Chapter 1
"If you don't come, and come right now, we'll kill her, kid."
The big man's hand was wound into the back neck of Adam Larabee's sweater. There were two of them, and the big one looked as terminal as Arnold Schwarzenegger in those movies he and his dad liked. At seventeen, and cocky like his father, Adam prided himself that he was tough enough to handle any school bully, but he had no illusions about his chances with these two. Even the little one was too damn big!
He had been a fool. His parents had put him in this school because of the security it offered every student. Hell, half of the kids here used aliases. He had done it too for a long time, but after he had begged and plead, his Dad had finally let him use his real last name... so reluctantly. The Larabee name was one to be proud of, but one to potentially attract all kinds of trouble.
His father, Chris Larabee, was the leader and a partner of the MAG7 Agency... specialists in getting people out of trouble. The five partners were special people who protected those who were in danger, often taking the danger on themselves. His father was someone a son could respect, be proud of, love... Not that he was perfect. He was alternately opinionated, stubborn, cocky, a pit bull when he was working on a difficult case... and just the least bit vain. He liked basketball, horses, his old Jag; hated hospitals and needles, clues he couldn't decipher, cases he couldn't crack, and oh yes... needles. Chris always said that one twice. But no matter what came his way, he watched out for his clients, friends, and partners, and he fanatically loved his wife and his son. Not a bad man to have for a father.
Now, somebody had his mother. Adam believed them. They had shown him a picture of her in the dress she had worn this morning when she saw him off, and, in the picture, one of these men had been standing right there with her. Dad would find her, and him too, if Adam wasn't stupid enough to get her killed. Why they wanted him, Adam didn't know, but it didn't matter. They had his Mom.
What was it Dad had told him. Do what you have to do in a bad situation, Adam, but try to change the rules. Put them just a little off kilter, and see if you can't find some way to leave some kind of a trail. Leave a trail so I can find you. If I'm not left to do it, there's always Buck and Vin, Ezra and J.D., and you know the agency name takes Josiah and Nathan into account too.
"Okay, mister, no reason to hurt her. I'll come. But, look, you'll have a hell of a mess if you don't let me leave word for my Uncle Vinny."
"And why is that?"
"He's one hell of a tracker. My pa told him to come get me today after school, and if I'm not here when he shows up... he'll come find me... and you, and in no time flat. You know my dad's name, you knew mine, so I expect you've heard of Vinny Tanner, too."
The two of them held a muted consultation, then decided it wasn't such a bad idea after all. They had heard of all the men of MAG7 Agency. The big one spoke, "All right. You write it, but we read it before you leave it. Who are you going to give it to. One of us will be there beside you, so you pull anything, your mother dies."
"I'll just give it to Mr. Burton's secretary. Uncle Vinny will look there first if I'm not where Dad told me to be. I won't pull anything. Just don't hurt her."
He wrote the note hurriedly, trying to remember what he'd been taught about how to leave a message that left a trail. He had to write fast. He had to make no mistakes to give it away. All he could do was hope he had done it right.
"Ms. Murtin, will you see that Uncle Vinny gets this." The big man was at his elbow. The woman looked at Adam quizzically. "He'll stop by later, but Dad sent his associates here to take me with them. I'll see Uncle Vinny later."
Ms. Murtin, who knew all the rules and enforced most of them on campus, looked a little startled. "Your father's note said you had your own transportation. I know Vin, but I don't know these men. Are you certain your father would approve?"
"Yes, Ms. Murtin. He'd approve of Huntley and Brinkley picking me up, but just make sure Uncle Vinny gets the note. It's important that he not waste too much time before he gets back to Dad. They've got a lot of work to do on my case. You will remember to do all this, won't you?"
"Are you certain your father would approve? Maybe I had better call him... verify that you have his approval--"
"NO, NO... he's on a case, Ms. Murtin. If his cell phone rings, he could get hurt real bad. You know I'm only supposed to call Mom."
"Well, then... I'll just call her!"
"No!! Ms. Murtin... look, Dad knows... honest. Mom's got an important conference today. If you call her, she'll get upset... there's just no need. Just make sure UNCLE VINNY gets the message, okay. You won't forget will you?"
"As if I forget anything you young upstarts get me into. Go on, then."
When he got to the car, the tall, rangy one got behind the wheel. The big one sat with him in the back. As soon as the doors closed, and they moved away from the parking lot, he felt handcuffs wrapping around his wrists, clicked tight. Then a belt was wrapped and tightened around both of his ankles. His mouth was dry, and he was afraid; but there was always Dad. Dad would find him.
"They don't know where he went, Pard. You can keep chasing your tail about school kids, or you can stop this and figure out who'd want to take him. You got any idea?"
Vin Tanner, the frustrated tracker, saw the hell in his friend's eyes. They had spent four days trying to find out anything about the disappearance of Chris Larabee's son. The trail was as cold as the top of K2 in deepest winter.
"Vin... don't you think I've been trying. It's all I've been doing. I've come up with four names... one for each of you to check. I'll keep on with the school."
"That school ain't gonna lead no place, Chris. If it was gonna put you on the right trail, it would have done it already."
"Maybe. God, Vin... where could he be?"
"Look, Chris... Give us the names and let us get back to work, and you go home and get some sleep. You can't even think clear you're so tired, and Terry's about to go completely crazy."
"Buck..." He words were low, seething with anger "I'm not going anywhere 'til I find him, damn it."
"Your wife needs you too, Pard."
"She don't want to see ME one damn bit."
"You know that ain't true, Chris."
"I don't know anything, Buck. My life's built on solving problems for people. Terry and I have a problem, but I can't even find a clue much less get this thing finished."
"Names, Chris. Names..."
"Okay... okay... First... Pepperjohn and Coffey."
"They're dead."
"All of these are dead... dead because I killed them or dead because I caused somebody else to kill them. They're still dead because of me. What we need is to find out if there are any family or friends looking to even things up."
"I've got those two... did a lot of work on 'em before. Easy to pick up the scent."
"Good, Vin. Buck... Get Ezra to check on Cotton Wilson. J.D. can take Jessica Habert."
"Nobody killed her... that was a suicide."
"Because I tracked her down... She wasn't too happy about the prospect of going to jail. At the time, her kid swore she was innocent... really believed his mother couldn't have killed that man. But she was guilty as hell... told me so while she was dying. Didn't matter to her bunch one little bit. I was still the guilty one."
"And where does that leave me?" Buck needed something to do. They way he felt about him, Larabee's son might as well have been his own.
"It leaves you Carlos and Benito Morales."
"Now, they're NOT dead."
"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT! Shoot, Buck, there was still a dead body connected to them and the case. I don't think we need to really spend a lot of time on them. From a sketchy preliminary I pulled, Carlos hasn't been out of Mexico since Benito went to Yuma, and Benito's got a little more than a year left before he gets out. He got ten -- no parole, no good behavior. You start there, then if it turns up a no-go, help Vin."
"And where does that leave you?"
"The school, or if that stays dry, I'll start making a list of the not dead but pissed as hell bunch. If we have to start digging in those... we'll never find him."
"Where do we meet up... here?"
"No... meet me at CRASH."
"Tonight, Chris? Don't you think that might be a real bad place to stop tonight? You need some sleep, need to stay clear and level headed."
"Buck... if I could sleep, I'd be asleep on my feet right now. It's my business. Meet me there, don't meet me there, I don't care... just hunt."
"You know I'll do that. But Chris--"
"BUCK, JUST LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE."
