Chris Larabee stared at the message on the computer screen, and reread it for a fourth time, the words finally sinking into his alcohol-fogged brain. "Shit!" He raised his hand to delete the message, but something caused him to pause that motion. Instead, he pushed back his chair and continued to stare at the screen. How had that bastard Travis found him? And why tonight, of all nights, had he sent this message?

The blond man leaned back, studying his shaking hands. Time was, they were steady as a rock, no matter what he did, no matter what he drank, but that was ages ago, when his life still had meaning. Back in that time when he had a wife, a son, and a promising career with the Navy SEALs. He was intelligent, hard working, and had not escaped the attention of the higher eschalon who were primed to groom him for bigger and better things. Back then, everything had truly been golden for the fair-haired Christopher Larabee.

Until it all came crashing down, three years ago this very night. Three years, one thousand ninety five days. His world had come to an end.

He had left Sarah and Adam in their little house on base. He and his second, Buck Wilmington, were to be out of town, testing a new version of diving gear. It was strictly volunteer. Anyone in his squad could have handled it, but Larabee did not like his men doing something he himself had not tested first. And so, he and Wilmington had headed out, with promises to be back in time for Friday night pizza.

They had gotten caught up in the testing when one of the aqua lungs failed to operate, and it was near midnight, when they had finally turned into the base gate and wearily headed for Chris', Buck hopefully wishing aloud Sarah had kept the pizza hot.

As they drove, they had seen the lights, had heard the sirens in the night stillness, and suddenly Chris had floored the Jeep, wildly careening around the curves, bouncing over curbs as he frantically realized the fire was on the same block as his house.

It was his house. As the Jeep rocked to a stop, Larabee was already out and running for the blazing building. There was little left to even prove it had been a house, let alone his happy home. Several firefighters grabbed his arms to prevent him from rushing into the flames, and when he'd seen the two body bags lying on the wet grass, he'd lost it.

And he'd been lost since. Blaming himself, blaming Buck, blaming the military. He'd resigned from the service and had holed up here, outside the little town of Four Corners, existing, but not really living, in the old family homestead, which had been in Sarah's family for generations. Going to ground, crawling out only when his supply of liquor ran low, he ignored everyone, wallowing in his grief.

Wilmington, his oldest friend, had tried repeatedly to pull him out of his despondency, but had failed and returned to his tour in the Navy, knowing in his heart, he had at least tried his damnedest to save his friend. But he knew equally well he could not save someone who didn't want to be saved and Chris Larabee most definitely did not want to be saved.

Chris drew his thoughts from the past and stared at the message again. Orrin Travis. He had met the judge years before when the judge had toured the base. His superiors had informed him then the judge was very impressed with him. Travis had powerful friends and if Larabee played his cards right, he'd be a general when he retired.

Chris shook his head. Fat chance of that now. He pushed away from the desk and gaining his feet, he kicked aside empty beer bottles as he moved to pull a bottle from the fridge. He stopped, and slowly returned it to the wire shelf, and closing the fridge, he poured himself a glass of water instead. Turning, leaning back against the sink, his gaze returned to the message again.

"Would like to see you. Be in Four Corners 13th. Inez's Cafe 1 p.m. Orrin Travis"

He took a swallow of water and glanced at the calendar. The 13th was tomorrow. His green eyed gaze moved back to the desk, traveling from the monitor to the loaded Smith and Wesson pistol which lay next to it. He had loaded it earlier; his mind already made up. He couldn't go on like he was. The guilt, the pain was eating him up alive and it had to end, one way or another. Why he had laid the gun aside and turned on the computer he would never know, but Travis' intriguing message had been waiting.

He sighed as he dumped the rest of the water down the drain and his gaze returned to the gun. What the hell? What difference did one more meaningless day make?

*******

Judge Orrin Travis looked up as the cafe's beveled glass front door opened, and blew out his breath in a sigh of disgust. It was nearing two thirty and he realized Larabee probably wasn't going to show. A pang of regret raced over him.

He had met the young officer years earlier and had been most impressed with the man's intelligence and skill. Not only that, his men spoke highly of him but they would do anything for him, a rare thing in this day and age. He was just the man Orrin needed for the project he had at mind. He needed someone trustworthy, not afraid to take risks, but level headed in a crisis, able to think on his feet who could judge people and events and make a fair and just assessment.

When it came right down to it, Chris Larabee was the only man Travis wanted. Oh, he had put on a show, going through the motions as he had read dossiers, met other men, studied files, interviewed, but his thoughts kept returning to Larabee. After all the effort and time he had put into this proposal, he hated to think of losing the only person he knew was truly suited for the position.

