The persistent ringing of his doorbell wakened Ezra from his slumber. He groaned when he looked at the clock. 8:00 AM. He put the pillow over his head, determined to ignore the ill-mannered cretin who had decided to wake him at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning. But the ringing continued, with the added cacophony of a fist pounding on his door. With a growl, Ezra climbed out of bed and stalked toward the door, wrenching it open without even glancing through the peephole, intent upon giving the person on the other side a piece of his mind... or his fist, if it was one of his annoying teammates. The scathing words died on his lips when he saw who was standing there.
"Bradley?" Ezra asked, surprise etched on his face.
"Hello, cousin," the blond man said with a grin, his Southern accent heavy. "Still hate early mornings, I see."
Ezra flushed in embarrassment, remembering that he was standing there clad only in his blue silk pajama bottoms. "Yes, well, I do prefer to sleep in when I am able." He smiled and gestured the other man inside, shutting the door behind him.
"This is a nice place, Ezra," Bradley commented as he surveyed the tastefully decorated condo. "Much better than that gloomy apartment in Atlanta."
Ezra shrugged. "The environment here seems to suit me better."
Bradley looked at him, aware of the hidden meaning in his words. "I heard about your transfer. Maude told me when I saw her at my father's funeral four months ago." He eyed Ezra carefully. "She didn't seem pleased."
Ezra snorted. "My mother has never approved of my choice in careers."
"I know the feeling," Bradley commiserated. "I hadn't spoken to my father in seven years. He thought I should have greater ambitions. I guess he didn't think much of insurance adjusters."
"So what are you doing in Denver?" Ezra said, changing the subject. Dwight Hanford, Bradley's father, was an uncomfortable subject for both of them.
"I have some business at our Denver branch for the next few weeks," Bradley explained. "I thought I'd drop by for a visit, considering I haven't seen you for nearly two years."
"Has it been that long?" Ezra asked, trying to recall the last time he had seen his cousin. They had kept in touch sporadically over the years, getting together whenever they had a chance. Ezra had always looked forward to seeing his cousin, since Bradley was one of very few people who truly understood what his life had been like. Despite his being a fairly distant relation, he had been someone Ezra could count as a true friend.
"Yep," Bradley said with a chuckle. "You still had your arm in a sling from getting shot on that case... the one with the Chinese drug dealers that you told me about, remember?"
"Yes, I remember," Ezra said with a grimace. "That one was quite unpleasant."
"I don't know how you do it," Bradley said, a hint of wonder in his voice. "I'd never be able to get so close to criminals like that." He shuddered for emphasis. "It gives me the creeps just thinking about it."
Ezra grinned at him. "It's one of the only legitimate uses for my god-given talents."
"I guess you're right about that," Bradley laughed. "I remember the time you conned old man Olsen out of a whole bag of candy from his store by pretending you were scared of that old mutt of his. Hell, that old fleabag wouldn't have hurt a fly."
"One of my earliest triumphs," Ezra said proudly. "It was quite an accomplishment for an eight-year-old, if I do say so myself."
"That it was."
"Would you care to join me for brunch?" Ezra asked. "There's a lovely restaurant just a few minutes from here."
"I'd love to," Bradley agreed.
"Good," Ezra said with a smile. "I'll go get ready."
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra made his way to the elevator, humming cheerfully. He and Bradley had spent most of the previous day together, reminiscing about some of the good times they had enjoyed together as children. He had been eight years old when Maude had left him with his Aunt Edna for the summer. The elderly woman had died suddenly of a heart attack during the second week of his stay and Maude, of course, was nowhere to be found. Ezra had been left in the custody of Bradley's father – Maude's distant cousin – who had made the funeral arrangements for Aunt Edna.
Thoughts of Dwight Hanford dimmed his cheerful mood as Ezra remembered the stern, older man. Hanford hadn't seemed to mind taking responsibility for a young boy, but, as Ezra later discovered, he was primarily interested in another pair of hands to work on his farm.
Bradley was older than Ezra by two years and had taken an immediate liking to his worldly cousin, listening with rapt fascination as Ezra told him about all the places he had traveled and the European schools he had attended. For Ezra, it had been a pleasant surprise to find a friend in the unsettling situation. Bradley had helped him learn to do the chores that were expected of him, since he knew firsthand the perils of displeasing his father.
The elder Hanford had been a harsh taskmaster, expecting a full day's work from each of the boys. He had little tolerance for mistakes or 'tomfoolery', as he called their occasional attempts to make their chores more entertaining. Unused to the kinds of tasks he was expected to perform, Ezra had found himself on the wrong end of the man's hand often during his first few weeks at the farm. More than once he had gone to bed with an aching backside and an empty stomach because Dwight had been displeased with his efforts. It had been Bradley's patient instruction that had finally allowed him to avoid the strict man's wrath.
Ezra smiled. He had had very few friends as a child, but Bradley had been one of them. His cousin had been the only good part of a decidedly unpleasant summer. Bad situations were always more bearable when there was someone to share the burden. He was still smiling when he entered the offices of Team Seven.
"Good morning, Mr. Tanner," he greeted Vin as he dropped his briefcase on his desk.
Vin eyed him suspiciously. "What's goin' on?"
"Whatever do you mean?" Ezra tilted his head, puzzled at Vin's odd reaction.
"You're way too happy for a Monday morning," Vin proclaimed, folding his hands across his chest. "What're you up to?"
"I'm not 'up to' anything, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said, shaking his head in amusement. "I simply had an enjoyable weekend."
"Uh-huh," Vin said, not sounding convinced.
Ezra rolled his eyes as he hung his coat on the coat rack. He wasn't that bad on Monday mornings. "How was your weekend, Mr. Tanner?"
Vin shrugged. "Nothin' special." He was about to press Ezra for more details about his weekend activities, when Buck and JD entered the room in their typically noisy fashion.
"Hey, Vin," Buck called cheerily. "Hey, Ez. You're here early."
"Not that early, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra countered. "You are simply later than usual."
Buck rolled his eyes, while JD snickered and elbowed his roommate in the ribs. "See, I told you your watch was wrong."
Buck cuffed his young friend on the head and shoved him toward the break room. "Come on, kid. I need some caffeine."
Josiah and Nathan entered the bullpen carrying their own mugs of coffee.
"Good morning, brothers," Josiah called cheerily.
Nathan nodded in greeting, sipping carefully at his coffee as he took his seat. "Hey, guys."
Buck and JD had just returned with their respective beverages – coffee for Buck and Coke for JD – when Chris stepped out of his office, clearing his throat to get their attention. "Everyone into the conference room. We have a new case."
The room filled with the sound of mumbling and shuffling paper as the six men filed into the conference room behind their leader, taking their usual seats and waiting expectantly for Chris to begin.
"It seems that we have a new player in town," Chris began. "Someone is shopping for a large quantity of weapons and explosives. The details on the buyers are vague at this point and it isn't much more than a rumor on the streets, but Travis and the suits upstairs are concerned enough to bring us in to investigate."
"Do they have any idea who's doin' the askin'?" Vin asked.
"No," Chris said with a sigh. "That's what they need us to find out. All they have so far is the shopping list that hit the streets in the last few days. They're worried about the amount of goods being requested. They're figuring it's an out-of-state group, since the rumors seemed to just come out of nowhere and they haven't been able to trace it to any known players."
Buck whistled as he read the briefing sheet. "Damn, they could outfit a small army with this much stuff."
"Indeed, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra agreed. "This is quite a laundry list of hardware."
"M-16's, Uzi's, handguns, M-14's..." Josiah read aloud.
"Sniper rifles?" Vin commented. "That can't be good."
"Yep," Buck agreed. "We used those when we were in the Seals. I'd hate to see the bad guys getting their hands on them."
"Hell, they're even looking for rocket launchers and explosives," Nathan commented disgustedly.
"Sounds like they want to start a war," JD said.
"Perhaps one of our favorite crime organizations is planning for some offensive action?" Ezra offered.
"Or maybe a terrorist group is doing some shopping," Vin suggested grimly.
"Anything's possible at this point," Chris said with a shrug. "We need to get out there and start checking our sources." He looked at each of his men in turn. "Talk to your snitches and check with any contacts you have in the police or other law enforcement agencies. Maybe someone has heard about similar large weapons purchases or inquiries in other parts of the country."
"If they've got the kind of money it takes to buy this much stuff, then it's likely that someone knows who they are," Josiah said thoughtfully.
"The dealers are gonna be fallin' all over themselves tryin' to hook up with these guys," Vin added. "They ain't gonna want to pass up that kind of cash."
"They will probably be rather tight-lipped about any potential deals, however," Ezra pointed out. "They become quite territorial over deals of this size and it may prove difficult to pry any information out of them."
Chris gave them a predatory grin. "That is why they called us in."
"Yeah," Buck boasted. "We are the best, after all."
"Okay, ladies. Enough discussion." Chris surveyed his team once more. "It's time to earn our reputation."
The men stood and left the room. Vin, Josiah, Ezra, and Buck immediately grabbed their coats and headed out to hit the streets, while JD, Nathan, and Chris started on the phones and the computer. Team Seven was on the job.
* * * * * * * * * * A loud knock on his door intruded suddenly on the silence in Chris's office, startling him momentarily. "Come in," he called, curious as to who was interrupting his work, since most of his men wouldn't have bothered to knock on the door before opening it.
The man who stepped into his office sported a precise haircut and was dressed in a plain gray pinstripe suit, white shirt, and conservative navy blue tie with red stripes that just screamed 'FBI' to Chris. He looked to be about the same age as Chris and stood ramrod straight in front of the ATF team leader's desk until he was asked to sit. Chris gestured toward the guest chair, smiling inwardly at the level of formality that most FBI agents he had met seemed to display. It was no wonder a maverick like Standish had never quite fit in.
"Agent Larabee?" the man began, rousing Chris from his reverie. "I'm Special Agent Paul Farrell, FBI."
"What can I do for you, Agent Farrell?" Chris asked calmly.
Farrell shifted uncomfortably in his seat, aware of the reputation of this man and his team, and knowing that Larabee wasn't going to like what he had to say. "I, uh, have a rather delicate matter that requires your attention." He lifted the folder he was carrying and opened it, retrieving several photographs. "I believe you recognize the man on the right."
Chris took the photo and frowned. It was a picture of Ezra Standish, smiling and shaking hands with a slightly taller blond man in front of his condo. The rest of the photos showed the two men having lunch or standing together next to Ezra's Jaguar. He regarded Agent Farrell coolly.
