Chris had plates of scrambled eggs and sausage on the breakfast bar when Vin came into the kitchen. His eyes were clearer than they had been, and he moved more easily. Hot water and pain medication had eased his aching ribs, but he was under no illusions about his fitness - he was in sorry shape. He just had to keep Chris from seeing exactly how sorry.

He looked at the food, not really hungry, but knowing that he had to eat to shore up his dwindling physical resources. Hell, Larabee didn't look much better: sheet-white and drawn with worry deepening the lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Looked like he could use a good meal, too. Vin sat down on one of the stools, picked up a fork and started eating. He gestured to Chris. "You gonna join me, cowboy?"

Chris swung a long leg over the other stool and settled closer to the counter. "Guess I'd better."

"It's pretty good. Reckon I won't shoot the chef t'day." The humor was forced, and the look in Chris's eyes told him he knew it.

They ate in near silence, tension drawing things out more than usual between them, but not entirely overwhelming their rapport which had never been dependent on words. Vin ate quickly, scarcely tasting the food, his mind racing on towards Ezra and D'Amico. Chris was eating more slowly and Vin wasn't about to rush him, knowing the reason wasn't cussedness, but necessity. When Larabee sighed and set down his fork, Vin spoke.

"You still set on comin' with me?"

"Yeah."

Blue eyes met green. Vin nodded briefly, grave and steady in his regard. "Thanks."

Chris knew it wouldn't change a thing if he said he was only doing his job; Vin would see right through to the heart that spoke so much more clearly than logic and duty. "So, you got a plan?"

A smile, small and grim, touched Vin's mouth. "All I know is yer gonna have to carry the arms, because there's no way on earth I'm gonna get within a hundred yards of D'Amico with any sort of weapon."

"I can do that."

"Figured as much." He sighed, stood up and stretched out his back, sacrificing his ribs to ease the ache in his spine. "Might be a good idea t'git JD workin' on exactly what floor the other offices are on. See if he can't pull up some sort of schematic." He paced to the living room, and cast Chris a look. "If you c'n think of some other way t'do this, I'm listening."

Chris gave a soft laugh. "That'll be a first." When Vin gave him an irritated look, he shook his head. "Hell, I'm just making this up as we go along."

"Yeah, you 'n me both." He tossed Chris's jacket to him, slipped his own over his shoulders, wincing as his bruises and sore muscles made their presence known even over the dulling analgesic he had taken. He patted his pocket to be sure he had remembered to take the pills with him. "Let's see what happens next," he said.

Chris caught his jacket. His sidearm was a comforting bulk against his ribs. He had another pistol in an ankle holster, though it was not his favorite rig to shoot from. Vin did it as naturally as breathing, but Chris felt awkward and inaccurate from that stance even if his record didn't show it.

They loped down the stairs, side by side. When they reached the front door, Vin held Chris back. "I'm takin' the jeep, Chris. I cain't risk D'Amico thinkin' I'm not coming in alone." The implication that they would be, or could be, watched made the hair on the back of Chris's neck rise. Vin was watching him, gauging his reaction to the announcement, half expecting an argument, almost hoping that Chris would convince him otherwise.

Chris didn't try. He wouldn't risk Vin's life for his own peace of mind. He nodded. "I'll watch your back."

"I know ya will, partner." Vin held out his hand solemnly, and Chris clasped his forearm. "You be careful out there, Chris. I'll have D'Amico in my sights, yer gonna be in there blind." He dug his keys out of his pocket and walked towards his jeep.

Chris watched him, noting every hitch in Tanner's normally fluid movement, the way his knuckles tightened on the door frame when he braced himself to swing into the seat. The engine of the jeep choked and roared to life. Then Vin was pulling out of the lot and into traffic.