He heard the door squeak open again and halfheartedly, he glanced up, sighing once again at the thin fair haired man who stood just inside the door. Travis looked again, closer and his eyes widened as he realized that man was Larabee and he was moving slowly towards his table.

He would not have recognized this person as the happy smiling man he had met on his tour. This man was thin, his eyes dull and red rimmed, dark circles enhancing their lackluster hazel color.

His expression was as darkly somber as the clothes he wore as he stopped by the table. "Judge Travis?" His voice was husky and rough, as if out of use.

"Mr. Larabee, I see you got my message. Thank you for coming. Please sit down," Travis motioned toward the empty chair opposite him and watched as the man slowly dropped into it. "Can I have the waitress get something for you?"

"Coffee?"

Travis motioned the pretty dark-haired waitress who filled the arrival's cup and slipped away to leave them in privacy.

"How are you, Chris?" There was honest concern and a touch of worry in Travis' voice. He had heard of the young man's tragedy, but had not been prepared to see him still so affected.

"Alive," Chris's tone was bitter as he sipped at the coffee. What the hell was he doing here?

The Judge seemed to read his mind and offered a small smile. "You want to know why you're here?" Chris nodded shortly and the judge leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table to stare intently at the younger man. "I need your help, Chris." He watched as the words slowly sank in.

"Help?" Chris mouthed, setting the cup down on the table, his hand shaking so badly the liquid sloshed over the side, but neither man seemed to notice. "Help?" he repeated.

"Yes, Chris. Your help. I want to create a team, five or six men who can handle situations, which are beyond the standard military, or local law enforcement limits. I want you to head that team for me." He saw confusion in the hazel eyes and Chris stubbornly shook his head.

"You don't want me." he pointed out bluntly, wrapping his trembling hands around the cup to try and still their shaking.

"Why?" Travis questioned, not unkindly.

"'Cause I don't want to do it!" Chris spat out bitterly. He immediately regretted the words when he saw the Judge's expression fall. "Don't you understand? I don't want the responsibility!"

"I wanted the best, Larabee! I wanted a man I could trust, a man whom other men would follow without question. Damnit, man, I want you!"

Chris shook his head. "Hell, Judge, you don't want me." His expression and voice were unyielding as he added softly, "Haven't ya heard? I'm a lost cause."

Travis sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, not knowing what to say other than to try and make the man see how desperately he wanted him for this project. "Think about it, Chris. I would give you free rein to select anyone you wanted to work with you. You'd answer to no one but me, and the President. It's a chance of a lifetime, don't throw it away," he half pleaded, knowing if he failed to get Larabee, the project was lost. Worse, the man seated across from him would be forever lost. He slid a manila envelope across the red and white checkered tablecloth. "Take this with you and promise you'll at least look it over before you truly decide to toss this offer out the window. That's all I ask, Chris. Take five minutes and just look at it."

Chris wearily rubbed his eyes and scrubbed his hand through his hair before slowly picking up the file. Eyeing it, he gave one short nod as he pushed to his feet. "I'll look at it. Thanks for the coffee." Turning, he left the judge staring after him, and the older man smiled. There was a difference in the man's steps now. He was not the same man who had entered. He smiled, knowing he would be hearing from Larabee, and soon.

But, that afternoon, neither man had any inkling of the events which would truly help make up Chris Larabee's mind.

*******

Nothing would ever be the same. Vin Tanner realized his life had come crashing down on him. He had truly believed he could have a career in law enforcement. It was the one thing he had wanted to do his entire life. He was good at it and it was a way for him to make a difference in the lives of others.

But that day so long ago had altered his perception of what he really wanted out of his life. With no family, no friends to speak of, he made his decision. A week after the funeral, when all of IA's numerous questions were answered, all the reports and paperwork had been filed, Tanner had knocked on his commander's office door. Without preamble, he had tossed his shield and gun on the man's desk, and uttered two words "I quit."

He had walked out without looking back.

That had been four years earlier. Since that time he had worked a variety of jobs to survive, finally settling into the position of a fugitive recovery agent. In many ways, it rubbed him the wrong way to hunt his fellow man, but it was the next best thing to law enforcement.

He eased his conscience by going after only the worst of the lot. He didn't care if some guy had skipped out on his court date because he had written a bad check at the local liquor store, but he did give chase, and bring to justice, those psychopaths who didn't give a damn about their fellow man or who they hurt.

He had originally taken the jobs because the money was good and he had finally amassed enough to purchase a small place in the mountains, far from civilization. A place he sought out and escaped to when his soul needed comfort.