"Why are you watching my agent?"
"We weren't watching him," Farrell replied. "It's the other guy we have under surveillance."
"What for?"
"His name is Bradley Hanford. He runs the Brotherhood for a Pure America, a radical white supremacist group," Farrell explained. "He used to be very active in the KKK and Aryan Nation, but apparently they weren't militant enough for him."
"You sure it's the same guy," Chris asked doubtfully, nodding toward the pictures.
"It's him," Farrell said confidently. "We followed him here from St. Louis."
Chris sighed and rubbed his eyes. His undercover agent was the biggest magnet for trouble he had ever encountered in all his years in law enforcement. "And now you want to know why he was seen with Agent Standish."
Farrell nodded. "We've heard rumors that Hanford might be here looking to buy weapons and we didn't want to step on any toes if your guy was undercover."
"When were these taken?"
"Yesterday," Farrell said.
Chris groaned inwardly, but maintained his cool façade. "As far as I know, Agent Standish isn't undercover." He held up his hand to forestall the inevitable questions. "But, that doesn't mean he's not working on something. He has a habit of doing his own thing."
"So I've heard," Farrell said with a frown. "Tell me, Agent Larabee. Do you trust Standish?"
Chris felt the anger building inside of him, but restrained himself. "You have a lot of nerve asking me that," he said icily.
"Standish does have a reputation," Farrell said pointedly.
"All I care about is the work he does for me," Chris retorted. "And that has been nothing but exemplary since he's been here."
"Ten months isn't a very long time to get to know someone," Farrell pressed.
"Long enough," Chris replied, a warning tone in his voice.
Farrell was smart enough not to push Chris any further. He had no desire to be on the receiving end of the man's infamous temper.
"What else have you got on this guy?" Chris asked, wanting to know more about this man with whom Ezra appeared so friendly.
"You can keep this stuff. I've got more copies," Farrell said as he handed his folder to Chris, who opened it and began perusing the information inside. He came upon several more photos of Hanford, some dating back many years. One in particular caught his attention. A young boy, identified as Hanford, stood next to a group of men clad in white KKK robes, cheering and lifting his fist in support, while a cross burned in the background. It was the boy standing next to him that had garnered Chris's interest, however. He recognized Ezra from some old family pictures the undercover agent had shown him one night when Chris had driven him home from the hospital after he had broken his arm during a bust. The pain medication had weakened his defenses and made him more talkative than usual. He had dragged out the slim photo album while Chris was still there, showing him the few pictures he had of his childhood.
Chris sighed in resignation. The boy in this photo was definitely Ezra Standish. He stood next to Hanford, seemingly ignoring the crowd behind him as he held out a white pointed hood, looking at it curiously. Chris felt his heart drop to his stomach.
"What is it?" Farrell asked, noticing his unusual interest in the picture.
"Nothing," Chris said, shuffling the pictures as he tried to cover his lapse, but it was too late.
Farrell grabbed the picture in question and stared at it for a minute before his eyes widened in surprise. "I'll be damned! It's Standish, isn't it?" He looked at Chris for confirmation.
"I don't know," Chris said, disgusted with himself for being so transparent.
"The son of a bitch is in on it!" Farrell continued excitedly. "No wonder we've had such a hard time getting this guy. He's been getting inside information from Standish and keeping one step ahead of us."
"You'd better have proof before you go around making any accusations, Agent Farrell," Chris said, turning his glare on full blast. "Nobody maligns one of my agents without the evidence to back it up."
Farrell flinched under the piercing gaze, but maintained his confident air. "Tell me, how does Agent Standish get along with Agent Jackson?" Farrell smiled smugly, already aware of the fractious relationship the two shared. "He had a problem working for a black supervisor once... an agent named Watson, if I remember correctly. Didn't treat him with any respect whatsoever. I guess he doesn't like to take orders from someone who isn't white."
"That's enough, Farrell," Chris warned. "Ezra is not that kind of person and I'll stand behind him all the way."
"You may have to," Farrell warned. He paused at the door. "Just so you know, we'll be keeping him under surveillance from now on. I'd advise you not to interfere."
"And I'd advise you to get your ass out of my office before I throw you out," Chris said, his calm voice belying his desire to throttle the man standing in front of him.
Farrell smirked and gave Chris a sarcastic salute before walking out the door. Chris stared at the closed door for a moment after he left before lowering his head onto his arms. He was going to have a serious talk with Ezra when he returned.
* * * * * * * * * * A few minutes after Farrell had left, there was another, more tentative knock on his door. Chris lifted his head as Nathan opened the door and stepped inside.
"Everything okay, Chris?" Nathan asked sincerely. "I heard some yelling...."
Chris pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "We may have a problem." He handed the folder containing the photos and information he had received from Agent Farrell to Nathan and waited as the other man quickly scanned them. Chris knew the moment Nathan encountered the KKK rally photo by the frown on his face.
"What does Ezra have to do with this?" Nathan asked when he was through.
"I don't know yet," Chris said with a sigh. "The FBI has been tracking Bradley Hanford for a long time. There's a possibility he might be our new buyer in town. Those pictures with Ez were taken yesterday." He paused and ran a hand through his sandy hair. "Except for that one with the rally."
Nathan's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Chris took the folder and removed the photo, pointing to Hanford. "This is Hanford," he said, then moved his finger. "This is Ezra."
Nathan was silent for a moment, then looked at Chris with a hard gleam in his eyes. "I knew it! That bigoted son of a bitch! Now I know why he was so much against affirmative action." Nathan remembered the argument clearly. He had commented to his teammates that there didn't seem to be many people of color employed by the ATF and the discussion had turned to affirmative action programs, which he supported. Ezra, on the other hand, had taken the opposite view, claiming that such measures were nothing more than reverse discrimination that promoted unqualified individuals into positions they didn't deserve. After several minutes of heated argument, Nathan had given up in disgust, knowing that Ezra would only manage to twist his words around until they suited his purpose. Now, though, it appeared there was a repugnant reason for his views.
"Nathan, he's just a kid in this photo. It doesn't necessarily make him a bigot anymore than his views on affirmative action," Chris argued.
Nathan ignored him. "I can't believe this got past the security checks."
"We don't know the whole story," Chris said calmly, trying to placate the angry agent. "I'm going to talk to him when he gets back. Don't jump to any conclusions, okay?"
Nathan stared at him, then nodded sharply. "All right, but I'm not working with him if I don't like his answers. I've had to work with racist assholes before, and I'm not going to put up with that crap again."
"I don't think any of us would disagree with you on that."
"You gonna tell the rest of the guys?"
"Yeah, as soon as they all get back." The phone rang, interrupting their conversation. "Larabee," Chris answered.
Nathan watched as the expression on his leader's face grew darker.
"Sir, I don't think that's a good idea," Chris said tightly, frowning even more deeply at the reply. "I don't care what the FBI thinks!" A storm of emotions rolled across Chris's face and finally, with his teeth clenched tightly, he said, "I understand, sir."
Nathan waited patiently as Chris hung up the phone, knowing that he had not received good news.
"Goddamn it!" Chris cursed. "That was Travis," he said, looking up at Nathan. "We can't discuss this situation with Ezra. Seems the FBI thinks it's better to keep him in the dark and under surveillance."
"Travis is letting the Feebs call the shots?"
"He has no choice," Chris replied. "Farrell thought we wouldn't be cooperative, so he complained to the higher-ups and they got Travis to keep us out of the way." Chris's disgust with the situation was plain on his face.
"Maybe it's for the best," Nathan offered. "If Ezra is in league with these guys, it will be easier to catch them if he doesn't know we're on to him."
Chris eyed the dark agent steadily. "You really think he's one of them?"
Nathan hesitated a moment, before shrugging his shoulders. "Probably. It's no secret that he ain't my favorite person, but... hell, you saw the pictures and you heard the arguments. I just don't know him well enough to believe he ain't part of this."
And that's the problem, Chris thought to himself as Nathan left his office. None of them knew Ezra very well, despite the fact that he had been part of their team for nearly ten months. He had recently become much more open in the workplace and had gradually gained the trust of the rest of the team, but they knew little about his personal life. The man kept that part of himself separate, not allowing them inside the protective walls he had built up after years of disillusionment. A casual observer wouldn't notice it, but the Ezra Standish with whom Team Seven interacted on a daily basis was just another mask the undercover agent wore.
It had only been two weeks earlier that Ezra had finally, albeit reluctantly, accepted an invitation to go fishing with them for the weekend. Chris smiled as he remembered the surprise on everyone's faces when they discovered that Ezra actually knew which end of the fishing pole was which and managed to catch more fish than any of them. It proved how little they actually knew about the man.
Recently, there had been signs that the enigmatic agent was beginning to open up more, giving them glimpses of the real man behind the mask. Chris knew Ezra had been burned before by his former FBI co-workers and he was glad to see the man finally beginning to show them some trust. But this situation had the potential to destroy that trust if it turned out that Ezra wasn't guilty of anything more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Chris sighed, wondering why everything involving Ezra Standish had to be so complicated.
* * * * * * * * * * Chris gazed somberly at the men gathered in Team One's conference room. All of his team had returned, except for Ezra, and Chris had ushered them all to the conference room on the next floor to discuss the recent turn of events. He was thankful, for once, that Ezra was always the last to arrive.
"What's up, Chris?" asked Buck, concerned by the expression on Chris's face. "Why are we meeting in here?"
"Yeah, what's wrong with our own conference room?" Vin grumbled.
"We may have gotten a line on our buyer," he began, passing around copies of Hanford's picture. "Meet Bradley Hanford, head of the Brotherhood for a Pure America. They're a group of militant white supremacists based in Missouri. The FBI informed us of his presence here in our fair city."
"I get a feeling there's more," Josiah said, eyeing Chris knowingly.
"You could say that," Nathan said with a snort.
The group turned expectantly to Chris, who sighed and passed around a second set of photos, showing Ezra and Hanford.
"This one was taken yesterday by the FBI's surveillance team." Chris watched as the confusion flashed across their faces.
"What the hell?" Buck said with a frown. "What's Ez doing with this guy?"
"I suspect that is the sixty-four thousand dollar question," Josiah said with a sigh.
"Maybe Ez found out about him on his own," JD offered with a shrug.
"Looks like they know each other," Buck said.
"It gets worse," Nathan said. Turning to Chris, he said, "Show them."
Chris said nothing as he handed copies of the KKK rally photo around the table. "The kid on the right is Hanford. The one in the center holding the hood is Ezra."
