

Vin leaned forward. "Sure."

Ezra stood up, went to the kitchen entrance, hesitated for a second, then crossed the threshold. Vin gave him a minute, then followed, taking a stance against the door frame. Ezra was standing at the counter, coffee scoop in one hand. An almost visible wire of tension seemed to be strung through his shoulders. Vin shook his head.

"It's still yer place, Ezra. Ain't changed jist 'cause some bastard was in here." He cursed his inadequacy with the spoken word. "I've been there. More'n once."

"I appreciate the empathy, but I still don't know what happened," Erza said. "Or who did this. It isn't even that there was an attempt on my life ... it was hardly the first."

"The first on yer home turf," Vin said quietly, "c'n take the wind outta yer sails."

"Do you know what happened?" Ezra resumed the coffee making.

"The gas connection behind the stove was open. Fire marshal figures for several hours. Yer carbon-monoxide alarm was disabled. Cain't figure out why you didn't smell the gas."

He shook his head. "I didn't. I don't even remember coming downstairs. I remember waking up, getting dressed." He shrugged, turned back to Vin. "That's it."

Vin gnawed on his lower lip. "Doc Stone did blood tests, right?"

"Endlessly."

"Mind if I give her a call?" He sat at the table, pulled out his cell phone.

"You don't think --"

"Well, gee, Ezra. I do think something made ya pass out if you don't remember bein' in the kitchen." Vin leaned his chair against the wall, balancing on the back legs, and knowing it made Ezra nervous. Might as well give him something to worry about other than being a victim. Ezra frowned, put a mug of coffee on the table in front of him.

Vin called the hospital, asked them to page Elizabeth Stone. Then gestured to Ezra that he wanted sugar and milk for his coffee. Ezra grumbled. Vin grinned at him. He dumped two teaspoons of sugar into Ezra's expensive coffee blend, and watched as the southerner rolled his eyes. "Brings out the flavor."

"Spare me." Ezra drawled, but without acidic sarcasm, and seeming more relaxed than at any time since he'd come home.

Vin's phone sounded and he flipped it. "Tanner. Hey doc. I'm fine. It ain't me I'm callin' about. It's Ezra Standish. No, he's all right. Doc, you do any tox screens on him?"

There was a silence. Ezra leaned forward, listening for any change in Vin's voice that would tell him what Elizabeth Stone was saying. The sharpshooter was nodding. "Thanks, doc. I'll do that. ASAP. Got it."

He thumbed the phone off. "C'mon, Ez. We need to get back to the hospital."

"W-what? Why?"

"Didn't do tox screens, jist blood gasses. Ya mighta been drugged."

"How?"

"How the hell should I know?" Vin drained his coffee, snatched Ezra's from out of his hand. "C'mon. Time's a wastin."

*********************

Ezra was angry. Angry that he had been overcome, that he had inhaled a substance that had rendered him unconscious, that he'd been injected with a barbiturate and left to die. He still had no recall of the initial attack, but Chris Larabee had ordered a forensics team out to his house to inspect it for signs of a break-in, for fingerprints. That anger was the best thing for him; it burned away the shame and fear that had dogged him earlier.

When he and Vin returned from the hospital, they found Chris there with the forensics team. They were packing up, and Ezra just didn't want to think about the mess they'd left inside. He'd been at enough crime scenes to know that it would look like a herd of small children with sooty fingers had touched every surface in the house. His cleaning service would earn their fees this week.

"Ezra, you all right?" Chris asked.

He gathered his wits. "I don't think we care to discuss business standing in the driveway, gentlemen. Shall we adjourn inside?" He braced himself and opened the door.

Not too bad. At least in the living area. The forensics team had been considerate. Granted, they had been working under Chris Larabee's scrutiny which would have inspired caution in the most slapdash of workers. Ezra ran his finger along the edge of his sofa table and grimaced. "Did they find any prints that did not belong here, Mr. Larabee?"

Chris stood with his hands on his hips. "Yours, mine, Vin's. Some that probably belong to your cleaners since they were in places that would be inaccessible to casual contact. The door to your study was jimmied -- no prints."

"That is how they gained access, then?"

"Yeah. Forensics found this in your bathroom wastebasket." He picked up a plastic bag. Inside was a disposable hypodermic. There was a second bag containing a crumpled cloth. "They must have jimmied the window and come upstairs, waiting for you. You came out of the bedroom. They must have come up behind you, clapped the rag over your mouth. When you went down, they injected you with whatever *this* is, carried you down to the kitchen, detached the gas hose and left. They were good, Ezra."

"Not good enough," he said, his voice tight. "Thanks to you and Vin."

Vin was leaning against the mantel. "You wanna get the bastards, Ez?" His eyes were glittering, intense.

"It would be a pleasure, Mr. Tanner. Whoever they are." Vin's intensity had ignited his own.

"Vin has a plan," Chris said, and from the gravity in his voice, Ezra knew it wasn't going to be easy. "Sit down, Ezra."

He laid it out. The plan that would leave Ezra and Vin isolated from friends in the ATF, vulnerable to enemies, seen and unseen. Speaking it made it seem colder, harder, but there could be no doubt that both Vin and Ezra were willing to take the risk. "We need to take this to Travis for approval," Chris finished.

"Let's do it." Vin straightened. "Ezra, you game?"

"Mr. Tanner, you know I play the hand I'm dealt. I'm ready."

"We'll meet you at the office, Ezra. Say in an hour?"

"I'll be there."