Chris jerked the Ram's door open. He sat for a moment behind the wheel, pressure building behind his eyes and throbbing in his temples. The familiar flutter of impending action curled in his stomach, nerves fine-tuned to the highest pitch. He closed his eyes and did a few deep breathing exercises he recalled from his time with the SEALs. He pulled his phone out and called JD to ask him to check out D'Amico's office space and get back to him ASAP. He had lost sight of Vin's jeep, but he hadn't intended to follow him too closely. He knew the route, knew Vin wouldn't alter it without alerting him. JD called back quickly, and by the time he was in the business district Chris had a fairly clear picture of the layout of the building and two floors housing D'Amico's business concerns.

Vin was parked in a lot across from the building, opting out of the parking garage. Chris followed his example, choosing a spot several rows away from the jeep. He made a final check of his weapons, went over the mental map of the building in his mind, said a thought that was as close to a prayer as he ever got these days, to a deity who had no name but fate. And one to Sarah. He was long past any fear of death. He knew she was waiting on the other side with Adam. His angels. In a poignant, uncharacteristic afterthought, he hoped that Vin's mother and grandfather were watching after the stubborn, reticent sharpshooter, his friend, his brother in all but blood.

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

If he were physically capable of climbing twelve flights of stairs, he would have done it rather than get in that elevator. For one thing, he wouldn't put it past D'Amico to have a camera in the car and the thought that he'd be under surveillance made him want to crawl out of his skin. He didn't know what kind of access he'd have from the stairwell to the penthouse: he was fairly certain that there was none, D'Amico not being the type to ignore his vulnerabilities. So, reluctantly, he pushed the button to the penthouse suites and tried to look like he didn't care that he was being watched.

The doors slid open, and lo and behold, there was Ronnie Fazio in all his glory, scowling at him. "You took your fucking time, Tanner," he growled.

Vin gave him a cool appraisal. "I's in the hospital 'til two hours ago. Woke up yesterday in the ER. Reckon that didn't make Troy too happy," he smirked. "Me bein' damaged goods 'n all."

Fazio looked like he wanted to haul off and hit him, which confirmed Vin's suspicions. He stood close to Vin. "Raise your arms."

Vin did, knowing he was clean and hating the touch of Fazio's hands on his body, more intimate than necessary just to see if he could be rattled. When the search was over, Fazio turned sharply and headed towards D'Amico's office. Vin followed. They went through the sliding panel door into the secretary's domain. The chilly Margaret wasn't at her desk today. Not a good sign.

The inner sanctum of D'Amico's office was brightly lit by the morning sun, but the dark walls and carpeting absorbed the light, making the room seem dim and cool. Troy was seated behind his desk. He looked up when Fazio and Vin entered.

"You came." Short, almost angry.

"Didn't give me much choice."

"Alone?"

Vin looked around the room and gave D'Amico a small, crooked smile. "Looks like it." He wandered over to the window and looked down at the street. He could scarcely pick out the faded canvas top of his jeep in the lot below, and hoped that the black pick-up on the same lot was Chris's. He turned back to the room and sat down, ignoring Ronnie Fazio's drawn pistol. "S'pose we git down t'brass tacks, here, Troy. Stop playin' games and jist tell me what you want."

D'Amico leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Nothing you haven't done before. A killer is a killer."

Maybe to him, Vin thought. D'Amico seemed to be willing to put him in the same category as Ronnie Fazio. He met D'Amico's gaze with stony eyes. "Sometimes things is worth killing for. I ain't so sure you got anything worth that much to me."

"Ronnie ... bring in our guest, please."

Vin winced inwardly. No way would Chris have been able to find Ezra. "Ya ever think it might be worth jist tellin' me who you want me to kill? Might not need forcin'."

"Don't think of this as force, think of it as an incentive."

He looked to the door, and Vin turned. Fazio was there with Standish at his side. Ezra was pale, exhausted, uncharacteristically rumpled. Vin tried to Ezra's expression, but his professional poker face was inscrutable, his eyes averted from Vin's.

"Ain't much of an incentive," Vin drawled, and Ezra's head did come up at that. His eyes met Vin's for a fraction of an instant, and Vin hoped that Ezra had seen the truth behind his words. "Keep talkin'."