"How do you know that?" asked Vin.
Chris rubbed a hand over his forehead. "I saw some pictures Ez had of when he was a kid that time I drove him home from the hospital. He had the photo album out and showed it to me. I recognized him when Farrell, the FBI guy, showed me the picture."
Buck looked at him skeptically. "Ez showed you his photo album?"
Chris shrugged. "He was pretty stoned on pain medication."
"Damn," Josiah said.
"Yeah," Chris agreed.
"How come nobody caught on to this before?" Buck asked.
"That's what I want to know," Nathan said. "Pretty sloppy job on background checks, if you ask me."
"What are you sayin'?" Vin demanded.
"I'm sayin' that somebody should have picked up Ezra's connection to these bastards before now," Nathan said hotly.
"Those pictures don't prove anythin'," Vin said defensively. "All it means is that he's known the guy for a long time."
"Come on, Vin," Nathan said. "You think Ez could know the guy for that long without knowing about involvement with white supremacists?"
"Yeah, I do," Vin said stubbornly. "Ez ain't a racist and he wouldn't hang around with one if he knew about it."
"These pictures do tell quite a story, Vin," Josiah contended.
"Well, I don't care," JD said, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't believe it either."
"Why don't we just ask Ezra?" Josiah said, attempting to placate the two younger agents.
"We can't," Chris said. "We've been ordered to keep this under our hats. Seems the FBI talked the suits upstairs into keeping us out of the way while they put Ezra and Hanford under surveillance."
"That sucks," Buck said disgustedly.
"The don't want us to 'compromise the investigation'," Chris said sarcastically, his distaste for the situation plain on his face.
"It makes sense," Josiah said reasonably. "This way, they can't accuse us of hiding the truth."
"I still don't like it," Buck said. "I don't trust those guys."
"Me neither," Vin said. "There's nothin' they'd like better than to see Ez take a fall."
"There's nothing we can do about it right now," Chris warned. "We'll just have to sit tight and make sure we don't tip our hands to Ezra."
"Shouldn't be too hard," Buck said tightly. "I don't feel much like talking to him right now."
"You got that right," Nathan agreed.
Vin glared at them, while JD shook his head. Chris watched the discord brewing among his men and frowned. This case could tear his team apart in more ways than one and he found himself feeling angry with Ezra for once again causing turmoil on his team.
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra returned to the office shortly after 7:00 PM, weary from a day of trudging through decrepit neighborhoods tracking down informants, and frustrated at the lack of information he had received for his efforts. He entered the bullpen, unsurprised to find all of his teammates at their desks despite the lateness of the hour. He lifted a hand in greeting as he dropped tiredly into his desk chair.
"Gentlemen," he said, stifling a yawn. "I hope you have had more success in your inquiries than I have."
"Nope," Buck said tersely.
Ezra lifted an eyebrow at the shortness of his response. None of the others had responded verbally, though he did get shakes of the head from JD and Josiah. There seemed to be a decided coolness in the air and Ezra shrugged it off, assuming it was simply due to the same type of weariness and frustration he himself was currently feeling. But when he looked at Nathan, he was shocked at the open hostility on the man's face. Ezra swiveled his head around slowly, studying the rest of his teammates, and began to note their unusually closed expressions. As an undercover agent, he was an expert at reading people and his experience was telling him that something was amiss.
Ezra turned his gaze to Vin, who sat at the desk across from him. "Excuse me, Mr. Tanner," he asked quietly. "Is there something wrong?"
Vin looked away from his computer, meeting Ezra's eyes briefly. "Not that I know of," he replied. "I'm just pissed that we didn't find out anything today."
The maddeningly unreadable look on the sharpshooter's face didn't tell Ezra anything new, but he had a gut feeling that the man was lying to him. Schooling his own expression, he smiled sympathetically as he began typing up his notes. "Yes, I know the feeling."
The silence was beginning to be uncomfortable and Ezra determined that it would be best if he left for the night. He didn't know what was going on, but it was obvious that the others were not going to be forthcoming. If he had learned one thing from his time with the FBI, it was that it was wise to remove oneself from such situations before they deteriorated. The look on Nathan's face alone told him that things were not well and Ezra knew that retreat was his best option for the moment, until he could do some clandestine investigating and find out what was causing his teammates' aberrant behavior.
* * * * * * * * * * It was nearly ten o'clock the next morning before Ezra dragged his tired self into the office. He had hit the streets again shortly after leaving the office, checking with those of his contacts who preferred the evening hours. The odd behavior of his teammates had left him feeling slightly unsettled and, despite being tired when he finally returned home, he had spent most of the early morning hours snooping through their computers via his remote connection.
Ezra was more of a computer expert than he let on and knew a few techniques that even JD, their resident computer genius, didn't, but he found nothing that explained their strange reaction to his presence. Eventually, his exhaustion won out and he collapsed into bed, only to awaken three hours later when his alarm went off. Still half asleep, he had shut off the annoying device and returned to his interrupted slumber. Two hours later, Ezra had awakened again, blinking blearily at the clock, then cursing himself for his tardiness. He hurried through his morning routine and drove as quickly as he dared to the office. After the previous day's cool reception, he didn't want to do anything that might incite the ill will of his teammates.
"Good morning, Mr. Sanchez," he greeted Josiah, who was standing near the doorway to the break room.
"Ezra," Josiah nodded in greeting. "Chris wants to see you in his office ASAP."
Ezra groaned. "Wonderful." He detoured into the break room and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was going to need a healthy dose of caffeine in order to deal with an irate Chris Larabee, even if it came in the form of the battery acid that was brewed in the break room.
"Standish!"
Ezra set his briefcase and coffee on his desk and draped his coat across the back of his chair before turning to face his obviously unhappy superior. "Yes, Mr. Larabee?"
"My office. Now." Chris turned on his heel and strode determinedly into his office.
Straightening his shoulders, Ezra picked up his coffee and followed, wondering what he might have done, other than arriving late. He closed the door behind him and took a seat in one of the chairs that faced Chris's desk, waiting for whatever reproof or lecture the man had in mind for him this time.
"You're late," Chris said sharply.
Ezra grimaced at the tone of his voice. It wasn't the first time he had been late. Far from it, in fact. But Larabee had never taken such a harsh tone with him over his tardiness before, and Ezra wondered what other reason there might be. "Yes, Mr. Larabee. I spent some time speaking with a few of my sources last night. Some of them are rather nocturnal, you see, and I wasn't able to talk to them during the day."
"Did you find out anything?"
"Not much," Ezra replied. "Several of them have heard the rumors and one told me that the suppliers have become aware of this new buyer. I asked them to check around quietly and to let me know if they are able to obtain any more detailed information."
"It's not your problem anymore," Chris said abruptly. "I have a new assignment for you."
"Oh?" Ezra eyed the blond man carefully, but could discern nothing from his expression.
"Team Three has a new undercover agent. Travis wants you to help with his training. Show him the ropes, share some of your expertise... you know the drill." Chris looked at his undercover agent dispassionately.
"Of course," Ezra said uncertainly. "How long shall this assignment require my participation?"
"At least a week," Chris answered. "Maybe more. Travis didn't say."
"I see." Ezra calmly took a sip of his coffee, wondering at the sense of unease that began to creep along his spine. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being removed from Team Seven's current case for an entirely different reason.
"Get over to Team Three's office right away," Chris ordered. "They've been waiting for you for more than an hour already."
Ezra simply nodded, tossing off his standard salute, before exiting the office and returning to his desk.
Chris watched the man go, his heart heavy with the deception he was forced to carry out. There was simply too high a likelihood of a poor outcome from this charade for him to be entirely comfortable with the situation. If Ezra was indeed an innocent participant in their current case, there was a strong chance he would never forgive them for their lack of trust. And if he was involved... Chris didn't even want to contemplate that possibility. He only hoped that when all was said and done, his team would remain intact.
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra sat heavily at his desk and casually glanced around the room at his teammates, frowning when he saw that they were all studiously avoiding his gaze. They obviously knew about his change of assignment. Normally, they would be teasing him and making light of the situation, since none of them liked such training assignments, but this time the usual good-natured banter was absent. It was almost as if they were uncomfortable with his presence. It struck him as he was gathering up some files that none of them, besides Chris and Josiah, had even spoken to him yet this morning. He looked up sharply, catching Vin and JD both looking away quickly. Pasting his poker face into place, Ezra stood and made his way to the elevators. "Good day, gentlemen," he tossed over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a reply.
* * * * * * * * * * "This sucks," JD said after Ezra had left. "No way Ezra is one of those... those...."
"Bigots," Josiah supplied.
"Yeah," JD nodded vigorously. "Ez just ain't like that."
"Lot of racists are real good at hidin' it," Nathan retorted, "and Ezra's a real good actor."
"I don't think he's that good," JD said doubtfully. "I've never seen him act that way to anyone."
"Don't mean anythin'," Nathan said defensively. "It's not like he spends much of his free time with us anyway."
"You can't always be sure about people," Buck agreed sadly. "Me and Chris worked with a guy named Arthur back when we were with the PD. Nicest guy around," Buck paused. "... or so we thought. One night, he nearly beat a black suspect to death. He would have, too, if we hadn't stopped him." Buck shook his head. "I'll always remember the surprised look on his face when we pulled him away from the suspect. He looked at me and Chris and said, 'What did you stop me for? He's just a nigger.'" Buck turned to Nathan. "No offense, Nate."
Nathan nodded his understanding.
"Art didn't think he had done anything wrong," Buck said despondently. "It really bothered a lot of the guys, since we all really liked him. We never had a clue that he was so prejudiced."
"I ain't judgin' Ez 'til I see some proof," Vin said quietly.
Nathan shook his head and walked away.
The remaining four men looked at one another somberly before returning to their work.
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra sighed and picked at his salad disinterestedly. The day hadn't been as bad as he had anticipated. His training assignment was going well and he was enjoying it more than he thought he would. Stephen Cardoza was an apt and eager student, albeit with a misguided (in his opinion) case of hero worship. Ezra snorted when he thought back to their meeting that morning.
Team Three's leader, Aaron Miller, had introduced him to the new agent.
"Stephen, this is Agent Standish, from Team Seven."
"Agent Cardoza." Ezra reached for his hand, receiving a vigorous handshake in response.
"Agent Standish," Cardoza said enthusiastically. "I've heard all about you and I studied most of your cases. Your work is amazing!"