This night of all nights, he needed to be in those mountains instead of here in Four Corners searching for Billy James Candless. The man was wanted for the murder of a little girl he had kidnapped and raped. Some idiot judge, showing off his liberal viewpoints in an election year, had allowed bail and the bastard had rabbited. Vin had been one step behind him for three exhausting weeks and stubbornly refused to give up.

Tanner was good at his job. He knew the murdering sonuvabitch wouldn't be able to stay away from the sick friends who worshipped and protected him out of fear. Vin had known the man would eventually return to the area he considered his haven. All he had to do was wait, watch and listen.

Locking his motel room door, he never used his apartment when he was after a fugitive, Vin aimlessly wandered the streets, feeling not at all like a hunter this night, but rather lost and alone.

Sometime after midnight, not quite sure how he had ended up there, his aimless wanderings had taken him down along the railroad tracks to the poorest side of town. His searching gaze had found no clue of Candless, but he did note the homeless people who filled the streets. Some he knew by name, but more than a few recognized him.

Most knew it was not uncommon for Tanner to turn up on the coldest nights with blankets and hot food. The longhaired young man was a Godsend to the forgotten and abandoned. Tonight, some were gathered around small fires trying to keep warm in the night chill, others seeking shelter in old cardboard boxes or crates.

"Hey, amigo!"

The familiar voice cut through Vin's thoughts and he focused on the young man who jogged up beside him.

"Tanner, I thought that was you, man! What'cha doin' down here? Slummin'?" Receiving no response to the poor joke, the bright-eyed teenager stared at Vin with big dark eyes. "Hey, man, ya okay?"

Vin nodded. "Yeah. How ya doin', Manny? How's your sister?"

"She's fine, workin' at that place ya told her about. The boss lady said ya put in a good word for her... Thanks, man."

Vin absently nodded again. He had encountered the teenaged brother and sister living on the streets during one of his searches and, having experienced it firsthand, he knew life on the streets was no life at all. He had helped get them into an overcrowded shelter and talked a nearby store owner into giving the young woman a job. Everyone on the street knew Tanner was fair, honest and could be trusted. This knowledge made them only too happy to help when he asked.

"So what'cha doing down here?" Vin questioned the boy. "Please don't tell me you're-"

"Nope, got a part-time job and me and sis found us a small place." Manny flashed him a bright smile. "Bree was worried about Billie, you know the old woman who stays down by the switch track. She wanted me to check on her but she only comes back there to sleep, so I thought I would try tonight." His brown eyes studied the bounty hunter's face as they passed under a humming street light. He couldn't help but notice the pale face and dull blue eyes. "Hey, man, what's wrong? You look like somebody died."

Vin's breath caught in his throat, his steps slowing. "Somebody did," he admitted softly, "four years ago today."

Manny's expression turned to one of horror and then sorrow for the tracker's grief. "Hey, I'm sorry, man! I was just jokin'.... I'm sorry, Vin. Someone close?"

"Jamie. My partner." The words were whispered, as his shimmering eyes blinked rapidly. Even after all the time that had passed, the words never got any easier.

"Oh, man, that sucks, Vin. Man, I really am sorry. Is there anything I can do?" he offered, hating to see the kind hearted man hurting.

Tanner shook his head, giving the boy a small smile of appreciation. "'Fraid not."

"Ya gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Vin assured him as they continued up the street, both silent and lost in their own thoughts.

Out of nowhere, gunshots and screams of terror filled the night air. Spinning, Vin saw several vehicles pull to a stop, tires squealing on pavement, men spilling from the open doors. Rushing towards the cardboard structures, they knocked people aside. The arrivals kicked over fire barrels, trampled boxes and crates as they rampaged through the area, searching for who knew what... or who.

Ordering Manny to stay put, with a strangled scream, Vin ran back toward the melee, grabbing the arm of the first attacker he encountered as the man's fist was about to strike a trembling old bag lady. "What's-?"

The question went unasked as a short metal pipe connected with his skull and he went down. The following brutal vicious kicks lifted his semiconscious body from the ground before his assailants hurried on to find another victim.

"Vin?"

He was only slightly aware of gentle hands touching his face, and a familiar voice calling his name. With a strangled sob, his eyelids lifted barely enough to see Manny bending over him. "Vin....get up, man! We gotta get outta here! C'mon, Vin!"

Hands were tugging at him, offering support as with a painful groan, he rolled to his feet. Struggling to keep the darkness at bay, he leaned heavily on the teenager as they stumbled down the street, attempting to get as far away from the hellish happenings as possible.