"You are not in a bargaining position, Mr. Tanner," D'Amico said coldly. He nodded at Fazio. Ronnie scarcely moved, but Ezra gasped as his arm was twisted, putting pressure on his shoulder joint.

Vin knew that an inch more and Standish would be in agony, another inch, and the joint would dislocate. He turned to D'Amico. "Let him go."

"Just like that? It seems Mr. Standish is more of an incentive than you realized."

"Ain't no point in torture," Vin rasped.

"Oh, I think there is -"

Fazio moved again, and this time Ezra bit back a scream. There was a small, audible pop as the joint dislocated and he fell to his knees. Vin leaped at Fazio, but another stronger pair of arms caught him as Carlo came out of the dark alcove of the wet bar. Vin struggled, but the pain from his bruised ribs and the lingering weakness from the shooting defeated him. He stood gasping in Carlo's grip.

D'Amico came from behind the desk and stood in front of him. "No bargaining. No arguments. You do what I need, or Standish dies. And not quickly. Do you understand."

"Fuck off!"

D'Amico struck him across the face, the signet ring he wore cutting into the skin. Vin tasted blood from a cut inside his cheek, felt blood scrawling from the cut on his skin. The rusty-tasting spittle gathered in his mouth, and he hawked and spit before D'Amico could turn away. The gob of blood and mucus hit his face and dripped from his jaw.

D'Amico startled back, and Vin gave a short laugh. "It ain't pretty close up, is it Troy? Maybe I got some disease - HIV, hepatitis - ya never know." D'Amico looked like he'd give it another go, his hand raised in anger, loathing and fear in his eyes. Vin saw the fear and smiled, his eyes narrowed and glittering with defiance. He half feared D'Amico would lose control, do some damage that would make him useless. He'd be a dead man ... Ezra, too. But he had wanted to push D'Amico's buttons, wanted to make him angry enough to get him and Ezra out of the office and down to the other floor. Maybe they'd have a chance then, maybe Chris would be there. Maybe.

God.

It wasn't much of a prayer, but it worked. D'Amico was in a hurry to clean up, only he didn't want to show that much weakness. He bared his teeth in an unattractive smile. "You want some time to think about this, Tanner? You've got it." He nodded to Fazio and Carlo, and he and Ezra were dragged out, hustled down to the next floor, and locked in the same office where Ezra had been kept last night. When the door shut behind them, Vin drew a deep breath of relief.

"I sincerely hope that expression on your face is an indication of a plan in motion," Ezra whispered faintly from the mattress when Ezra sat hunched over, cradling his dislocated arm.

Vin knelt beside him. "You know what I gotta do, Ez?"

Standish nodded. "The sooner the better. Don't look so shattered. I am prepared for the moment of exquisite agony."

Vin's mouth quirked. "Shit, Ez. I's jist gonna say it's gonna hurt like hell." He took Ezra's elbow in one hand, held his shoulder still with the other. Ezra bit his lip and looked away. Vin had seen Nathan reduced the dislocation before, knew the procedure, but had never done it himself. He took a breath and bent Ezra's elbow, guiding the joint smoothly upwards. Ezra's breath hissed between clenched teeth, and for an instant Vin hesitated.

"Do it!" Ezra hissed.

Vin firmed his grip, and then easily - more easily than he had expected - found the perfect position. The ball slid back into socket, Ezra sobbed and caught his breath, then relaxed as the joint returned to its normal state. All tension left him and he sagged against Vin gratefully.

"Thank you," he said. "I owe you."

Vin laughed. "I'll remember that next time I git involved in a poker game with ya, pard."

Ezra opened a green eye. "Where do we go from here?"

"We wait fer Chris."

Ezra chuckled. "I might have known you wouldn't have come without Mr. Larabee."

"I tried, but I reckon he wasn't gonna let me have all the glory. Don't know when or how it'll happen, but it will." He believed that with his entire heart.