Ezra was taken aback by the admiration in the younger man's voice. He wasn't used to being held in such high esteem. "I wouldn't call it amazing," he said quickly. "I merely do what needs to be done."
"Don't be so modest, Agent Standish," Cardoza countered. "From what I hear, you're practically a legend!"
Ezra laughed and clapped the young man on the back. "I try," he said self-deprecatingly, unsure of how else to respond to such praise. A legend? Hardly. Notorious, maybe. The boy obviously hadn't been around long enough to hear about the darker side of Ezra Standish.
They had spent the afternoon reviewing cases and engaging in some role-playing scenarios, and Ezra had found himself impressed with the new undercover agent's performance. He still had some rough edges, but Ezra was certain that he would do well with some practice.
While this training assignment was turning out better than expected, Ezra was still disturbed by the situation with his team. He had returned to his desk to retrieve his things before leaving for the day and was greeted with the same awkward silence as in the morning. His attempts to start a conversation with his teammates had fallen flat, so he had decided to leave things alone for a while. Ezra considered that he might simply be paranoid, that maybe he was overreacting to the situation, but his instincts were not usually that incorrect. Right now, they were sounding warning bells and he had learned the hard way not to ignore them.
Ezra sighed and gave up on the rest of his dinner. His appetite had deserted him anyway. Pouring himself a glass of brandy, he moved toward the French doors that opened onto his balcony, where a clear view of the setting sun was visible. "Something is indeed rotten in the state of Denmark," he whispered to himself as he sipped the brandy.
Ezra gazed at the darkening landscape and scoured his memory for anything he might have done or said to upset his associates, but found nothing. He had thought that they were finally beginning to accept him, 'warts and all', as Buck would have said, but their current aloofness told him that this was not the case. A frown creased his face as an unwelcome thought crossed his mind. What if the rumors were starting again? A chill raced down his spine as he remembered what had happened when he was with the FBI.
When the rumors had begun there, his FBI teammates had acted much like his current associates, ignoring him and giving him dirty looks – the standard cold shoulder treatment. It had escalated from there into pointed comments and nasty practical jokes, like letting the air out of all four of his tires or 'accidentally' spilling food on his expensive suit jackets. As it spread further, Ezra got more and more undesirable assignments until he was doing nothing but the shit jobs no one else wanted. Ezra's jaw clenched as he noted the similarities. History appeared to be repeating itself and, once again, he was powerless to stop it.
* * * * * * * * * * "Chris! I think we got a break," Buck said as he burst into Chris's office.
"What's up?" Chris asked calmly, used to Buck's excitability.
"I just talked to one of my sources..." he paused. "You remember Little Jimmy, don't you?"
Chris nodded. Little Jimmy was hard to forget, since, at six-foot-five and three hundred and fifty pounds, there was nothing 'little' about him. "What have you got?"
"Jimmy heard that a buy is going down Thursday night with Tony Arbella and his boys," Buck answered. "He hangs out with some of Arbella's bodyguards and one of them did some talking after a few too many drinks."
"Any idea when and where?"
"No exact time, but he said the deal was going down behind Arbella's produce warehouse sometime that night," Buck finished.
"You think it's our buyer?" Chris asked skeptically.
"Probably," Buck replied. "Jimmy said the bodyguard was impressed with the size of the deal, so there's a good chance it's them."
Chris tapped his pen thoughtfully on the edge of his desk. "Okay, you fill the guys in. I'm going to let Travis know. We'll probably get Team Two for backup, since they're not working on anything big right now. Tell the guys we'll meet in the conference room later to discuss the plans."
"Will do," Buck said with a grin, looking forward to some action.
"Oh, and Buck?" Chris called to the retreating agent.
"Yeah?"
"Make sure that none of you tell Ezra what's going on," Chris said, a pained expression on his face.
Buck's expression hardened, but he nodded his consent.
Chris sighed after Buck left, hating what he had to do, but it was best for all concerned to keep Ezra out of the picture for the time being. He lifted the phone and began making his calls.
* * * * * * * * * * Smothering a yawn, Ezra made his way silently down the hall to his team's office. Agent Cardoza had insisted upon taking him out for drinks after work and Ezra had reluctantly complied, not wanting to disappoint the other man or insult him by refusing his invitation. It was now well past ten o'clock and he was planning only to pick up his briefcase and head home to bed. He hadn't slept well the night before and it was catching up with him.
As he entered the bullpen, he was surprised to find the lights still on and his teammates' belongings still scattered on their desks. Ezra stepped further into the office, spying the light escaping from beneath the closed door to the conference room. He paused for a moment, then crept silently to the door, pressing his ear against it carefully.
"... so Vin, you'll be up on this corner of the roof. Ron Thompson will be on the other corner," Chris said.
"Are those the only high spots?" Vin asked.
"Yeah. The produce building has a huge loading dock and parking lot back there," Chris replied.
"Where will I be?" asked Buck.
"You'll be at this spot here," Chris said, "... behind the dumpsters."
"Aw hell," Buck replied, amidst the snickers of the rest of the men.
"That ought to put a damper on your animal magnetism, Buck," JD snickered.
"Shut up," Buck replied unhappily.
"So, everyone clear on your positions?" asked Chris.
Ezra heard a chorus of affirmatives through the door.
"Good," Chris answered. "Between us and Team Two, Arbella and his customers have nowhere to go."
Ezra frowned as he pulled away from the door, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. As he retreated to his desk, he mulled over what he had heard. He was familiar with Tony Arbella. The man was a known arms dealer, and a very good one at that, since he had not yet been caught. No one had been able to get enough evidence on his activities to arrest him. Now, though, it appeared that there was a bust going down. Why hadn't he been informed? Unless the others had just heard about it and were waiting until morning to fill him in? Ezra picked up his briefcase and headed for the elevator, ignoring the little voice inside his head that told him otherwise. Morning would bring the truth, one way or another.
* * * * * * * * * * The knot in his stomach tightened as Ezra stepped off of the elevator. He had slept badly again the previous night, and his head was beginning to pound from the lack of sleep and worry about what was going on with his associates. Today would tell him for sure whether or not he was being intentionally left out of his team's current case – something he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. The cynical side of him was certain he already knew the answer, and as Ezra made his way down the hall to his team's offices, he hoped for all he was worth that he would be proven wrong for once.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Ezra greeted his teammates with a cheer he didn't feel.
"Mornin', Ez," JD answered.
Ezra shed his coat and sat at his desk, rifling through his briefcase for his notes while sipping his favorite coffee from Starbuck's. "How goes the investigation?" he asked in a conversational tone, feigning interest in the papers before him.
"Uh, not good," JD said hesitantly. "We haven't made any progress yet."
Ezra saw Vin and Buck nodding in agreement.
"I see," Ezra said nonchalantly, firming up his poker face to hide the disappointment that was flooding through him. "Well, that's too bad."
He stood, clutching his folder in his hand. "I must be going. My protégé awaits." Stifling a yawn behind his hand, Ezra walked stiffly to the door. "I hope you have better luck today, Mr. Dunne, gentlemen."
That was it, then, Ezra thought glumly as he leaned against the rear wall of the elevator. They were intentionally keeping him away from the investigation and the forthcoming bust. There was only one reason he could think of that would cause his teammates to do such a thing: they were afraid he would compromise the operation.
Ezra shook his head, wondering what sort of scurrilous rumor was going around this time that would cause his team to doubt him. He had begun to enjoy the mutual trust of his co-workers, especially after having spent so much time without it. During his time with the FBI, he had known that the only person looking out for his safety was Ezra Standish. Since taking his position with Team Seven, though, he had come to enjoy the pleasant security of having someone else watch his back for a change.
Even before the rumors of his corruption had started, Ezra had not been well-liked by most of his FBI associates. It had always bewildered him, since he never understood what it was about him that people disliked so much. He knew he was inexperienced with friendship, not having had the opportunity to forge many of them throughout his life, and he had become convinced that it simply was not in the cards for him. His loner tendencies had kept most people at bay, and when the rumors had begun, he found there was no one standing at his back or by his side. It wasn't until he had met these men that Ezra had begun to learn what trust was all about and that the possibility of real friendship actually existed for him.
Rumors. Ezra shook his head in disgust. The talk about him had started long before his mother had gifted him with the Jaguar. The snide remarks about his expensive clothing had indicated that his FBI associates were suspicious of him, even in the beginning. They had never bothered to ask – and he wasn't sure he would have told them if they had – where he got the clothes. The fact that he wore expensive designer suits on a daily basis, and not just when he was undercover, had been enough to convince them that he was corrupt.
"Something else to thank Mother for," he muttered to himself. Maude insisted upon sending him packages of designer clothing several times a year and Ezra was convinced it was simply to spare herself the embarrassment of witnessing her only child dressed in anything she considered unsatisfactory, especially since she had never once asked for his opinion or consent. He simply accepted the clothing graciously, knowing how useless it was to argue with the force of nature that was his mother.
Ezra had thought that he had made enough progress for his teammates to trust him when it came to his job. It was the one area of his life in which he had real confidence and, as such, he would never do anything to jeopardize it. Despite the fact that many found his morals to be lacking – Nathan Jackson, in particular – Ezra had certain principles that he would never compromise, not the least of which was his dedication to his job and to his co-workers. Unfortunately, it was also the one area where his loyalty was always called into question. And that was what hurt the most.
The elevator door opened, rousing Ezra from his reverie. With a sigh, he forced a smile onto his face and stepped forward, determinedly pushing the dark thoughts from his mind. He had a job to do.
* * * * * * * * * * "He knows something's up," Vin stated quietly.
"What?" Buck asked, turning his head toward the sharpshooter.
"Ezra," he continued. "He knows there's somethin' goin' on."
"How do you know?" asked JD curiously. "He didn't act any different than usual."
"No, but I could see it in his eyes," Vin said flatly. "His face was smilin', but his eyes weren't."
"Why didn't he say anything, then?" JD queried.
"He probably figures he's better off not knowing," Josiah said with a sigh. "I get the impression he's used to being on the outside."
"You think it's going to be a problem?" asked Chris, joining the conversation.
"I doubt it," Josiah replied. "Brother Ezra isn't one to make waves. His pride won't let him react in such an 'undignified' manner."
"I hope you're right," Chris said doubtfully. "It's not a good time for him to make trouble."
"Is it ever?" Nathan said with a snort.
"No, but right now we don't need to be giving the FBI any more ammunition," Chris said. "I have a feeling those bastards are out to get him, guilty or not." There were some things that he hadn't told the rest of the team; things Ezra had told him in drugged confidence the same night he had shed light on his past by sharing his small photo album with his boss.