Hovering on the verge of unconsciousness, Vin couldn't be sure how far he had stumbled along, Manny keeping him upright as he steered the older man toward protection under a concrete overpass. Behind them, the noise continued, angry shouts mixed with horrified screams. The teenager whirled, almost losing his grip on Vin, as an explosion sounded and a ball of fire erupted in the early morning sky.

"Geesch, Vin, what the hell happened?" Fear laced the boy's quivering voice, uncertain if the bounty hunter could hear him.

"Don't... know..." Vin choked out as the teenager lowered him to the ground. The bounty hunter rested his forehead against his knees, which he had drawn up to his chest. He struggled to breathe as the streaks of agony shooting through his side foretold of cracked or broken ribs. He took small shallow breaths, trying to ride out the pain. He was vaguely aware of the warm sticky feel of blood running down the side of his face.

"You hurt bad?" Manny questioned, concern evident in his young face as he stared down at the injured man.

The Texan attempted to shake his head, and unable to stifle the hiss of pain caused by the movement, he crumpled onto his side.

"I don't wanna leave you here alone, but I gotta see about getting you some help." Manny laid a comforting hand on the tracker's thin shoulder. "You be okay until I get back?"

"Yeah. I'll ...be.. okay..." Vin managed to grit out.

"Be back quick as I can." The boy took off, his running footsteps quickly fading away into the night.

******* Fighting the pain, Vin struggled to sit up, his pain-glazed eyes searching his surroundings. A small part of his brain not totally affected by the pain, rationally pointed out this was not the best place to be cornered. Stubbornly, he braced his back against the concrete wall behind him, and worked his way to his feet, swaying dizzily as the world tilted precariously.... Damn, not only damaged ribs but probably a concussion too. Maybe he should give serious reconsideration to his choice of professions....

Clutching his left arm to his ribs in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain, he staggered and stumbled away from the underpass. Knowing he couldn't stay in the area, he limped in the general direction of the hotel, trying not to think about just how far away it was.

"Damnit! Get the fuck outta the middle of the road!"

He forced stiff aching muscles to lift his head as the sound of screeching tires and an angry voice drew his attention. He groggily looked around to find he had shuffled into the middle of the street and now stood facing a black pickup truck which had slid to a stop, not three feet from him, in an attempt to avoid running him down.

Swaying, he attempted to straighten, catching himself with a painful hiss as he nearly fell over. Each shuffling step growing slower and more painful, he tried to move out of the truck's path.

Attempting to jerk away from the strong hand gripping his arm, Vin threw himself off balance and crashed to his knees.

"Hey, you okay?" Worry replaced anger in the driver's voice and Vin raised pain glazed blue eyes up to find himself staring into concerned aquamarine eyes. Eyes that seemed to burn into his very soul.

He stubbornly shook off the helping hand and with exaggerated care climbed to his feet, defiantly staring at the Samaritan, who stepped aside.

"Ya need to go to the hospital before ya crash right here in the street," the soft strange voice offered. At first, seeing the longhaired man stumbling haphazardly in front of his truck, he had thought the man was drunk. But out of the vehicle and up close, he could see blood trailing down the side of the man's face and the protective way he was clutching his arm to his abdomen proved otherwise. He hadn't needed to look into the pain-glazed haunted blue eyes to confirm the slender man was not going to be on his feet much longer.

"C'mon, I'll give ya a lift."

"Don't...need......" Vin's barely audible voice held a stubborn timbre as he desperately tried to shuffle aside dismayed to discover his legs refused to cooperate. As the man predicted, he collapsed on the hard road.

Chris Larabee stared down at the unconscious man, a puzzled expression on his face. With a sigh and a slight shake of his head, he gently gathered the man and careful of the injured ribs, settled him in the truck's passenger seat, fastening the seat belt before climbing back behind the wheel.

"Hell, Larabee, now you're startin' to collect strays off the street," he muttered, his concerned gaze jumping from the road to the man beside him.

A strange feeling washed over him, as if somewhere, somehow he knew this man. Something in those blue eyes had sparked a hint of recognition, yet searching his mind, he could not remember ever meeting him. A tiny part of his mind snickered, 'Perhaps his soul knew yours in a previous life.' A rare smile touched his lips and he laughed mockingly at that thought.

Chris knew the man was in need of medical attention and headed for the local hospital, his blue-green gaze constantly drifting to the man's face. There was something about him....something there in the back of his mind, tantalizing, teasing just out of his memory's reach. He scrubbed a hand over his face. How the hell could he know someone he had never met? Yet the feeling of closeness was too strong to be ignored.