"Anything? Anything at all, Vin?" Chris was sitting at the bar in the dark hole-in-the-wall dive called CRASH. He considered it a perfectly reasonable place to be. He was on the verge of crash and burn himself. Normally not a heavy drinker, tonight he was trying to drown in the stuff. He wasn't succeeding at all.
"Patsy and Cynthia's family can't be found. I figured as much. They had some kids, but they didn't seem to be overly fond of their mothers or each other. After those women tried to kill you, and got shot in the bargain, I think the rest just tried to get as far away from their memory as they could."
"One down. Ezra?"
"Cotton Wilson, the Devil's own handiwork. I assure you his wife and his two adorable children are of the opinion that it was good riddance to hellishly bad rubbish. She's remarried... though I wouldn't take odds that she chose a saint this time either. But anyway, she doesn't give one hoot that Wilson's pushing up daisies."
"J.D.? What about Habert."
"Well... her son's still real mad, but he's in prison himself. Not due out for another five, even with good behavior. I talked to him... dang sociopath... I don't think anybody would like him enough to do nothing for him, and there's not money anyplace to hire it. Think you've got maybe another few years before you have to worry about him."
"Just great! Buck, what about you?"
"Nothing new, Chris. Benito hasn't been paroled. Carlos is still running the business, but he doesn't come out of Mexico for nothing."
"Any family?"
"Still checking... another day or so. Sorry."
"HELL!!" Chris slammed his closed fist into the counter, picked up another double of hard liquor and downed it in one miserable gulp, grimacing at the taste. "You boys get out of here. Better just let me alone for a bit."
"Chris... this isn't gonna help that boy of yours one little bit. Why don't you let me take you home."
"BUCK... I TOLD YOU BEFORE. JUST LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!!"
They left him there. Staying would have just probably started a fight. Chris wasn't the only partner in hell.
"Boys... I think we best keep an real careful eye on him. Seems like he might be getting into more than just a little bit of hell. Reckon I ought to watch him?" Vin was prepared to do it.
As distressed as any of the partners, Ezra just shook his head. "Hell? Vin, he's about as far into hell as he will ever be able to get. You go shepherding him, you're liable to get yourself shot."
Chapter 2
The antique black Jaguar was sitting on the side of the road, headlights blazing, motor running. It was at least the sixth time this month that Sheriff's Deputy Roger Jordon had found it somewhere along this stretch of road. Much more of this, and he was going to have to take action... even if the guy behind the wheel was his friend, a good friend dwelling totally in hell.
Chris Larabee saw the headlights behind him, saw the bubble dome pulsing red, blue, red, blue, and just said "Ah, shit!"
The large beam flashlight shining into the driver's side window of the car nearly put his brain in spasms, but he tried to act sober. "Hey, Raw-ger." The booze had definitely seeped inside.
"Hey, Chris. You okay?" A long time county-mountie, Roger knew Larabee well as a good man, a man who could be counted on to pitch in when things got rough. At least that used to be the case.
"Guess so. Decided I'd better pull over a while. Guess I had a bit more than I could handle."
"Just a bit, huh... Again?"
Chris eyed him a little sheepishly. "Yeah, again. Sorry."
"What made you decide to pull over this time?"
"Well... see... I nearly took out the whole damn row of mailboxes on the turnoff back there."
"Speeding?"
"No... not this time... promised I'd behave on that one. Not aiming too straight tonight though."
"Glad you remember the rules."
"Not sure it's memory... just got to thinking that Little Mack runs out there all the time to get the mail. Wouldn't want to hurt him."
"He's not real apt to be out here at midnight, now is he? You do know what time it is? Maybe what day it is?"
"Yeah, got an idea anyway, but no... didn't think of that. Just didn't want to chance hurting somebody's boy... 's bad when you lose your boy."
"You haven't ever found a lead on Adam? You still can't break this one? You think he's out there somewhere?"
"I hope he is... yeah... he's out there. But I haven't found any lead. Can't seem to do anything right any more."
"Look... you get in the car with me. I'll get you home. You can call Vin or Buck to come get your car tomorrow morning. Hell, give me the key, and Mort and I'll just ride by at the end of shift and put it in your driveway... give me a chance to drive the little honey. No sense telling your men that you were drunk again tonight, or letting them come find it with nothing left but the shell. Hell, Chris, this car of yours? They'd probably even steal the welds."
"Thanks, Roger." He crawled out from behind the wheel of his car, and slowly weaved his way to the passenger side of the patrol car. Roger was a good friend. He didn't put him in the cage. "I appreciate you, Roger. Don't get yourself in trouble 'cause of me. If the day comes you have to take me in... you just do it. I know I'm a bad boy... I deserve whatever it is."
Both doors slammed. Roger turned off the flashing lights and pulled easily away from the shoulder of the road. "You deserve a damn break... Why don't you give yourself one, Chris. It wasn't and isn't your fault."
"I don't deserve nothin'... nothing 'cept maybe a bullet through my fool head."
"You need to sober up, before you do something really stupid. Help me spot the turn, okay."
"Just about there. Whoa!... there it is."
The car entered the long winding driveway of the sprawling Larabee ranch... the ranch that never had any kind of light anymore... the ranch that was always dark and lonely, just like the man in the passenger seat.
"You sure you're going to be okay? Want me to call somebody? One of the boys?"
"Hell, no. They get tired of seeing me in the daytime. I try to keep 'em from seeing exactly how bad I get. Sort of kills any illusion I have left of leadership. Shoot, I'll just go fall in bed. Thanks again, Roger." He pulled himself a little woozily from the car, and waved sloppily as he stumbled toward the garage door. He approached it, then stopped, a little perplexed. He turned back toward the patrol car with an "Ah, hell, Roger!"
"Problem, cowboy?"
"Hell, Raw-ger... don't go gigging me with that one. I forgot the control for the damn garage door. It's back at the car."
"No, it's not. Here. Wondered when and if you'd think of it." Roger tossed the small device in the man's general direction. Chris missed it, then almost landed on the concrete on his butt as he tried to scoop it up into his hand.
"You sure you can make it in there?"
"Yeah. Night, Raw-ger."
"Get some sleep. And Chris..."
"Yeah?"
"Not again... at least this month, okay?"
"'kay, Roger. How long is it 'til the first?"
"Five days."
"Ah, hell. No promises... don't want to be a liar too."
"No... that just wouldn't do, now would it. Good night."
Chris just waved, then pushed the garage door opener several times before he remembered to turn it in the right direction. When he finally had it, and the door opened, Roger put the patrol car in reverse and left the man to his own misery.
Chris made it into the kitchen in the dark. He didn't have to turn on the lights. He knew the place like his own face... the sight of which he also avoided. Since the only parts he used these days were all in one small corner of the rambling house, unless he had reached the point of being stinking drunk, he could manage well enough. Tonight, he was stinking drunk.
Since Terry left him, he hadn't been upstairs, that was Adam's place. He hadn't used the master bedroom either or visited her office. Without Adam, and particularly without Terry, everything was too big, too empty.
Now, he only used his office a little, slept in the guest room, bathed in the guest bath, and didn't cook at all. He and Terry were both good cooks. Cooking together had been one of their favorite hobbies, but now Chris seldom ate more than a half sandwich at his agency desk, and then only when Vin or Buck or Ezra or J.D. badgered him into it.