Chris hadn't believed it at first when his undercover agent had told him in a slurred whisper that his cover had been deliberately compromised by one of his own associates during his last operation with the FBI. To Chris, it was inconceivable to turn on your own in such a way, and he had told Ezra just that. The younger man had just given him a sad smile, saying that rules like that simply didn't apply to him.
Chris had refused to argue with the man in his semi-coherent state, but curiosity and a nagging sense of unease had refused to go away until he had looked into the matter. What he had found hadn't proved Ezra's claim, but left him feeling troubled by the incident nonetheless. Later discussions with the recalcitrant agent had not garnered him any new information, since Ezra had flatly refused to talk about it, claiming he must have been babbling nonsensically while under the influence of the medication. But Chris had seen a momentary flash of fear in Ezra's eyes before that formidable poker face had shuttered his emotions once again and vowed he would do whatever it took to earn the man's trust. No one should have to go through life with such a fear of mistrust and betrayal.
* * * * * * * * * * Buck watched the emotions flash across his oldest friend's face and didn't for a moment envy him his position. Being forced to lie to, and possibly betray, one of his men went against everything that Chris Larabee stood for and it was only his respect for Orrin Travis that kept him from telling the FBI where to stick it. Buck was hoping that Ezra was innocent of any wrongdoing, primarily because he liked the slick undercover agent. The man had a wicked sense of humor, on the rare occasions that he allowed it to escape, and Buck wanted to see what that scathing wit would do to the hapless FBI agents if they were proven wrong.
But that didn't seem to be the likely outcome. Things didn't look good for Standish, and he felt his anger building toward the younger man for causing Chris such distress. It had taken a long time for Chris to start living again and Buck hated to see anything bring pain to his friend's face again. He only hoped that the situation was resolved quickly, before anyone got hurt.
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra made himself scarce for the rest of the day, keeping his mind busy by focusing diligently on his training assignment. It went without saying that he was still going to lose sleep over the situation, since he had no such distractions when he was home alone in his bed, but for now, all he could do was perform his assigned task to the best of his ability and avoid the rest of his team. Ezra had long since learned the futility of worrying about things over which he had no control, but it didn't make it any easier to take. Whether it was being handed off to a new relative or boarding school every few months, or being bombarded with rumors and accusations from his FBI counterparts, he had always had that control taken away from him... and now it was happening again.
Ezra sighed as he drove home, thankful that he had been able to retrieve his coat and briefcase from his desk without encountering his teammates. The rest of his team had, once again, gathered in the conference room to discuss the bust that was to take place, and he had picked up his things and beat a hasty retreat before any of them became aware of his presence. He had had enough stress that day and had not wanted to add to the burden with any more uncomfortable confrontations.
As he pulled into his driveway, Ezra noticed an unfamiliar car sitting across the street, with two figures seated inside. He stepped out of the Jaguar and was about to investigate when a friendly voice behind him drew his attention.
"Ezra!" Bradley greeted him cheerfully.
"Bradley." Ezra returned his cousin's handshake with a smile, his mood brightening. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I know," Bradley said with a shrug. "I got done early today and I was hoping you'd know a good place to get some dinner."
"That I do." Ezra's grin widened. Dinner with a friend was just what he needed to dispel his melancholy mood.
"Good, 'cause I'm getting really tired of Big Macs and Whoppers," Bradley said, clapping him on the shoulder.
After a quick stop in Ezra's apartment to drop off his briefcase, the two men climbed into the Jaguar and headed off to dinner. Ezra glanced across the street before he left, noting that the car he had seen earlier was gone. Shrugging it off as a result of the stress of recent days, he drove to the restaurant, determined to have a pleasant evening.
* * * * * * * * * * His mouth was full of cotton. Ezra opened one eye and glared at his clock radio, which continued to chirp merrily away, adding to the throbbing in his skull. Lifting a leaden arm, he swiped at the clock, slapping it into submission. Nothing would have made him happier than to shut his eyes and return to blessed slumber, but the uncomfortable pressure in his bladder made that impossible. With a groan, Ezra levered himself out of bed, stumbling sleepily toward the bathroom to answer the call of nature.
Though he seriously debated returning to the comfort of his bed, Ezra decided things were troubled enough in his life without angering Larabee needlessly with further tardiness. Instead, he stripped off his pajamas and stepped into the shower, closing his eyes as the warm water sluiced over his body.
After dinner the previous night, he and Bradley had returned to Ezra's condo, where Bradley had produced a bottle of excellent cognac from his rental car. They had stayed up until the wee hours sharing the fine liquor as they talked. Ezra didn't remember having that much to drink, but based on the size of his hangover, he must have gotten a bit carried away. He grinned to himself. Leave it to Bradley to find some especially potent spirits.
An hour later, his headache somewhat subdued by aspirin and caffeine, Ezra dragged himself into the office, barely glancing at his teammates as he made his way to his desk. He dropped tiredly into his chair and closed his eyes, massaging his temples briefly before removing his coat and heading to the break room for some much-needed coffee. He was going to need more than the usual one cup of Starbuck's to wake him up this day.
"Good morning, brother," Josiah said quietly as Ezra reached for the coffee pot.
"If you say so," Ezra said with a grunt.
"Are you feeling all right?" the big man asked, a hint of concern in his voice.
"I am quite fine, thank you, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra replied flatly. "Merely a bit of overindulgence last night."
Josiah frowned. "Any reason you're drinking in the middle of the week?"
Ezra tossed him a frosty look. "Not that it's any of your business, but an old friend is in town and we shared an excellent bottle of cognac."
Josiah chuckled. "Only you would get drunk on cognac, Ezra."
"It was very good," Ezra said with a trace of a smile as he headed back to his desk.
Josiah's expression turned serious as he watched the younger man retreat from the break room. He hoped Ezra's 'old friend' was not going to get him into trouble.
* * * * * * * * * * The day passed quickly, despite his hangover, and Ezra eventually found himself making the dreaded trip back to his office to gather his things. He had been able to keep his mind off of his teammates all day, but now, all of his worries and concerns pushed their way to the forefront of his thoughts. Squaring his shoulders, he strode casually into the bullpen, stopping short at the emptiness that greeted him.
They were gone. Their coats and briefcases were still in place, but they were nowhere to be found. Ezra checked the conference room and break room, but the silence confirmed it. Then it occurred to him: the bust must be taking place now. He felt a small kernel of hope building. Maybe, once this operation was finished, things would return to normal... well, as normal as things could ever be where Team Seven was concerned. But the cynical, nagging voice in his head whispered, Don't count on it.
* * * * * * * * * * "What now?" Vin asked, stifling a yawn. It was nearly six in the morning and they had finally called it a night and returned to the office. The bad guys had never showed up at the warehouse.
"Now we find out what went wrong," Chris said grimly.
"I'm gonna see if I can get in touch with Little Jimmy," Buck said. "Maybe he knows why they called it off."
"You think you'll find him at this hour?"
Buck's shoulders slumped. "Probably not."
"Why don't you all go home and get some sleep," Chris said. "Come back here after lunch. We can get back on it then."
"That sounds great," Nathan said sleepily as he shrugged into his jacket. "I'll see y'all later."
"You can crash at my place, Chris," Buck offered. "No sense you driving out all that way just for a few hours."
Chris nodded. "I'll be along in a few minutes."
Buck and JD plodded tiredly out the door, followed by Josiah and Vin, but Chris stayed behind for a few minutes, sending out a couple of emails before leaving himself. He paused for a moment when he passed Ezra's desk, frowning at the unpleasant thoughts that crossed his mind. He shook his head and continued down the hall. There was time enough for speculation later.
* * * * * * * * * * For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Ezra found himself stopping short upon entering the bullpen. It was empty, again, but this time, all of his teammates' coats were missing as well. He frowned, wondering where the rest of his associates were. It was a little after nine in the morning and there was no sign of their presence. Ezra's stomach suddenly clenched in fear. What if one of them had been injured? If they had indeed been participating in a raid of some sort the previous evening, it was a definite possibility that one of them had been hurt. Quickly, he sat down and picked up his phone, checking his voice mail for messages. Surely they would inform him if that were the case... wouldn't they?
His voice mail was clear, so Ezra checked his email, settling back in his chair in relief when he found a message from Chris, letting him know that the rest of the men would be in late that day. The relief turned into something else, though, when he realized that Chris had not explained why they were going to be delayed. Ezra shrugged off the feeling as he prepared for another day of training. Perhaps when they returned, all would be explained. Perhaps.
* * * * * * * * * * "Chris." Buck stuck his head into his friend's office.
Chris was talking on the phone, but waved Buck inside. He spoke for a few more minutes before hanging up and rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Travis isn't happy," he sighed. "He was really looking forward to getting Arbella and the buyer off the streets."
Buck slouched into a chair and frowned. "I heard from Little Jimmy."
"Yeah?" Chris eyed him hopefully.
Buck nodded. "Yeah. He talked to Arbella's muscle again last night." He looked at Chris seriously. "The buyer backed out at the last minute. Said he got a tip from a source that the cops were onto them."
"Shit," Chris cursed.
"Yeah," Buck agreed. "You know who their prime suspect is gonna be."
"I know," Chris said grimly.
"You sure he didn't know about the bust?"
"No," Chris answered reluctantly after a moment's thought. "Ezra isn't stupid. There's a good chance he figured it out or heard about it through the grapevine."
"Damn," Buck said. "What do we do?"
"Nothing," Chris said firmly. "All we got is some FBI suit claiming Ezra is dirty and a mysterious buyer that no one has been able to identify yet."
"And one racist son of a bitch that Ez seems awfully chummy with," Buck pointed out.
Chris shrugged. "Until I see proof, it's just coincidence."
Buck shook his head skeptically as he stood. "I hope you're right."
"Me too," Chris said softly after Buck had left. With a grimace, he picked up the phone again to inform Travis of the new information.
* * * * * * * * * * Chris was putting the finishing touches on his report when the insistent knocking sounded at his door. With a groan, he saved his report and called out, "Come in." He knew who it was and was not looking forward to the imminent conversation.
Farrell entered and sat down, not waiting for a chair to be offered. He tossed a packet of photographs on Chris's desk. "Wednesday's surveillance photos."
Chris picked one up and felt his heart sink. It was Ezra and Bradley Hanford, having dinner at an elegant restaurant. Hiding his feelings, he turned to Farrell and lifted an eyebrow. "So?"