Seeing the sign for the hospital, Chris flipped on the blinker and turned toward the ER entrance, easing up the circular drive to the covered double doors.

He jumped, swinging around to look at his passenger who had suddenly grasped his wrist in a steel viselike grip.

"No....hospit'l," the man gritted out between painfully clenched teeth.

Slamming on the brakes, Chris threw the truck in park and turned in his seat to glare at the man. "Look, you, I'm just trying to help. In case that blood pourin' outta your head ain't hint enough, you're hurt! You need medical attention!"

The iron grip loosened a notch as the man slid further down in the seat. "Been hur' w'rse," he mumbled.

Larabee shook his head, unable to ignore the silent pleading in the depths of the stranger's azure eyes. The man clearly did not want to go inside and Chris had the distinct feeling it wasn't just because he didn't have insurance. With an exaggerated sigh, he threw the truck into gear and continued past the double doors, turning back out on the main street. Only then did the iron grip release his wrist completely. Mentally kicking himself, certain he would probably regret it, Chris turned to the man as they stopped at the next light. If the stubborn jackass wouldn't go to the hospital, he would at least see the man got home.

"Where ya live?"

"Motel.. Dearing.. Street....." Chris' scowl deepened. Not the best place in town, but hell, he didn't have anything else to do. A vision of a loaded pistol waiting on his desk flashed into his mind, but he pushed the thought aside, focusing on the dimly lit street signs. Dearing Street. Not the best neighborhood. His truck would probably be 'jacked' by the time he helped the man inside and returned.

Seeing a 7-11, he whipped into the parking lot. He needed something to drink. From the looks of him, so did his passenger. "Be back in a sec," he mumbled, killing the engine and pocketing the keys.

Inside the convenience mart, Larabee paused in front of the beer cooler, his gaze flickering almost longingly over the bottles before he forced himself to move on. Paying for several bottles of water and a couple of Pepsis, he popped the tab on one of the sodas as he headed back out to the parking lot. He froze, just outside the door, his eyes on his truck....

The passenger door was open and the injured man was gripping the side for support as he slowly shuffled the length of the vehicle, stubbornly putting one foot in front of the other, his ribs braced with his left arm.

Cursing under his breath, Chris stepped around the open door, dropping the grocery bag inside the truck. It was then he noticed the tall lean black man who had gotten out of the next car.

Giving Larabee a terse nod, he motioned to the injured man. "Friend of yours?"

Chris shook his head, shrugging. "Hell, I just found him in the road. Tried to take him to the hospital, but he's too stubborn to go." Watching the young man's shuffling progress, he had to admire his independence and the stubborn tenacity that kept him moving.

"He's got busted ribs and from that head wound, I'd bet he's suffering a concussion as well."

Larabee's eyes narrowed. "You a doctor?"

The man's dark eyes twinkled with amusement. "No, but I play one on TV." He couldn't prevent his soft laughter at Chris' scowl. "I've always wanted to say that. Actually, I'm an intern. I work at the ER just down the road. Name's Nathan Jackson." He offered his hand and Chris introduced himself as both men concentrated on the injured man slowly inching his way down the length of the truck.

"He needs them ribs wrapped and he shouldn't sleep if he's got a concussion," Jackson offered, glancing at his watch. "I've gotta go. Want me to see if I can talk any sense into him?"

"Just be a waste of breath," Chris muttered.

"Man'll need someone to look out for him. Head wound like that he should be woke up every little bit," the intern called, hurrying toward the store.

"Hell, I just gave him a ride! I ain't his damned nursemaid!" Chris groused inhaling deeply, wondering why he had chosen that particular road which crossed this man's path. He moved across the parking lot, stopping beside the man who had reached the end of the truck and now stood swaying as if trying to gather enough energy to continue across the empty lot without support.

Blue eyes locked with his and he saw something-relief, gratitude, he wasn't certain- momentarily slip past the pain.

"H'me...." the man whispered, his legs buckling.

Chris grabbed for him and out of nowhere, Jackson appeared. Steadying the man between them, they eased him back into Larabee's truck.

"I gotta get back to work. Keep an eye on that head injury. Wake him up every couple of hours. Talk to him. Make sure he knows his name, the day. If he shows any signs of disorientation, slurred speech, anything out of the ordinary, call me at the ER. He may not like hospitals, but maybe I can bring part of it to him," the intern instructed as Larabee settled behind the wheel. "Same thing with those ribs. Watch his breathing. He starts having trouble, to hell with what he wants, call 911."

With a nod of understanding and a word of thanks, Chris pulled from the lot and headed for the hotel.