Even Abigale, his secretary, had given up on him. She had quit today... right after he threw a coffee mug through his computer screen and stood there watching a big splash of the cold, tarry liquid fry the motherboard and everything else inside the CPU. The machine had displeased him... failing to provide him with an answer he needed in the ten seconds he had allowed.
Abigale figured if he'd gotten mean enough to fry an expensive computer, he might just be mean enough to fry a fragile little woman, too. She was gone in ten. At some point, he did stop to consider whether she would sue him, or turn him in for reckless endangerment, but he didn't really care. He had left in twenty and proceeded to CRASH to soak his body and his brain in cheap Rye whiskey. He didn't even like Rye.
He wandered through the kitchen, grabbing a fresh beer from the refrigerator, and, turning on the light outside, stepped out onto the long back patio. Even here, the changes assaulted him. The barn was dark, and he knew there was no reason to head there. The horses were gone... his, Terry's, Adam's. At least he had had the sense to give them to his partner Buck Wilmington. Buck would take good care of them, ride them enough to keep them in trim, and give them back, if and when anything got better... not that Chris had any hope any more. Hope had faded within the month after Adam disappeared, then died deader than dirt the day Terry left.
"Hell." He upended the bottle of costly beer and guzzled it like a street bum's wine, letting it spill down his chin and onto his shirt and tie. "Slob!" His voice dripped with self-loathing.
He turned and, in what was a bad-comedy, pratfall move, crashed to his butt after skidding across the old basketball that was lying in the middle of the patio. "Well, shit!"
He grabbed the impediment, hauled himself to his feet, and turned a jaundiced eye toward the goal. There was no netting anymore on Adam's goal... their goal... where they had played one-on-one and talked so many nights. The goal was at the edge of the patio where Adam had helped his father to get strong and learn to walk again after he'd been shot in the back.
Chris didn't know exactly when he tore the net from its hooks. He had been drunk the night he did it; he was too drunk tonight to remember. With a snarl, he flung the round ball at the naked ring, and watched it ricochet out into the weeded void that had once been his personally manicured lawn.
"Hell." He walked back into the dark, and turned out the light on his past life. Still weaving, he opened another of the plentiful beers in the refrigerator, crossed past the door of his office, down the short hall to the guest bathroom. He peeled his clothes off, dumping his silk suit on the floor along with his briefs and everything else. After he had splashed a little water on his face, he downed the beer, then crossed to the bedroom, and still in the dark, fell face down across the bed, at last finding the oblivion he sought.
Chapter 3
"Damn, Chris! Just exactly how polluted did you get last night?"
"Enough." He hurt... the light in his eyes, the pounding in his head, the burning and emptiness in his stomach. There was no use denying it. He was very late and in a particularly foul mood. His suit, the same suit he had worn the day before, was rumpled and obviously stained with beer.
"Get Abigale to get me some coffee, okay, Vin?" He continued walking toward his own office.
"Get it yourself, Pard." That was Vin Tanner, partner number two. If somebody called Chris Pard, it was always Vin... not that Vin wouldn't call him a lot meaner things, too. Vin wasn't happy with him at all. "You chased her off... you learn to cope. And don't go looking to Betsy or Cretia to go to work for you. They're ours... they're scared of you right now, and we ain't even gonna think about asking 'em cause they'd quit too. You scaring off Abigale's bad enough."
"What did I do?"
"And you can just damn well requisition your own damn computer, Stud... see if you can remember how many gigas of this and bytes of that it had, and whether its VGA or what. Let's see if you can manage to transfer the memory out of your wreck into the new one. You better be glad Vin insisted on a tape backup for each of us, or you'd be fishing through paper files for a few months just to get you most recent cases back in memory. And you do remember that Abigale worked with Ezra doing the books."
That was Buck, partner number 3... his oldest friend, age and duration... well, no... age-wise it would have to be Josiah, his preacher. "Ah, Hell"... that one would give him grief and guilt, too... but in duration, Buck had it by a long shot. Buck wasn't happy with him either.
"Hell, Buck..." Chris stopped when he saw two more bodies joining the growing castigation patrol in his personal domain.
"You are going to think hell when there are no collections to finance the new machine, Mr. Larabee. Abigale is the only one besides me who knows the bookkeeping software AND the procedures manual for billing. You were never that interested in it, not once, you three old heads dumped it all on me. If you think I'm going to take it all on, you are sadly mistaken, my friend. And hiring a new budget manager is going to be pure hell. You, my friend, owe me big time for this one."
Ezra Standish, partner number four. Ezra didn't ever seem happy with any of the three senior partners... to him, all those three, especially Larabee, did was spend money... bullets, cars, equipment, hospitals, insurance... and expect him to find the where-with-all to pay for it.
"Hell, Ezra..."
"Lay off, boys. He's had a rough night." The youngest partner, J.D. Dunne, at least had enough decency and sympathy to bring him the much-needed coffee. It was about all the man existed on anymore. These days, whoever brought it to him always laced it with a big dose of sugar. Chris normally loathed sugar in coffee, but now, he just never seemed to notice.
"Yes, from the look and smell of him, he most assuredly has, J.D. But you, my little enabler, must not encourage the reprobate. Don't feel sorry for him or fix what he breaks. If you keep holding his hand, giving him excuses, he will never come to his senses. In other words, my friend, QUIT!"
"Ezra, you know he don't mean to do it."
"WOULD YOU PEOPLE QUIT GIVING ME HELL OR TALKING ABOUT ME LIKE I'M NOT HERE!!!"
Buck lit into him, "We will, if you'll start acting like you're here at least one day out of ten. It's done, Chris. It ain't ever going to be any different. Adam's gone. Terry's gone... but she won't ever come back if you don't get yourself straightened out."
"Hell, Buck. She isn't ever coming back, anyway. And I don't blame her."
"Neither do any of us... but the thing is, we don't blame you either. You're the only one who's bent and determined to shoulder all the blame. That's what finally drove Terry off... not Adam's death."
"HE'S NOT DEAD... DO YOU HEAR ME?!!! MY SON IS NOT DEAD!!!" The mug sailed into his ebony wall clock.
"Easy, Pard. Easy, Chris. We know it's hard for you to accept, but he's been gone almost three months... no ransom demand... no word. None of us think he would have run... he loved you and Terry too much... he loved working here... he was a happy kid. That means those men got him, and he wasn't able to come back. If he'd gotten free, somehow he'd have come home, he'd have found the way back to you. What else is there, but he can't come back cause he's not alive to come back."
"NO! NO!!! SHUT UP... JUST SHUT THE HELL UP... HE'S NOT DEAD!!!" A handy paperweight sailed into the book-wall door, shattering the expansive glass.
"Chris, my dear friend, this was most assuredly not your fault."
"HELL, EZRA... HELL, YES... IT WAS MY FAULT!! I never should have let him work with me on the Morales case!! Terry BEGGED me not to let him try the street work, but all of us were such a team. Hell, I wasn't letting him do anything but ask a few questions at the precinct. He wasn't supposed to be a target... I WAS THE TARGET!!! Damn!! He was so smart. He was going to be so good at the work!!! Terry told me I'd get him killed with this... and she was right. WELL, I KILLED HIM. HE'S DEAD BECAUSE OF ME!!!"
He cried a little then, a few silent, long-held tears flowing down his thin face. But suddenly, anger took hold. The stubborn streak that was all he had left came out in full force. "NO!!!!! THAT'S NOT TRUE!!! HE WAS... HE IS SMART... SOMEHOW... SOMEWAY HE'S ALIVE. HE'S ALIVE, DAMN IT!!!... DON'T TELL ME HE'S NOT ALIVE!!!!!"