"So?!" Farrell sputtered. "Standish has dinner with the suspect the night before the buyer mysteriously gets cold feet, and you don't think it's significant?"
"Doesn't prove anything," Chris retorted. "All it means is that he had dinner with your suspect. And besides, Ezra didn't even know about the bust."
"Yeah, right," Farrell said sarcastically. "I've heard about you and your men, Larabee. You cover for each other."
"You'd better watch what you say around here, Farrell," Chris said in an icy tone. "You really don't want to be accusing my men of compromising an investigation, especially without any evidence."
Farrell snorted. "Oh, I'll get evidence all right."
Chris glared at him. "Then don't bother me unless you do."
Farrell stood and returned the glare. "I'll be back, and when I do, I'm going to take down Standish and anyone else who gets in my way." He turned and left the office quickly, slamming the door behind him.
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra was reading a newspaper as he stepped out of the elevator and didn't see the angry agent who was storming down the hall until he nearly bumped into him.
"Oh, excuse me," Ezra said apologetically, barely glancing up from his paper.
"There is no excuse for you," Farrell replied caustically.
Ezra's head snapped up and he was taken aback by the hostility radiating from the man before him. Until he recognized him. His mouth tightened into a hard line. "What are you doing here, Farrell?"
"None of your business," Farrell snapped.
Ezra narrowed his eyes. "It had better not be."
"Is that a threat?"
"If you like," Ezra stated calmly as he turned his back on the other man.
"Don't walk away when I'm talking to you!" Farrell demanded, grabbing Ezra's arm.
In a blur of motion, Ezra spun around, twisted the man's arm behind his back and shoved him into the wall. "As one of my associates would say, put that hand on me again and I'll rip your arm off and beat you over the head with it." Ezra smiled at the sudden pallor on Farrell's face. He would have to thank Buck for providing him with that line. He released Farrell and turned away.
"This isn't over, Standish," Farrell yelled.
Ezra ignored him and continued toward his office, a satisfied smile playing across his face. It felt good to get a little payback at Farrell's expense, since the annoying agent had been one of Ezra's biggest detractors in the Atlanta FBI office. His smile fell a bit when he realized that Farrell had been coming from the direction of his team's office. The pieces began to click into place. Farrell was probably here stirring up trouble for him and was likely the cause of his team's strange behavior of late. Ezra sighed, wondering what, if anything, he could do about it.
The sound of someone clearing his throat caught Ezra's attention and he turned to see Vin lounging in the doorway of the men's room. "Mr. Tanner," he said in greeting.
"You want to tell me what that was all about?" He nodded his head toward the elevators, where Farrell was just stepping inside.
"An old... associate from Atlanta," he replied carefully, not bothering to hide the distaste on his face.
"I take it you don't like him very much?"
Ezra gave a short laugh. "Very observant of you, Mr. Tanner."
"That why you nearly busted his arm?" Vin pressed.
Suspicious, Ezra said stiffly, "I don't appreciate being manhandled."
Vin eyed him steadily, then nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer. "That was a good move you used on 'im."
Ezra shrugged. "Something I picked up."
Vin pushed away from the doorway and strolled slowly toward the bullpen. "Maybe you can show it to me sometime."
"Maybe," Ezra said softly, troubled by the conversation. He had no doubt that Chris would soon know all about his confrontation with Farrell and he wasn't certain how his boss would react. Affecting a relaxed stride, he made his way to his desk and busied himself with sorting through his mail.
"Ezra."
Ezra lifted his eyes to meet the cool gaze of his superior. "Yes, Mr. Larabee?"
Chris nodded toward his office, then turned and went inside.
With a sigh, Ezra followed, feeling the eyes of his teammates on his back. "Showtime," he muttered to himself.
"Sit down," Chris directed.
Ezra sat, leaning back in the chair casually. "What can I do for you?"
"Tell me about Farrell," Chris said in a tone that made it clear it was not a request.
Ezra smiled slightly. "Mr. Tanner is expeditious, as usual."
Chris stared at him expectantly.
Ezra sighed again. "Agent Farrell is a former colleague from Atlanta."
"That's a reason to assault him in the hallway?" Chris gave him a penetrating stare that would have made a lesser man squirm.
Ezra returned the gaze placidly. "Of course not. He put his hands on my person and I merely showed him the error of his ways."
"Ezra," Chris warned, not fooled by the flippant response.
"The man is a complete and utter jackass," Ezra said directly. "He caused me a substantial amount of grief in Atlanta and I have little patience in dealing with the sanctimonious bastard. I was quite pleased when he finally transferred to St. Louis."
Chris studied him thoughtfully for a moment then sighed. "Well, you'd best stay clear of him while he's here."
"And why is he here?" Ezra asked pointedly.
"I can't tell you that," Chris said, looking away.
"I see," Ezra said slowly.
Chris returned his gaze to his undercover agent, noting the hurt that flared briefly in his eyes before the armor fell back into place. "Aw hell," he muttered, reaching into his desk drawer. Tossing the picture of the KKK rally on the desk, he asked, "What do you know about this?"
Ezra blanched when he saw the photograph, picking it up by the corner as if it were something disgusting. "Damn," he whispered softly, dropping the picture back on the desk and shutting his eyes.
"I guess you recognize it," Chris stated.
"Unfortunately," Ezra said as he rubbed his temples. It all made sense now. The awkward silences, Nathan's hostility – they all thought he was a card-carrying racist.
"Nathan wasn't too happy when he saw that," Chris said. "It might be a good idea for you to avoid him for a little while."
"I should have known that Farrell would dredge up something like this," Ezra said resignedly. He and Bradley had had long discussions about that summer and how much they hated what Dwight and his fellow Klan members stood for. Ezra had never understood how people could harbor such hatred and was glad that Bradley seemed to have avoided the bigotry his father had preached.
"Care to explain?" Chris inquired flatly.
"Not particularly," Ezra said, shaking off the memories and opening his eyes. "It's not a time I'm fond of remembering."
"You'll have to do better than that," Chris warned.
Ezra fixed his eyes on Chris, his expression stony. "I was eight years old and I most certainly did not attend that... gathering by choice. This picture was taken by a local reporter and printed in the town newspaper." He sighed. "Hell, I didn't even know what they were all about. I believed it was just another of those men's clubs with silly hats and rituals."
Chris eyed him doubtfully. "You're from the South and you didn't know what the Ku Klux Klan was?"
Ezra said tightly, "I spent most of that period of my life attending schools in Europe. I knew little about such organizations."
"Farrell also claims that you had a problem working for a black supervisor in Atlanta."
Ezra snorted. "Agent Watson was an ignoramus, no matter what color his skin happened to be. He gained his position via one of those affirmative action programs that Mr. Jackson supports so strongly." Ezra shook his head. "The man wasn't qualified for his job and nearly got me killed with his bumbling efforts."
"Farrell's not going to let this drop," Chris said with a sigh.
"I don't care about Farrell," Ezra said acidly.
"You should."
Ezra searched Chris's face. "You don't believe him, do you?"
"I don't know what to believe, Ezra," Chris replied after a moment's hesitation.
Ezra nodded, lowering his gaze. "I understand." It was plain on the man's face that he had his doubts, and if Chris had doubts, the rest of the team was certain to follow suit. "Is that why I was reassigned?"
"Ezra..." Chris began.
"It's all right, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said flatly. "I'm quite used to this game."
"This isn't a game, Ezra," Chris said.
Ezra shrugged. "And what is my next assignment?"
"Team Five needs some research done on the Landers case," Chris replied reluctantly.
"Of course," Ezra said with a bitter smile.
Chris blew out a frustrated breath. "This isn't my call, Ezra."
"It never is," Ezra said blandly as he got to his feet. "At any rate, I do hope you were successful in yesterday's operation. I'd hate to think I was missing out on any more excitement."
"What operation?" Chris asked, dismayed by Ezra's apparent knowledge of the bust.
Ezra rolled his eyes. "I overheard your plans to take down Arbella and his buyer. Were you not successful?"
"No," Chris said. "They never showed."
"Pity," Ezra said indifferently as he reached for the door. "I hope you have better luck next time."
Chris stared mutely at the door as it shut softly behind the southerner. "Shit," he cursed softly to himself. Instead of clarifying things, as he had hoped when he had shown Ezra the picture, it seemed that he had complicated them further. He hated to do it, but now that he knew about Ezra's awareness of the bust, he would have to pass the information along, which didn't bode well for his undercover agent. It was just one more nail in the coffin that Farrell was trying to build and Chris could do little to stop it.
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra walked stiffly back to his desk, keeping his expression blank and pretending not to notice the sudden shuffling of papers that accompanied his exit from Larabee's office. Calmly, he gathered his papers together and lifted his coat from the back of his chair. With a mirthless smile, he saluted his teammates. "Good night, gentlemen." He heard the half-hearted murmurs of his associates as he walked out of the bullpen as though he hadn't a care in the world, even as he felt the ice beginning to form around his heart.
* * * * * * * * * * Five pairs of eyes followed the smooth agent out the door before turning to the door to Chris's office. It only took a few minutes before the door opened and Chris entered the bullpen, a troubled expression on his face.
"Uh-oh," Buck said. "What's wrong?"
Chris rubbed a hand over his face. "I showed him the picture of the rally."
"Was that a good idea?" Josiah asked.
Chris shrugged. "I was hoping he might volunteer some information about Hanford, but he never even mentioned his name."
"What did he say?" asked JD.
"Not much," Chris replied. "Said he was eight and he didn't go to it willingly."
"You believe him?" asked Buck.
"I don't know," Chris said honestly. "He did seem upset by the photo."
"Hell, he was just a kid," Vin said. "He probably didn't have any choice about going."
Nathan sniffed. "Maybe he's just upset about us finding out he was brought up in the KKK."
"Maybe," Chris grudgingly conceded. "That's not the worst, though."
"He knew about last night, didn't he," Vin said knowingly.
"Yeah," Chris said with a sigh. "He made a comment about it as he was leaving. Said he overheard us discussing it."
"He could have passed along that info, then," Buck said.
"It's very possible," Josiah agreed sadly.
"I had to tell Travis..." Chris trailed off, unwilling to continue.
"Had to be done, pard," Buck said.
"Doesn't mean I gotta like it," Chris retorted.
"Man, I need a drink," Buck said, eager to put this day behind him.
"Me too," Vin agreed with a sigh. "You guys comin'?"
The rest of them nodded and returned to their desks to finish up for the day before heading for the Saloon.