*******

Pulling the black truck into the hotel lot, Chris parked under the only security light next to a green Ford pickup. Sighing, wondering for the umpteenth time what the hell he was doing, he reached out and quickly searched the pockets of the man's battered leather jacket, pulling a room key from the inside pocket. Thank goodness, this wasn't one of those modern key card places. Checking the number on the plastic tag, he moved around the truck and helped the man from the vehicle. Half carrying, half dragging the smaller man up the stairs to room 205, Chris held him against the wall with one hand while he unlocked the door.

Luckily they encountered no one, as Larabee was uncertain how he would explain the other man's condition if some upstanding citizen decided to call the police, although with a quick look at the neighborhood, he realized that was highly unlikely. Maneuvering the smaller man inside, Chris gently lowered him onto the bed with an exhausted sigh, deciding as heavy as he was, the man must have solid muscle covering his slight frame.

Chris' haze gaze sweep over the rented room.

A duffel with clothes hanging from its unzipped pockets lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. A stack of folders on the dresser, take out containers, and several empty beer and soda cans were the only signs of habitation.

Moving to the dresser, he thumbed open the top folder, whistling under his breath. Wanted posters. His appraising gaze swung back to the unconscious man on the bed. Bounty Hunter? He would never have guessed. He flipped through the stack: murderers, rapists, kidnappers, child molesters. Only the worst of the lot. Kid had guts.

Suddenly remembering the intern's instructions, Larabee pulled off his own jacket and tossed it over the nearby chair. With a determined expression, he approached the bed, and repeatedly tapped the stubbled cheek until the man finally showed signs of life.

"Hey, you wanna wake up? You're home."

Long lashes fluttered and the eyelids slowly lifted. Dull blue eyes studied him. With a painful groan, the man rolled on his side and swung his legs off the bed, stubbornly pushing into a sitting position. What color was left in his face drained from his complexion. One hand still clutching his ribs, the other went to his head as he mumbled, "Who the hell are you?"

Chris rocked back on his heels, a cold smile coming to his features. "Well, that's a damn fine how-do-ya-do." Firmly grasping the leather sleeve of the man's jacket, he began tugging it off.

The blue eyes flared wide, a cold look crossing the younger man's face as he jerked away. With a painful hiss, the hand that had been bracing his ribs moved to the small of his back, re-emerging wrapped around a SIG pistol. Aiming the weapon at Larabee, he cocked it, giving solid credence to his words. "I ain't into kink, so you'd best leave."

Chris began to laugh uncontrollably, the sound bubbling out of him as he shook his head. How long had it been since he had laughed or even had anything to laugh about? Catching his breath, he held his hands up in a show of mock surrender. "Neither am I, cowboy, neither, am I. Just thought I'd give ya a hand strapping those ribs so you could breath a little easier." He reached for his jacket. "If ya don't want my help, no problem, I'm outta here."

"Hey."

The soft-spoken word halted the blond opening the door. Hearing the sound of the SIG's hammer being lowered and the soft click of the safety, Chris turned back to see the man lower the gun, then sag weakly back against the bed.

The young man's blue eyes were mere slits as he studied Larabee for a long moment. "Guess maybe I could use some help," he admitted resignedly with a tiny shrug, which brought a grimace to his face.

Tossing his jacket back onto the chair, Chris crossed to the small bathroom and flipped on the light. Pulling the thin towels from the rack, he began tearing them into strips. Laying the makeshift bandages on the bed beside the longhaired man, he finished easing off the man's leather jacket, motioning to his shirt, "Can you get that off, or ya need help?"

Not answering, the man slowly unbuttoned the flannel and even more slowly eased it off his shoulders before attempting to remove his Henley undershirt. Failing, he turned blue eyes mutely to Chris and without a word, Larabee quickly, causing as little pain as possible, had it off and tossed aside.

Larabee's eyes widened at the vivid colorful bruises that marred the man's ribcage and side. Hunkering down in front of him, Chris gently ran his fingers over the ribs, feeling several give under his touch. He grimaced as the man swore under his breath. "If they ain't broke, they're sure as hell cracked."

Larabee efficiently set about binding the man's midsection, noting with admiration the longhaired man made no sound other than a hissing noise when Chris pulled the snug strips tighter. Finishing, Larabee eased the smaller man down on the bed, propping him against the headboard, pillows at his back. Noting the SIG lay where the younger man had dropped it, he placed it within easy reach of the bounty hunter's hand, sensing it would put the man at ease. Stepping back, it was then he took note of the scars marking the younger man's upper body. Knife cuts and old bullet wounds stood out, evidence that life had not been easy for the young man.