"Chris... easy, Chris... easy, Chris... "
"NO!!!!!" He started with the telephone on his desk, hurling the handset, ripping the base from the wall and throwing it through the plate glass window of his office into the Reception area. Small things, large things... paper, wood, glass, metal... hard, soft... everything he could reach or hold crashed and shattered in his furry.
His friends, his partners, circled him, watching out for flying debris, searching for an opening to subdue him.
"Chris, easy Chris." Buck approached him, hoping to just touch him, to bring him back to sanity. Chris simply moved to another part of the room, his rampage red hot and unrelenting.
Vin continued to circle. "Whoa, Pard. Chris, Come on, Chris." The man obviously heard nothing any of them said.
It was when he went to his desk, pulled open the side drawer, and pulled out his Glock 30 that things really got scary. He came around the desk, and pointed the muzzle at the tall black lamp in the far corner. The erupting noise as he pulled the trigger more than once cleared the outer office of staff and the one prospective client standing there. Bullets recoiled and spun, taking out the exterior window, putting holes in the expensive couch and its mated chair, exploding the lights above the man's head. He was aiming at the mate to his first target, on the other side of the couch, straight behind Vin, when J.D. came in low and tackled him from behind and got a black boot in the ribs for his trouble.
As Chris fought to get off the floor, Ezra stepped as gingerly as he could on the man's hand and wrested the gun from his grip. Vin grappled with him, too, trying to pin his other arm, and received a wild backhanded blow to his face. Chris broke free then, and again began to trash everything in his path... heading now for the outer rooms.
Buck, the more practical one, the one who had known and handled Chris in their rowdier days, simply reverted to old habits. He blocked the path of the demon's flight and hit him, one hard, merciless blow that sent him backward into the couch, and quickly into oblivion.
"I think you've hurt him." J.D. crawled up from the floor and, rubbing his side, went to check the one on the couch.
"Not unless his head's gotten a lot softer these days. Vin... you better call Terry... get her ready. Ezra, you get two of the sheets off the beds in the Cave. We'll wrap him up and get him to the hospital.
"What's wrong with him?" J.D. always asked questions... sometimes too many, very irritating questions.
"J.D., we've all seen this coming. He's been drinking hard for more than two months. He hasn't dealt with Adam's death until now. I'm not sure he's dealt with it yet... but he's just gone about as crazy as hell."
"Crazy? Buck, he's your friend. What's got you so set on saying this?"
"J.D., just what would it take for you to call him crazy. I'd think shooting up the place just might do it. He could've killed Vin. He's going to get himself killed. This sure as hell does it for me."
"What are you going to do to him?"
"I'll take him to Nathan and Terry. They'll take care of him... help get him sober and hopefully sane."
Chapter 4
Needles. From much experience, Chris had learned to hate needles. He hated tubes and being tied down even more.
"Terry?" He thought he had heard her calling him... telling him she loved him... but it was just the same old dream. He had dreamed it so much the last few months... especially after she left him.
"She's not here, Chris. How do you feel this morning? Gut still sore from the stomach pump? Still cold?" Nathan Jackson, a tall, robust, African American, head of surgery at Phoenix Hospital, emergency expert, was glad to find Chris finally coherent enough to ask a question. He made a note in the orders to reduce the sedatives a little.
"I'm not cold. Turn me loose, damn it, Nathan!" If he was ever going to get out of here, Chris knew he had to try harder to pretend that the needles, the tubes, and the restraints didn't matter. It was hard to do when his flesh seemed to crawl at every nerve ending and point of contact.
"Still fighting? I've told you for three days now, you've got to get calm and stay calm."
"I am calm, damn it!!" He yanked at the restraining bands around his wrists. There were more across his chest and across his hips, at his ankles too.
"Can't prove it by me. You've just still got so much booze coming out of your system... I bet you feel like ants are crawling all over you. It's obvious you're nervous as a pinned up cougar."
"How long have I been like this?"
"It's about time you started to think about it... care what's happening to you."
"How long? Damn it, Nathan, turn me loose."
"They brought you in around three days ago. Do you remember what you were doing just before the lights went out?"
"Doing? I wasn't doing nothin', damn it."
"Yeah? Then why would your partners and friends put you in a mental ward if you weren't doing anything stupid? Exactly why?"
"Mental ward?!! I'm not crazy. Damn it, Nathan, let me go!"
"Could have fooled all of us. What were you doing?"
"Hell, I don't remember."
"Don't... or don't want to? Try this one... where were you?"
"Last thing I remember, I was at the ranch, playing a little basketball."
"What with?"
"A basketball!! Take these damn things off me!!"
"You weren't playing basketball. They wouldn't have put you in a mental ward for playing basketball, Chris. Where were you?"
"If I WASN'T playing basketball... I really don't remember."
"When you can remember, when you can tell me where you were and what you were doing just before they brought you here, I'll think about turning you loose. Right now, I want you to let somebody feed you a little something, and then I want you to get some more sleep. Aren't you hungry yet?"
"A little, I think."
"Good. Maybe that poison's really letting go. Anything you want?"
"Can I have pancakes... with syrup?"
"Sure. Anything else?"
"Coffee?"
"Okay... but decaf for a little while."
"Why?"
"Let's just say all of your friends want to see you really calm for a spell."
"I AM CALM... DAMN IT!!"
"Uh-huh. Let's see if you can maybe convince me of that tomorrow."
Chapter 5
"Terry?... need you... " He was just whispering in his sleep, moaning, still tossing a bit.
"Chris... Chris... Come on... Open your eyes. Nathan said you woke up and talked with him. Talk with me, Chris... I'm here."
He opened his eyes, wanting to see the dream this time, not just hear it and be deprived of her face. "Terry? Really here? Been dreaming."
"Yes... I'm here. Oh, Chris... I'm so sorry." She gently touched the fading purple splotch on the side of his face.
At that instant, at her touch, he finally believed she was real. "Sorry? Why should you be sorry?"
"I wasn't there for you."
"There? Wasn't where?"
"Do you remember anything yet?"
"Remember?"
"Before they brought you here? Where you were? What you were doing?"
"Hell, Terry... Nathan and that damn shrink keep asking me that. I guess I got hit again. Who got me? Is this the hundredth bullet or concussion number twenty? Feels like a concussion... I've sure got a headache. Adam and I were..."
"Oh, Chris..."
"What? Did somebody pick him up at the Library? I was supposed to pick him up. Did he finish the report? Hope I didn't screw things up for him."
"Chris!" Tears shone in her eyes, confusing him.
"What? WHAT!! Terry?"
"I'm fine, Chris... but... Adam's... gone."
"Gone? Gone where? He shouldn't be taking off now... had a book report to do. He knows I won't let him work with me at the office unless he does his homework. You tell him I said he needs to finish his homework... he's a good worker... smart... like his old man."
"Chris... Adam's... gone. Adam's dead, Chris... he's dead."
"No, Terry, he just had a report. Then he was going to work with me... going to work with me... not dead... he's not dead, Terry. He can't be dead... HE'S NOT DEAD!! HE'S NOT DEAD!!!! HE'S NOT DEAD!!!!! AWH!!" It took a few minutes for the sedative to calm him again. Nathan picked up his chart and drew a heavy line through the previous order to lower the sedatives.