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra sat in his car with his eyes closed, leaning his head back against the soft leather seat. What a mess. It was something he should have expected. Things were going too well for him and he was actually feeling the faint stirrings of happiness. He should have known that it was just the prelude to yet another disaster. Ezra gave a derisive snort, realizing that he had conned himself quite thoroughly into believing that things would be different this time. His skills must have slipped, since he certainly should know better by now. Ezra Standish and happiness were simply not compatible.
A loud banging sound woke him suddenly. Ezra looked around for a moment, confused, until he realized he was still sitting in his car in the parking garage of the Federal Building. Turning to his left, he saw Vin Tanner crouched next to his car and looking at him through the window.
"You all right?" Vin's muffled voice questioned.
Ezra rubbed his eyes and lowered his window, not wanting to be so rude as to speak through a pane of glass. "I am fine, Mr. Tanner," he replied.
"You sure?" Vin asked doubtfully.
"Yes," he replied. "I have been suffering a bout of insomnia lately and am simply quite fatigued."
"Oh," Vin said, not sounding entirely convinced. "I guess you aren't going to be joining us at the Saloon?"
"Not tonight," Ezra confirmed. "I am going to go home and sleep, if I am able."
"Well, take it easy," Vin said, slapping the side of his car as he walked toward the exit.
"I intend to, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said as he raised his window and started his car. In his rearview mirror, he saw the rest of his teammates exiting the elevator and following in the same direction Vin had taken. They usually walked to the Saloon, since it was located only a few blocks away from the office. Ezra smiled sadly, knowing that he was likely to be the topic of conversation this evening. He wouldn't have joined them even if he hadn't felt so exhausted. Stifling a yawn, he turned his car toward home.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was with an aching head and weary body that Ezra dragged himself into the office the following Monday. His weekend had been unexciting. His insomnia had remained persistent, and he had been unable to enjoy the escape that sleep brought to his restless mind. Instead, he had spent the weekend catching up on some mundane personal paperwork that he had been neglecting of late. The monotony had only been interrupted by a brief visit from Bradley, who had taken him to lunch on Sunday. The visit had cheered him somewhat, but Ezra now found any residual pleasure fading as he steeled himself to face his associates.
Carefully masking his churning emotions, Ezra walked briskly into the bullpen and took a seat at his desk, waving briefly in greeting to the rest of his team. Waiting on his desk was a folder containing the pertinent information for the Landers case. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ezra stifled a grimace. Ordinarily, he didn't mind research work, but knowing that this was simply 'busy work' to keep him out of the way left him feeling less than enthusiastic about his new assignment.
"Hey, Ez," Vin said as he passed Ezra's desk on the way to the break room. "Want some coffee?"
Ezra looked up, surprised by the offer. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Tanner."
"You look like you need it," Vin commented as he disappeared into the room.
That was an understatement, Ezra thought with disgust, remembering the dismal sight that had greeted him when he looked in the mirror that morning. Dark circles had taken up residence under his bloodshot eyes, evidence that lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll.
Vin returned with the coffee, scrutinizing Ezra carefully as he handed him the cup. "You still not sleepin'?"
Closing his eyes as he sipped the fragrant brew, Ezra nodded in response.
"Anythin' I can do to help?"
Ezra's eyes flew open and he regarded the sharpshooter skeptically. There was nothing but sincerity on the man's face, however, so Ezra relaxed, leaning back in his chair. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Tanner," he said. "I have been afflicted with this before and there is nothing to do but wait until it passes in its own time."
"Ya know, I find that doin' a real hard workout can help make you tired, so you can't do nothin' much but sleep anyway," Vin offered.
Ezra tilted his head slightly, contemplating the suggestion. "Perhaps," he conceded. "If this continues to plague me, I may attempt such a remedy."
Vin nodded and gave him a smile before returning to his desk. Ezra watched him for a moment, wondering at his pleasant demeanor before finally shaking his head in confusion. A headache was beginning to brew behind his eyes and he was simply too tired to expend any further effort trying to understand his teammates.
* * * * * * * * * * Buck watched quietly as Ezra left the bullpen, heading for the file room in the basement to start on his research assignment. The exhaustion on the younger man's face was obvious and he hated watching him pretend that nothing was wrong. His own part in this mess didn't make him feel any better. He was still unsure of how he felt about the accusations against the southerner. Was he a racist bastard or wasn't he? Buck didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't deny the evidence. He had been fooled before and he wasn't about to let it happen again. The indecision alone made him feel guilty, but no matter which side he favored, it still felt wrong. Still, here he was, waiting for the undercover agent to leave before he went to speak to Chris about a new lead on their case. Heaving a disgusted sigh, Buck got to his feet and walked to Chris's office.
"Hey, Chris," he waved to his friend as he opened the door.
"Buck," Chris nodded at him. "What's up?"
"I got some new info from Little Jimmy," he said, slumping into a chair in front of Chris's desk.
"Hold it," Chris said as he started to rise.
"It's all right, Chris," Buck said, waving him back to his seat. "He already left for the file room."
Chris lowered himself back into his chair. "I don't like this any better than you do," he said with a frown.
"Maybe this time the bust will go down as planned and this will finally be over and done with," Buck said hopefully. "Jimmy heard there's going to be a new meet on Friday night with Arbella."
"Where?"
"Down at the old car dealership. You know, the one on Water Street," Buck said. "Place has been abandoned for a couple of years now."
"What time?"
Buck shrugged. "Same as before. He said it was set for sometime that night."
Chris frowned. "Okay. I'll let Travis know. Don't tell the guys until we get things set up."
Buck looked at him curiously.
"No sense spreading the news until we need to," he explained.
Nodding grimly, Buck left the office.
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra shut off the microfiche reader and leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. His eyes burned and his head ached from spending the afternoon staring at newspaper articles. Efforts were being made to computerize all of the older records and files, but progress was slow, forcing agents to scroll through microfiche data or search musty file cabinets for some of their information.
Gathering the copies and notes he had made, Ezra left the archive room and headed back to his office. This was his third day of research and he had barely completed a quarter of the required work. The powers that be would be pleased, he thought bitterly. There was enough work to keep him out of the way for quite some time. Reaching his desk, Ezra set the pile of papers on top of the stack of completed work, then opened his desk drawer to retrieve the bottle of aspirin he kept there. He shook three into his hand and headed to the break room for a bottle of water.
The office was quiet, his teammates having left earlier. Ezra had found it less stressful to leave work later, when there was less likelihood of running into the rest of his team. The strain of maintaining a pleasant demeanor in their presence was simply too exhausting, especially since his insomnia had continued its stubborn hold on his nights. As he swallowed the aspirin, he recalled Vin's suggestion of working out in order to tire himself enough to sleep. He had tried every remedy he knew, short of taking sleeping pills, and nothing had worked. There wasn't much to lose by giving Vin's idea a try, so he decided to head down to the gym before going home.
There were only a few other people in the gym, something for which Ezra was grateful, since he wasn't in the mood for small talk. He changed quickly and warmed up with some stretching and martial arts exercises on the mat, then moved on to the heavy bag. Donning his gloves, he worked out for nearly two hours. He did a circuit on the weight machines and then practiced his boxing, as well as some karate, until his body ached from the exertion. After he finished a slow set of cool-down exercises, Ezra wearily made his way to the showers.
As the warm water soothed his aching muscles, Ezra began to think that maybe Vin had hit on something, since he certainly felt tired enough to sleep. He would have to thank him for the suggestion if it worked. He finished his shower quickly and then headed back to his locker to change. As he was buttoning his shirt, Ezra suddenly heard the sound of his name being voiced. Curious, he edged quietly toward the end of the row of lockers, where he could hear the conversation from several rows down more clearly.
"You think they'll show for the bust Friday?" queried the voice of Rick Nagel, a member of Team Two.
"Yeah," replied his teammate, John Vargas. "As long as Standish doesn't find out about it and tip them off again. A lot can happen in two days."
"I can't imagine what Larabee was thinking when he hired that asshole," Nagel said with a derisive snort. "Everyone knows he's dirty."
"He must be a damn good con artist," Vargas pointed out. "He sure pulled the wool over Travis and Larabee's eyes. Hell, that whole damn team must be blind."
"I hear they're startin' to see the light, though," Nagel said. "They're makin' a point of keepin' him in the dark on this bust."
"'Bout time they saw him for what he really is," Vargas agreed.
"No joke," Nagel agreed. "Personally, I trust the son of a bitch about as far as I can throw him... and that ain't far."
Vargas and Nagel laughed, and Ezra decided he had heard enough. Silently, he crept back to his locker, hurriedly finished dressing, and left the gym, his mind reeling with what he had overheard. Reaching his car, he climbed inside and closed his eyes, resting his forehead on the steering wheel while he contemplated the accusations made by the men from Team Two.
Ezra felt the foundations of his world begin to crumble. Everything was clear now. Larabee and the others thought he was on the take, informing the weapons buyers of the scheduled raids against them. No matter how many different ways he looked at it, he couldn't understand why anyone would think such a thing. How could anyone believe he was connected with such criminals? Ezra beat his fist against the dashboard. That must have been part of the reason Farrell was in Denver – the part that Chris couldn't discuss. Foolishly, he had believed that the photograph that Chris had shown him was the only thing drawing Farrell's interest. Instead, it looked like the FBI agent was out to ruin him for good. Lifting his head, Ezra started his car and drove home.
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra slumped listlessly into his chair, dropping his head forward on his outstretched arms. It was barely six AM on Thursday morning and, unsurprisingly, he was the first to arrive in the office. Vin's insomnia remedy had worked. He had been completely exhausted when he finally returned to his apartment the previous night, but his turbulent thoughts had refused to leave him in peace. He had tossed and turned the whole night, never getting more than a few minutes of sleep at a time, until he finally gave up and came into the office.
Lifting his head, Ezra gazed around the empty office, wondering how he could have ever felt that he belonged. It worried him that he was so bothered by the conversation he had inadvertently overheard. When had he started to care what other people thought of him?
With a sigh of frustration, Ezra pushed himself to his feet and shuffled toward the break room. He wasn't going to make it through the day without a hefty intake of coffee, though he didn't think even Vin's potent brew could banish the exhaustion that weighed upon him.
* * * * * * * * * * A sudden crash woke him and Ezra looked around dazedly, blinking at the sudden flood of light.
"Sorry, Ez," Vin said apologetically as he picked up the can of coffee that had fallen off of the counter. "I didn't mean to wake ya."