Chewing his lip, Chris moved to the bathroom sink, returning with a wet cloth in his hand.

The man's eyes flared suspiciously. "What's that for?"

"Thought I'd wash away that blood so I can get a good look at that head wound," he explained, stifling a smile. What the hell did the kid think he was going to do with a washcloth? "Unless you wanna tottle in there and do it yourself."

He took the man's short shake of his head as permission to do what was needed. Parting the long brown hair, Larabee tried not to utter his disgust at the deep gash, which was several inches long. There was no doubt the wound could use stitches, but he didn't voice the thought, somehow knowing it would fall on deaf ears. Pleased to see the wound no longer bled, he washed away the dried blood before folding the cloth so the bloodstains didn't show and handed it to the man. "Ya might wanna wash your face."

Vin took the cloth slowly and carefully wiped the blood and sweat from his cheeks and forehead. The damp coolness felt wonderful against his skin, but he refrained from asking if the man would wet it again as he handed it back.

Pitching the cloth in the trash can, Chris turned on the cold water tap and pulled another cloth from the wire shelf above the john, soaking it thoroughly before handing it to the wounded man.

Vin gave him a grateful nod. "Never did answer my question..." Vin stated, twisting the rag in his hands.

"What question's that?" Chris asked, settling in the chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him. The intern had told him to keep the man talking. That might prove to be quite a job. The kid didn't seem like much of a conversationalist.

"Who are you?"

"Could ask you the same," Chris tossed back at him. "Me? I'm the guy who didn't run over your sorry ass."

They sat in silence, weighing each other. Finally coming to a decision, the longhaired man broke the stillness first. "Name's Tanner, Vin Tanner."

"Nice to meet ya, Vin. Name's Chris Larabee." He motioned toward the duffel and dresser. "You a bounty hunter?"

"How'd you know that?"

Chris smiled as Vin was unable to hide his expression of surprise. "Saw your fliers." His smile widened. "What? You thinkin' I had ESP?" He sobered. "What happen, one of your bounties jump you?"

Vin shook his head. "Nothing that simple. There's some kinda raid, down by the tracks. I got caught up in the crowd."

"Pretty rough crowd," Chris remarked dryly. "You always get this beat up trying to earn a living?"

"Nope," Vin snorted, tossing the older man a small lopsided smile "It's usually worse."

Chris' face lit with a genuine smile. "How ya feelin'?"

Tanner attempted a shrug, then thought better of it. "I'll live."

He shifted, realizing it was going to be a while before he would be sleeping comfortably again. The bounty hunter continued to study the fair-haired man through slit eyes. He knew the man was fully aware of his scrutiny, but didn't seemed at all bothered, steadily meeting Vin's gaze with serene hazel eyes, making the younger man wonder why he was hanging around and what it was he wanted.

After several long minutes of scrutiny, Vin's soft question broke the stillness of the room. "Why'd ya help me?"

Chris scowled as he tipped his chair back, balancing it on its back legs. His eyes narrowed. "To tell the truth, I haven't the foggiest," he admitted.

A tiny ghost of a smile touched Tanner's lips as he conceded, "At least yer honest."

"Call it my good deed of the month," Chris responded with a grin. He reached into a pocket and withdrew a cheroot. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Hell, don't bother me none, but this is a nonsmoking room."

Giving the slim smoke a wistful look, Chris dropped it back in his pocket. "Ya hungry?"

Tanner frowned, an inexplicable current of irritation surging through him. "Look, I appreciate yer help, but I ain't destitute so I don't need ya to buy me breakfast and I don't need no nursemaid, so why don't ya just wander on out that door and take care of yer own business?"

Chris let the chair legs slam down hard on the floor as he stood. "Don't worry, Cowboy, I don't butt in when I ain't wanted and I sure as hell don't need to be wastin' my time babysittin' some stubborn jackass who ain't even got sense enough to keep from gettin' the shit kicked outta him." With a quick flip of his hand, Larabee stormed from the motel room, leaving Tanner staring at the door he slammed closed behind him.

A flicker of regret moved across Vin's face and settled in his haunted eyes. Damn, sometimes he could be a real asshole! The man had just been trying to help him. He had even gone out of his way to help. He could just as easily have left Vin laying in the road or just dropped him at the hospital and took off. Yet, for some unknown reason, he had acceded to the bounty hunter's wishes and not only had brought him home, but had taken the time to tend to his injuries. As a reward for his trouble, Vin had treated him with suspicion and rudeness. Hell, he had even pulled a gun on him!