"Terry... it's just too soon, Hon. You've got to let the rest of the poison get out of him, get his strength back... maybe then he'll be able to face it. You've seen enough of this in emergency care to know how it is. Right now, he's just a pitiful drunk."
"Nathan... he's always been so strong."
"You know that's not it. Strong's got nothing to do with this. His heart's just been broken so bad, his mind won't take it yet. If he keeps blaming himself, he may never be able to take it."
"I should have been with him.."
"You being there wouldn't have done any good. You could have gotten yourself hurt, and he sure wouldn't have survived knowing he did anything to hurt you. It's his hell... he's got to get through it. You can't do it for him... maybe later you can help him, but only if he decides it's worth coming back.."
"Hey, Pard." Chris's partner, Vin Tanner, the tracker, the one always dressed in the same ragged old leather coat, was sitting with his feet propped up on the frame of the bed. He was a tracker, a very patient person, and he had been waiting for two hours for Chris to wake up again. He was just watching, waiting, dreading what Terry had asked him to do.
"Vin??? Now I know I must be crazy... you don't ever come in hospitals!"
"Just this once, Pard, just for a minute, just because of you. Glad you remember where you are this time. This place gives me the damn willies."
"Untie me."
"Don't start that. I'm not going to wrestle Nathan and Terry on account of you. Those things stay on for now."
"Come on. Just one hand. Couldn't hurt, and I could at least scratch my damn nose."
"I'll scratch it for you." And he started to do it.
"NO!" He turned his head away. "Sorry." He looked around, and Vin could tell the outburst had embarrassed him a little. "Look, let it go five seconds. I want to scratch my OWN damn nose. Then you can put it back. Come on, Vin... please... I'm tired of this shit."
Vin reached down and started to release the right restraint. "You move it slow... It's still busted up from where Ezra stepped on it... just a fracture, not too bad. But you do anything stupid, get me in trouble, I'll feed you all those prunes Buck says you've been spitting at the orderlies."
"Damn idiots! Wish they'd just quit poking them in my mouth... learn I'm not going to eat them. Look, tell Terry about that, okay. Tell them to go for peaches or apple, for Pete's sake. Hell, if it's roughage they're going for, tell 'em to bring me some of those little hay biscuits. I hate 'em, but, as a peace offering, I'll eat the damn things.."
"Shredded..."
"Yeah. That stuff. You were going to untie me and let me scratch my nose."
"Your damn nose?"
"Yeah."
"Hell, it's been loose, Pard."
"Well, shoot!" Chris reached up his bandaged hand and very gingerly, but very happily, scratched his nose. Then he felt a little embarrassed. "Vin... they keep asking me what happened before I came in here. If I can tell them, and try not to punch or bite any of the orderlies again, and quit spitting food at them, they'll take these things off, hopefully for good. You know, don't you?"
"Yeah... but I think you're missing the point, Pard. I think they want to make sure your memory and mind are working again, and you've finally got that temper under control."
"Hell, Vin. I don't think my memory's going to come back... at least not fast enough to help me."
"It's something you need to let happen."
"I can do that a lot faster with your help. Shoot... I know I must have been a little wild. What did I do? Get drunk and wreck some place?"
"Stayed drunk for about two months, Pard, but that was a good guess. Or maybe you are starting to remember."
"Then fill in the blanks for me, and help me get out of these."
"I don't know."
"Vin. I'm okay. I'm too damn sober. It's been long enough for all the booze to be out of me. Hasn't it?"
"It's been four days. I reckon that ought to do it.. You weren't on the stuff every day, all day... just a lot of real big benders along the way. But, Pard, I ain't the one you got to convince... it's Nathan."
"And he's the one that keeps asking the damn questions. Hell, Vin... I want out."
"That last dustup was a pistol."
"Yeah? Then tell me. What exactly did I do? Where was I? Come on... tell me. Might as well get past the first embarrassment with a friend."
"I know I'd rather do it that way, if this was me."
"Then DO IT. Come on. Help me. So I got a little wild, I gather that much... tore up something. So, what was it? Some bar? Wreck the car?"
"No... your computer."
"Oh. What was so bad about--"
"Scared off Abigale."
"Oh, hell!"
"Your office."
"How much of it?"
"Plate glass windows, outside window, bookcases, two black lamps... oh and that fancy black onyx clock, too. That was before and while you shot up the furniture, the ceiling... and tried for me... hell, damn near the whole place."
"DAMN!"
"And then you took on me, Buck, J.D., and Ezra. You busted one of J.D.'s ribs with a damn boot heel."
"Well, shit!" He got quiet for a minute, but then a little devilish smile crept across his face. "Who won?"
"Buck. Once he set his mind to it... wasn't much of a fight."
"Oh." He rubbed his jaw. "I always forget about that right cross."
"Yep... every time... at least when you're drinking. Been a long, long time since you were even occasionally a rowdy... but it's been a long time now since you've been sober."
"I think I'll avoid booze and Buck for a time."
"That would be a mighty reasonable thing to do. And you best avoid J.D. for a spell too."
"How's Adam been working out. He's not holding off work is he."
"Chris..."
"What? If he's goofing off. Don't tell me he's turned into a screw up!"
"Pard... stop it... he's dead. Adam is dead. You've got to remember it... deal with it."
"NO!!! THAT'S A DAMN LIE!!!"
"I wouldn't lie to you, Pard. Not about this. You know that, too."
"NO, VIN!!!"
"Chris, this is the truth... and you know it. You can't lie to yourself about it either."
"No, Vin."
"He's gone, and there ain't one thing in hell you can do to bring him back."
"Please, Vin... no!!!"
"Damn it, Chris. STOP IT. You know it's the truth. Chris... it's the truth. I'm sorry... but picklin' your head in booze or hidin' in here ain't gonna change it. It's just God's own awful truth. YOUR SON IS DEAD AND HE AIN'T EVER COMING BACK."
"No... No... God, Vin, NO!!"
Chris saw the tears in his friends eyes, and finally understood that Vin really believed it was the truth. They all believed it was the truth. Was that because this was the truth?
"ADAM!!" In the power of his grief, he wrested clear of the other arm restraint as well. Vin wrapped Chris's frail body in his own strong arms and held him close and tight, keeping him from harm, encouraging the man at long last to accept the death of his son.
Chapter 6
He stood just outside his barn in early evening, just before sundown, silently brushing the coat of his black stallion, feeling the sleek surface ripple as he worked the brush over what he hoped was a ticklish spot. The horse nickered softly, as if the thought was understood and appreciated. The graceful head came around to breath a soft breath against Chris's outstretched hand.
Without even turning his head, he said, "Hey, Buck... Vin... Where are Ezra and J.D.?"
"On a search." Each man propped against the hitching rail as they settled in to talk.
"Runaway?"
"No... a new budget manager. Think they've got one spotted." Vin grinned. It was a little infectious and that was good for Chris. He was still thin, still heartbroken and sometimes completely withdrawn, but he was home.
"Oh... well... good. Abigale wouldn't take another shot, huh?"
"Not a chance... she's seen enough shots from you, heard about the last one too."
"Then what brings you two out here?"
"Just checking. Haven't seen you in what... a week? You resting easier now that Nathan turned you completely loose yesterday?"
"That was a damn long two weeks, but I'm doing better. Just a day or two more... Terry says I need to go through a bunch more B-12, eat another couple of liver dinners, but the doc hasn't ruled on that sentence just yet. I'm trying for a compromise."
"Try real hard, Stud." Buck laughed. "Damn, that's a real mean sentence."