Ezra yawned and ran a hand through his hair. "Quite all right, Mr. Tanner. I didn't intend to fall asleep."
Vin gave him a crooked smile. "Guess that's why you made the coffee."
"Indeed," Ezra replied as he stood and reached for the full coffeepot. "I'm afraid I'll need quite a bit of this to remain alert today."
"Still not sleepin'?" Vin asked, a note of concern in his voice.
"No," Ezra replied.
"Did you try working out?"
"Yes, I did," Ezra answered. "Last evening, in fact."
"Oh," Vin said, sounding disappointed.
"It did exhaust me thoroughly, but I'm afraid that my thoughts simply would not allow me to escape into slumber."
"Well... if you need to talk to someone, I'm a good listener," Vin offered.
Ezra gave him a wan smile. "It's not something I'm comfortable discussing right now."
Vin shrugged. "I'll be around if you change your mind."
"I'll remember," Ezra said as he poured a cup of coffee.
"You do that," Vin called to him as he headed back to his desk.
* * * * * * * * * * It was barely three o'clock when Ezra decided to call it quits. After catching himself reading the same document for the fourth time, it was obvious he wasn't going to get anything more accomplished that day. His teammates were probably still in the office, but he was too tired to care as he trudged into the bullpen. Dropping wearily into his chair, Ezra didn't even bother to acknowledge their presence, though he sensed their curiosity at his unexpected arrival.
"Damn, pard," commented Vin. "You look like shit."
"Thank you, Mr. Tanner," Ezra replied curtly.
"Are you all right, brother?" Josiah asked.
"Fine," Ezra replied, attempting to file his papers quickly so he could escape the questioning.
"Yeah, you're fine all right," Nathan retorted sarcastically.
Ezra favored him with a frosty glare. "When I want your opinion, Mr. Jackson, I'll ask for it."
Nathan's own gaze turned hard. "What's the matter? Are you too good to take advice from someone like me?"
Ezra rolled his eyes. "Please spare me the melodrama."
Nathan stood, fists clenched at his sides. "What are you trying to say?"
Ezra gave a long-suffering sigh and waved his hand dismissively as he turned away. "If the shoe fits...."
"You son of a..." Nathan advanced on him, but was stopped by Chris's voice.
"Standish!" Chris interrupted. "Get in here." Chris turned and stalked back to his office.
Ezra gave the group a humorless smile as he rose and followed Chris into his office, slamming the door behind him.
"What the hell was that all about?!" JD asked.
Vin shook his head in resignation. He had a feeling that something was going to blow before long. Nathan had been spoiling for a fight ever since seeing the KKK picture, and Ezra was growing edgier each day. It had only been a matter of time before the situation came to a head. He just wished that there was something more he could do about it.
"Stupid bastard is really askin' for it," Nathan spat heatedly.
"Calm down, brother," Josiah said soothingly. "You know he only acts like that because he knows it irritates you."
Nathan glared at him then stomped off toward the break room.
The four remaining men shared a look as they heard the muffled argument coming from Chris's office.
"This is not good," Buck finally said, echoing the thoughts of the others in the room. "Not good at all."
* * * * * * * * * * "What the hell's the matter with you?!" Chris yelled once Ezra had shut the door.
Ezra sat down and eyed him coolly, raising an elegant eyebrow in question. "Nothing is the matter with me. I suggest you ask Mr. Jackson that question, as there appears to be something distressing him."
"Ezra," Chris ground out between clenched teeth. "You know that Nathan is bothered by that picture of you at the Klan party. Why do you have to antagonize him?"
"I did no such thing," Ezra said icily.
"Yes, you did," Chris countered. "Is it too much to ask that you respect his feelings and lay off the arguments for a while?"
His frustration finally boiled over and Ezra said incredulously, his voice rising in volume, "His feelings?! What about my feelings?! It's my good name that is being sullied!"
"Good name?" Chris said sarcastically, then immediately regretted it when he saw the shock and sadness that flickered in the green eyes.
Ezra opened his mouth as if to speak, then slowly closed it, shuttering his emotions behind an impassive façade. "I believe I've been insulted enough for one day," he said flatly. "Good day, Mr. Larabee." He stood and made for the door.
"Ezra!" Chris shouted. "Sit down!"
Ezra paused, his hand on the doorknob. Without turning around, he said, "Mr. Larabee, I am tired and I simply wish to go home to get some sleep."
"Sit," Chris commanded.
Ezra waited a moment, then slowly complied, favoring his superior with a placid expression.
Chris ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it, Ezra. Can't you just do as I ask for once?"
"I was attempting to do just that, but Mr. Jackson and the others insisted upon starting a conversation," Ezra said calmly.
"You didn't have to answer them," Chris pointed out.
"But that would be rude," Ezra said innocently.
Chris clenched his jaw in exasperation. "Don't start, Ezra. I'm not in the mood."
"Neither am I," Ezra replied tersely.
"I think it would be best if you stayed away from Nathan for the time being," Chris said. "Unless you'd care to explain some more about that picture?"
Ezra snorted. "My personal life is none of your concern."
"It is if you belong to a racist organization," Chris said bluntly.
Ezra stared at him intensely for a long moment before he answered. "I have learned that my words carry very little weight, so you'll excuse me if I keep my own counsel."
"Damn it, Ezra!" Chris said, slamming his hand on the desk to punctuate his frustration.
"On that note, I will take my leave," Ezra stated, rising to his feet once again. "I am far too weary to continue to converse in a rational manner."
"We're not finished here, Standish," Chris said loudly.
"Yes, we are," Ezra said as he stepped through the door and shut it quietly behind him.
"Ezra!"
Ezra flinched slightly as he heard Chris yell at him through the door. Ignoring his teammates, he made his way to his desk and quickly picked up his coat and briefcase. Without a backward glance, he strolled casually away from his teammates, stifling the urge to run.
* * * * * * * * * * He usually didn't drink at such an early hour, but this day had been far from normal and, at the moment, all Ezra wanted to do was get himself pleasantly hammered. Ignoring Inez's look of concern, he purchased a bottle at the bar and moved to a table in the corner and poured himself the first of many drinks. Maybe if he drank enough, he could forget for a little while.
* * * * * * * * * * Bradley Hanford scanned the crowd carefully, smiling broadly when he spotted his quarry in the far corner of the room. He was glad he remembered Ezra telling him about this place. Making his way through the smoky bar, he pulled up a chair and sat opposite a very inebriated Ezra Standish.
"Hello, cousin," Bradley said cheerfully.
Ezra lifted his head slowly, blinking blearily a few times before grinning crookedly at the other man. "H'lo, Brad-ley," he slurred, his accent thicker than usual. "What're you doin' here?"
"I should ask you the same question," Bradley said, chuckling at seeing his refined and fastidious cousin in such a disheveled state.
"I had a bad day," Ezra said with a soft hiccup.
"I can see that," Bradley said, shaking his head at the picture Ezra presented. "Why don't you let me take you home?"
"'Kay," Ezra answered after a moment.
Bradley smiled and reached for Ezra's coat, pocketing his car keys before hauling him to his feet. "Let's go, Ezra."
Inez watched them go with a relieved smile as she cleared Ezra's table. It had concerned her greatly when the handsome agent had come into the bar looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. At first, she was afraid something had happened to one of his teammates, since she knew how close they all were and how much they suffered when another of their number was injured. Ezra had reassured her that they were all safe, but his morose attitude worried her. It was unlike him to drink so much. She didn't know who the blond man was, but she was glad that someone was looking out for one of her favorite customers.
* * * * * * * * * * Ezra peeled an eye open at the sound of his alarm, then slammed it shut as the early morning sunlight sent a bolt of pain shooting through his skull. Moaning, he reached out and silenced the alarm, wishing he could do the same for the pounding in his head. He rolled over onto his side and immediately realized his mistake as his stomach began to churn. Clapping his hand over his mouth, Ezra rushed into the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before his stomach emptied itself.
After what seemed like hours of retching, his stomach gave him a reprieve and Ezra was able to pull himself to his feet without incident. He shook out some aspirin and swallowed them carefully, draining a few glasses of water to alleviate some of his dehydration. Running a shaky hand through his hair, he grimaced at the haggard face that looked back at him from the mirror. He had certainly overdone it last night. He should have known better that to drink most of a bottle of Wild Turkey by himself.
Frowning, Ezra realized he didn't remember getting home last night. "Good Lord," he muttered. What if Inez had called one of his teammates to drive him home? He thought about it for a minute and then shrugged it off. It didn't much matter, since they already thought little of his character.
Not even bothering to look at the clock, he shuffled out of the bathroom and shut off the ringer on the telephone. Mindful of his aching head, he walked slowly back to his bed and crawled under the blankets, sinking into the softness of his pillow with a sigh. He decided that nothing short of an explosion was going to dislodge him from his bed today. Ezra figured that he was already in the doghouse with his boss, so what was one more infraction on the list?
* * * * * * * * * * "Buck, have you worked up those plans for the car dealership?" Chris asked as he stopped in front of the gregarious agent's desk.
"Yep," Buck replied. "Got 'em right here." He handed Chris the plans.
"Good," Chris said, nodding in satisfaction at the detailed layout. "We'll be meeting with Team Two at two o'clock to go over this."
"Our conference room or theirs?"
"Theirs," Chris said. "We can't take any chances."
"Yeah, I know," Buck sighed.
Chris looked over at Ezra's desk and frowned. There was no sign that the undercover man had been there yet. "Anyone seen Ezra today?"
"Nope," Vin answered.
"Not today," Josiah stated.
"Me neither," said JD through a mouthful of potato chips as he perched on the corner of Buck's desk.
Buck and Nathan shook their heads in the negative as well.
"Damn," muttered, his forehead wrinkling with concern.
"Somethin' wrong, cowboy?" asked Vin.
"I don't know. Maybe," Chris said with a shrug.
"You worried or do you just hate not knowin' where he is?" Buck asked.
"Both," Chris answered. Turning to his youngest agent, he said, "JD, can you check the file room? See if he's been there."
"Sure." JD hopped off the edge of the desk and hurried out of the room.
"He's not answering his phone," Josiah said as he replaced the handset of his telephone. "I tried both his home and his cell phone."
"Want me to run by his place?" Vin offered. "I was just about to go for lunch anyway."
Chris nodded slowly. "Yeah. I need to know where he's at, in case anyone asks."
Nathan said nothing as Vin grabbed his leather jacket and strode out of the bullpen. Chris looked at the dark-skinned man, wondering if there was any way this conflict could be resolved. He was in cha