"Don't know, Buck." Vin joined in. "She might could cook it right. My gramma could... but if it ain't just right... Damn, that can be putrid stuff."
"Trust me... it's putrid. She ain't that great a cook... Hell! Nobody's THAT great a cook!"
"Hi, boys." Terry slipped up behind him.
Chris reached out and took his wife's hand in his own, slightly embarrassed that she had caught the conversation. But she knew how much he hated liver.
"Terry." Buck hugged her, always being the lady's man. "You're looking mighty special there, Darlin'. He giving you any trouble?"
Chris blushed just a bit.
"No... " she put her arm around her husband's still thin waist, "he's being a real good boy right now. I don't know how long he's going to stay this way... but I'm glad for what I can get." She reached up and tenderly brushed his hair back from his forehead.
Then she noticed how the other two men were eyeing them, and each other.
"I see my reprieve is over. You're not here on a purely social call, are you?"
"No, ma'am." Vin... always the gentleman... "We're on a job okay. We just wanted to ask a couple of questions. Just need his opinion. He don't have to haul out just yet. Shoot... it'll even keep 'til he gets back."
"Terry?" Chris looked down into her eyes. "You come out here to see them? Or to tell me that dinner's ready?"
"A little of both. I saw Buck's truck pull up. Vin, Buck, I made way too much food. I figured I'd have to freeze it for later," they noticed how she blinked back sudden tears. But then she forced a little smile and a little enthusiasm, "We might as well enjoy it together! It will almost be like old times... come on, eat with us." She was pleased when they accepted. Dinnertime was very often their worst time.
"I'll be there in a minute, boys. Go ahead... I need to turn the black out." He turned too quickly, gathering the animal's lead, heading anywhere where he wouldn't be seen.
"He okay?" Vin watched him walking away, and sensed his friend's pain from the way he held his body and absently stroked the horse.
"No, not really, Vin. He hurts so bad, still won't talk about it, still won't go upstairs. I asked him about a memorial service, and I thought I'd have to call Nathan again. He won't even consider it. But he's not drinking, and he's trying hard to find some kind of peace. He won't be able to for some time, but maybe he can at least ease the door shut on it just a little. That's enough for now."
"Think he'd mind if I was to join him in the barn?"
"No... just give him a few minutes, and don't sneak up on him."
"Sure. We'll be back in a few. Won't keep him long."
"And you, Little Darlin'," Buck took her arm and, with a grand sweep of his hand, began to walk her toward the house. "You're really not feeding us liver, are you?"
"No... steak." She smiled and then laughed at his pleased grin.
"So fine!" He was ready.
"...and spinach, with a tofu dressing."
His grin faded a little, and his nose wrinkled in feigned disgust. "Thought I'd won a big one tonight."
She laughed again. "Well, at least Chris should eat it. He likes spinach, especially with the tofu dressing. It was the only way we could get Adam to..." Her voice suddenly broke, and she ran back into the house.
"Damn!" The big man knew without a doubt that he could fight demons and win, but he'd be damned if he knew how to win, or help his friends win, against pain like this.
"Chris?" Vin called to him before he reached the barn door.
"Here, Vin." The man's eyes were still moist, but he had found control over himself.
"You mind if we talk a few minutes?"
"Sure. What about?" He slapped the rump of the black and watched him head out the back to pasture. He finally turned to acknowledge the presence of his friend.
"MAG7."
"We got trouble? Did I manage to drive off ALL the clients? Put us in too much debt? I know the hospital was damn expensive."
"Naw. That part's fine. Ezra's squealing about the contingency fund being in real tragic circumstances, but Ezra complains about the coffee bill just as much."
"Hell, Ezra just complains." Chris smiled a little.
"Chris?"
"Okay, Vin... spit it, or it's going to choke you."
"You want me gone?"
"WHAT?" Chris's head snapped around. "WHAT THE HELL!!! NO!! Why'd you ask that?"
"Well, you ain't said twenty good words to me since you left the hospital. I know I hurt you, Chris, even if I didn't want to."
Chris was quiet... so quiet Vin started to leave.
"Vin... wait."
"Yeah?"
"I was crazy as hell. I'm still mad as hell. Can you understand?"
"I know I pushed you awful hard. It was a down-right mean thing to do. If it hurts you too much now... you say. I'll go... no hard feelings, I hope."
"I HATED YOUR DAMN GUTS!!"
It was almost like being hit with one of Chris's uppercuts. Vin felt his jaw jerk in reaction.
"But Vin." His voice was quieter. "I hated everybody's guts... most of all I still hate my own. Hell, Vin... all you did was make me see the truth. All I did was kill my son."
"You can't still see it like that!"
"Why not? If I can accept one truth, I need to accept the other."
"But it wasn't you. All you had him do was ask a few questions. We both went over it, Chris. Nothing he was doing should have attracted attention."
"Then, if I did such a DAMN GOOD JOB, why is Adam dead? WHY IS MY SON DEAD?" He hauled off and kicked the nearest bale of hay.
"Easy, Chris. You were doing your job, and Adam was as happy as I've ever seen him. Somebody just wanted to hurt you. They wanted to destroy you. Can you think of anybody who would want to destroy you as low-down, slow and painful as this?"
"I don't know Vin. I haven't been able to figure it out... but if we do... NO... When we do... I intend to settle this... to finish it."
"So you ain't given up, yet?"
"No. I haven't stopped. I won't ever stop. And MAG7 hasn't folded yet or quit either. He was my son, Vin... my son and Terry's son. But he belonged to all of us... hell, you and Buck helped raise him. I need you, all of you, to help me find him and me a little peace."
"You got it... all there is to get."
They were quiet for a few minutes.
"Pard? You reckon she really cooked liver?"
"Hell, Vin, I hope not. I've had enough of that stuff. I'd a whole lot rather eat that damn tofu dressing she thinks I like. Come on... might as well just go find out. And you boys can ask your questions, too. I'm just crazy... I'm not stupid."
Chapter 7
The church was so quiet at this hour of the morning. Chris sat in what had been Adam's favorite spot, where his son and his bunch had sat together most Sundays. Chris had stopped on the way to his first day of work, trying to find a peace and comfort that was nowhere to be found. But at least he had finally come to pray and seek reason and a little forgiveness.
"You won't find it here either." The tall, silver and gray headed man, the Reverend Josiah Sanchez, former Arizona Ranger, walked up behind his friend and simply rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Not unless you truly believe it can be found."
"I know, Josiah. I won't find peace until I know what happened to him, but God didn't do it... I did it."
"No... that's not true any more than thinking God set his hand against you and your family. What are you doing about all this?"
"Trying to stay sober. I was never a big drinker, Josiah... not unless Buck and I stayed in the bars on furlough back in the old days. Course, on furlough, Buck and I never stayed out of the bars." He smiled a little... not a real smile... that one was gone like his son. "But with this... when I couldn't find anything, not even anyplace to start... I just couldn't stand, didn't want, to think anymore. I wanted it to just all go away... I needed it to stop! I almost did make it stop once... for good."
"Terry know that?"
"Suspects, I imagine."
"How?"
"The revolver in my office desk. Late night. Lots of booze. Nobody to care, because I didn't want them around to make me care."
"What stopped it?"
"Adam. He would have been mad as hell if I'd have left his mother alone to face it."
"You haven't been here, though."
"No. I was too mad at God to want to talk to him... or to you. You'd talk reason, and I didn't want any part of it."
"You through being mad?"
"Only at you. God and me are going to have to have some serious conversations about this."
"Well... you talk, he'll listen. Then he'll tell you what to do, and I suggest that's the time you do the listening. Need me?"
"Before long."
"What for?"
"I'm going hunting, Josiah. I don't know where, but somewhere I'll find the answers."
"When you find them, God will be there, too. And God willing, so will I."
"I hope so. I hope He's not too ticked about all I've been doing."
"Shoot... if He was THAT ticked, if He didn't care, or if you weren't at least trying to listen, I expect you'd have pulled the trigger."
"See... you do talk reason. You know what, Josiah?"
"What?"
"I think he's been trying to tell me something all along."
"What?"
"That he's NOT dead."
"Is this God or imagination talking?"
"Both, probably, and Adam, too. Not sure. But there's been a lot of strange things to happen in my life, Josiah. Like when I heard Ella's ghost. You believed it was a sign, didn't you?"
"Thought it might be. I think it proved to be... just between you and me. Let's not inform the congregation that either of us believe that, though."
"Well then, between you and me... when I quit saying Adam was alive... when I gave in and let myself believe he was dead... then I started seeing him... not well, not all safe and sound... I see him in trouble... but alive. Maybe I'm just still crazy."
"We shall see. You just work, and you just keep on dreaming and listening. It'll come when it's time."
"It's time, Josiah. You'll go with me if I need you?"
"Anytime, my friend... any time. Right now, though, I've got to go visit the lost. Take as long here as you want."
"I'm done for now. I'll walk out with you."
"Stay strong, my friend."
"I'll try. Thanks for the talk... and the prayers."
Chapter 8
Later that same morning, he found himself standing in the principal's office. It might have been funny, since the last time he was here, it was to try to bail Adam out of some prank. Today, it wasn't funny at all. "Damn... make it stop... I can't do this anymore." It was an often whispered, as often unanswered, prayer.
"Mr. Larabee... Chris... It's good to see you... even though under the circumstances."
"Thanks, Stanley... it's not easy for anybody." Stanley Burton was a good man who loved his students. He had suffered too because of Adam.
"Such an outstanding young man. I thought he was going to be a true star in every sense of the word."
"Stanley... Stan... he was a seventeen year old boy... a boy with a tree-killer slice on the golf course; an ability to consume Hawaiian pizza, anchovies, and chocolate malted milks without puking. Could miss a basket at five feet and still manage to beat me. He had an ear for music, but he was still the only one who could tune my Jag just right. Hell, Stan... I loved him... but I loved him warts and all. He wasn't a saint. I was just beginning to glimpse how special he was going to be as a man... a good, decent man. Hell, if we don't shut up, I'm going to embarrass myself and you too."
"I'm so sorry. The thought that this was the last place he was seen sickens me. I wish there was something I could do."
"Maybe there is, Stan."
"Name it... what can I offer that could help."
"I came here the day he went missing. I stayed here for more than a week talking to every kid he ever spoke to. I tried to find out what he did when I wasn't around; if there was anything I didn't see."
"You were around a long time... I remember."
"But was there anything I missed... anybody that was special to him that I missed... anybody that would have seen him that day and noticed anything strange?"
"I thought you covered them all."
"I did, too, but Stan, I'm starting over... well, almost over. I kept a list of everybody I talked to." Chris handed several long lists of paper to the man, filled with names of students... all neatly spelled at first... scratched into the paper near the end, where he now realized his breakdown had actually begun.
"Will you take this list, compare it to the list of students... see if there was anything I missed? Will you ask the staff if there's any scrap of anything... a rumor, a bookmark with a note on it, an argument over a damn piece of gum... anything they can remember. Tell them it doesn't matter how small it is, how insignificant it might seem. I've been drowning in this thing, Stan, but not anymore. Something like this doesn't happen and not leave at least one mark. Somebody knows something... they just don't know that they know. I need all of you to help me find my son."
"Do you really believe there's a chance, Chris?"
"My mind tells me it's no use trying any more. The boys and Terry tell me he's gone. But my heart and my gut say different. It's time to listen to my heart, Stan. I've got to try. Will you help?"
"You'll hear from me every time I get anything, no matter how small. If you think of anything else we can do... you just come, or call."
"Buck, have you gotten any answers yet?" He was in his office again before noon, trying to decide what was next.
"Nothing solid yet. I know Benito had a cellmate named Enrique Santos... he got paroled six months ago. Haven't located him yet, but I got a description. Carlos is still supposed to be in Nogales... can't confirm it though."
"I think I'm going to send Vin after HoJo... see if there's anything there."
"Chris... that's a fifteen year old case! Hell, you and me were together, but there wasn't any MAG7 yet. You didn't kill him... far as I know we haven't heard from him since he got out of jail... he only got five years."
"But he threatened me. Said he'd come back."
"Lots of our cases end on words similar to those. Sending someone to prison doesn't make you real popular. He was a kid, Chris. You want to start down that road?"
"I don't know what I want. Hell, I'm just hunting for something, anything, I can use to find him."
"I know. If he's out there... we'll find him."
"What I want right now is to find information... so I know where I'm going. Get hold of Vin... meet me at Ramondo's office."
The precinct captain, Frank Ramondo, was amazed to see him that afternoon. The response was the same... for one so young, his son had a great many friends of all ages and persuasions.
"Sure, Chris. In fact, I've got a little something for you today. Kept it. Thought you might someday want to know what he was asking when he was here... the afternoon before he disappeared. It's been so long, I thought maybe you had decided to just let it alone."
"I tried that. Didn't do a bit of good. I've got to know. He was supposed to ask questions about Carlos Morales. I wanted him to find out where Carlos had his training camp."
"Smuggling ring? Name of Carlos Morales is familiar enough... especially down around Nogales. What's he running this time?"
"Who knows? Cocaine, marijuana, heroin, meth, humans... whatever brings in dollars and devastation. From what I hear, he's running the business like a giant corporation or something... lots of products, lots of capital, lots of soldiers to keep it all running. Shipping manufactured goods right along with the stash... make the feds and the Mexican authorities dig for every bust and conviction they get."
"What is it you want me to do?"
"Get online with anybody you know... Arizona, New Mexico, Texas. Find out where Morales is nesting. I think south Arizona is going to be it, but I'm not sure."
"Why are you after Morales?"
"This whole thing started when we got hired to find a location for him. A family was looking to get their son out of his hands... said he was one of the man's soldiers at the Morales base. That's what we were looking for this time, but I knew Carlos's work before."
"How well."
"Didn't know him that well, but I killed his son in a firefight, oh, seven, eight years ago... name was Jesse Morales. We were working with the D.E.A. on a 1200 pound marijuana raid here in Phoenix. They used everybody remotely connected with law enforcement... me, Buck, Vin, we were all there... just muscle and fire power. Jesse was working as security for his father... both of them were mean little sons-of-bitches. Jesse came running out a side door with a semi. I didn't know who he was, I just yelled halt, he tried to shoot me, I shot him first. Carlos's brother, Benito, went to prison for a dime because of that raid, too. Carlos promised he'd get me back for both."
"But why now?"
"I don't have any clue. Benito's still in Yuma. But still, I shouldn't have taken this case. Shouldn't have let Adam anywhere near it. Carlos is a mean one, but Benito's a lunatic. I should have known they wouldn't forget my debt. The more I've thought about it, the more I've decided the whole case was a set up to get to me, and to do it by hurting my son. Carlos would see that as a real sweet repayment."
"Okay, where do we go now?"
"Where Adam and I left off. Seeing if there are any of the Morales family here, any way they might be connected with Carlos that I don't know about? See, I just backed the D.E.A. before... I wasn't really involved... didn't take time to learn about Morales. I need to know where the hell he's holed up... here... Mexico? What's his organization look like, can I get any help from any of the other organizations to find him, how many men do I need to take him?"
"You planning to kill him?"
:"I'm planning to find out what happened to Adam. Where he is. Get him back... alive. I'm planning to do that anyway it takes."
"Chris..."
"I know. He may be six feet under, or dumped in the damn desert, but I want to know where he is... and my gut says he's not dead."
"Don't tell the federals that part. They'll think you're crazy."
"They may be right... but I don't think so. Call me? Add any details you can think of. Do it fast."
"Sure, Chris. Never did thank you well enough for finding my niece when she got messed up with that doper. At least now, I can do a little to give back what I owe you."
"You don't owe me nothing, but anything you can do to move this along..."
"You got it. Stay sane."
"Never was much... now, if I don't find him, I just don't think I ever will be."
Chapter 9
The shiny, antique black Jaguar was sitting on the side of the road that night, headlights blazing, motor running. The large beam flashlight shining into the driver's side window nearly blinded him, and made the headache he already had about a thousand times worse. His tie was open, his hair unkempt, his speech slightly slurred. "Hey, Roger. Shine that thing somewhere else, 'kay."
"Damn, Chris. Thought we decided no more benders Thought I heard you'd cleaned yourself up. You're just going to have to come visit the tank this time."
"Hold it!"
"The sheriff says Larabee, or no Larabee, this time earns you at least an overnight in the tank. I'll try to get him to keep it out of a file, but no promises."
"WHOA, ROGER!!!"
"Whoa, what? Don't make me have to come in there and get you."
"Don't bet you can do it either, Jordon; I haven't been drinking. Honest!!!" But his voice was a little muffled, a little shaky."
"Come on. Thought you weren't going to be a liar either."
"And I'm not! Honest, Roger!! Get out your breath-a-thingy and check me out. I haven't had a damn drop. Hell, you let me go when I'm falling-down drunk, lock me up when I'm stone cold sober."
Roger obliged him. Chris spent a few minutes breathing into the machine, walking heel to toe down the white stripe on the side of the road and touching the tip of his nose. He thought standing on one foot was going to do him in.
"Hell, Roger. I haven't been able to do that one since my ankle gave out in that sandlot football game you pulled me into last year. Has to be smooth surface for now... you find me a smooth pavement or a gym floor, I'll do it for you. I'm not drunk... I just have a damn headache. I must have gone to sleep... I haven't slept in three days. It eventually catches up."
"You're parked out here in the middle of the night, and you ARE sober. What the hell are you doing parked out here to begin with?"
"Thinking."
"Oh, hell. Where's the trouble starting this time?"
"No place out here, Roger. Probably not even in town. But it's going to start somewhere, and I've got to get Terry ready, get me ready. Just sitting here, wondering exactly how I'm going to tell her. It's been damn rough this last month as it is."
"You keep her out of the trouble, you hear!"
"Hell, Roger. It's keeping her out of all of it, leaving her at home, that's going to cause the fight! If you get a domestic disturbance call from out here within another hour or so, as long as it doesn't involve gunplay, figure she didn't kill me, and we'll be all right."
"I'm not worried about you. She decides to off you, I just might find reason to come console the widow and help her bury the evidence?"
"Funny, Roger... real funny."
"This got to do with Adam?"
"Yeah."
"Your face is about six shades of pasty white. Gonna make it home okay?
"Yeah."
"You need any help in the search?"
"Don't know just yet... maybe."
"If I can do anything, I've got plenty of leave on the books... you just ask."
"Thanks, Roger."
"That was one fine boy, Chris."
"Yeah... he IS a real fine boy."
He stumbled into the house and headed for the guest bathroom.
"Terry?" He barely made it before he bent over the toilet and vomited. "Terry!!!"
He slumped down onto the now closed toilet lid and placed his head in his hands, willing his head to just explode and be done with this hell.
"Sh-h-h-h. I'm right here. You don't have to yell like that. Where have you been?"
"Office. We got any aspirin?"
She brushed past him and opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. She started to hand him one of the tablets and a glass of water.
"Make it three."
"Two. Too many will kick your stomach." She could tell from his squinting eyes and pale face that he wasn't feeling well at all..
"Too few won't stop this thing. Dear Lord... I'm already sick from this and almost blind."
"I don't think you need aspirin right now." She reached back in the cabinet and gave him a different pill with the water. Reaching inside the linen closet, she took a soft rag, wet it in cold water, and not too gently lay it across his forehead. It was the first warning that she had been fairly upset about his absence.
"I called your office, Chris... then your private line... you didn't answer the phone for either. I called your cell phone, too... the one you're NEVER supposed to turn off... it was turned off. What were you doing and where were you?"
"I was at the office... I think I left right about ten."
"It's one a.m. The drive takes most of one at this hour. What did you do with the other two hours?"
"I think I went to sleep for most of it. At least Roger found me asleep in the car on the side of the road up close to Little Mac's. How long before that pill takes hold?"
"Not too long. You aren't drunk are you? You haven't been drinking? If you have... I shouldn't have given you that!"
"No... not drunk... not even one drink. I was just thinking... I must have fallen asleep. And if you don't believe me, you can call Roger. He ran me through the whole damn drunk-tank drill. Threatened to arrest me... but I wasn't drinking."
"Why would he do that to you? He shouldn't make you stand out on a roadside doing that. You weren't doing anything. Next time I see that man I'm going to give him a piece--"
Chris started grinning at her then, in spite of the headache. "Whoa... whoa, Hellcat... no harm done... " He wrapped his arms around her waist, glad to feel her fingers begin to gently massage his thumping temples. "Thanks. Glad you're on my side."
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"No reason I can think of." He gave her a little piece of his bad boy grin. Then he stood and gave her a little warm kiss. "Thanks for believing me... I know you didn't have to... I don't deserve it."
"Hush. Have you had anything to eat?"
"Yeah. Got J.D. to get me a cheeseburger, fries, and coffee before he left... about eight." He rested his head on her shoulder.
"That wasn't very good, but at least you remembered to eat. Come on... let's just get you to bed. I'll leave a call for Vin and Buck that you're going to be late in the morning... let you sleep until eight or so."
"No... wake up by five... office by seven."
"Wake up at six... office by eight-thirty. I want you to eat a good breakfast."
"Pancakes?"
"Too much sugar. Scrambled eggs, wheat toast..."
"Bacon?"
"No! Maybe breakfast soy links?"
"Ah, hell... Thought you were on my side."
"I am, Mr. Cholesterol. You've had your dose for the month tonight with that cheeseburger and fries... but why were you sitting on the side of the road thinking... instead of coming home and talking to me?"
"Well, I've got a little problem. Truth... we've got a big problem."
"You're worried about this, aren't you! Is that why your head's hurting. Are we going to have a little fight about what you've got going on in your head?"
"Probably... but not while I've got this damn headache, okay."
"When, exactly?"
"Can I have a little more sleep first? Up at five?"
"That gives us an hour to battle it out. Office by eight-thirty?"
"Yeah. Sounds like a plan."
"Come on, then. Let's get you settled." She took the rag from his head, took his hand, and led him to the other end of the main floor, to their bed.