He knew Larabee had meant no offense in offering to buy him breakfast, yet Vin had suddenly felt like a charity case. The man had only been trying to help, had only been trying to make conversation. How long had it been since he had sat down with someone and had a casual conversation, one which didn't involve bail jumpers and percentage fees? What was so wrong with polite inane conversation, his inner voice queried. What was so wrong with allowing himself to relax and enjoy talking and listening to someone idly chat over breakfast for a change?

A pain rushed through him. He knew the answer all too well. Relaxed conversation led to getting to know someone which usually led to friendship and, unfortunately, for him anyway, friendship led to pain.

He had learned that at the age of five, just after his momma died. With no known relatives, he had been pushed off on foster care, bounced from one home to another. Every time he let himself get close to someone, it was time to move on and the cycle would start all over again. It hadn't taken long for the child he was to learn to protect himself by being a loner, staying apart, never letting anyone get close enough to hurt him with their leaving.

He had carried that brutally painful lesson with him as he had grown into manhood. In the military, he had stayed emotionally apart from the others of his outfit, volunteering as a sniper for Black Ops. He had taken the long range assignments no one else wanted, spending days, weeks, sometimes months, out on his own, surviving by his wits and his skill with a weapon.

Eventually, that turned sour and he had not re-upped when his tour of duty ended. Discharged, he had knocked about for a while, before joining the ranks of law enforcement. His skill with weaponry could be put to good use and being a police officer was something he could do for the betterment of mankind, or so he had thought.

Surprised when the police academy had accepted his application, certain Jamie Watson who had encouraged him to apply had more then a little to do with it, Vin was even more stunned when he graduated in the top percentage of his class, especially considering his reading and writing skills were abominable.

It wasn't that he couldn't or didn't like to read, but with the constant shuffling around of his childhood, no one had ever taken the time to help the shy quiet child who wanted so badly to learn. His saving grace had been his excellent memory and as long as subjects were discussed in classes, he managed to read well enough to pass the tests. His teachers complained more about his illegible handwriting than trying to find out if he needed additional help with the subjects.

Out of the academy, the young rookie had been assigned to work with Jamie Watson, an older seasoned career cop with a hardy sense of humor and easy going manner which immediately put people at ease, his young partner being no exception. Giving into his lifelong craving, Vin had opened the door and accepted the friendship Jamie offered. The man had become his big brother, his father, his uncle, his teacher, but most importantly, his friend.

But then, the unthinkable had happened.

Tanner could still see the events of that day roll through his mind like some pre-recorded video, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday and not four years earlier.

He and Jamie were having lunch and laughing over a situation one of their fellow officers had gotten himself into answering a call from a woman in labor, when the call came over the radio. Being the closest unit, they had tossed their half-eaten lunches in the trash and responded to the call. It had been a slow day and they were both looking forward to a little excitement to break the monotony. But Vin Tanner had not known then how that fateful desire would change his life forever.

The call was a domestic violence incident, a common enough occurrence in their neighborhood. Jamie was driving, having pointed out once again, he did have seniority and rank. It was a running joke between the two of them for any time Vin got to the patrol car first, he was behind the wheel. How many times had Jamie laughingly commented he would appreciate it if the lead-footed rookie would keep all four tires on the pavement?

They killed the lights and siren, rolling quietly up the narrow street, Vin pointing out the house in the middle of the block, then called in their location. Gathering his hat and gear, Vin moved for the front door, stepping to the side and rapping the panel loudly with the handle of his nightstick. All hell broke loose with the simple announcement he was a police officer.

Rapid-fire shots rang out in the afternoon stillness, shattering the quiet sleepy street. Scrambling for cover behind the red brick pillar holding the mailbox, replacing the nightstick with his service revolver, Vin's blue eyes swept over the split-level structure. He could see shadows playing across the drawn window shades, but he held his fire, uncertain if there were innocent hostages inside. Behind him, he could hear Jamie's frantic voice on the radio, calling for back up.

Chewing his lip, hearing sirens in the distance, Vin debated before calling out to the unseen shooter. "You in the house! This is the police! You really don't wanna hurt anybody, so why don't ya just come on out and we'll talk this over!"

He ducked back as several shots were fired in his general direction, some flattening in the brick, others ricocheting away with an angry wasp like whine. He couldn't stifle his sharp cry of pain as one cut a shallow groove in his upper arm. Suddenly, without warning, as if all noise had been muted, he heard one sound clearly. Too clearly. The unmistakable sound of a bullet thudding into flesh. He swung around in time to see Jamie tumbling to the ground, clutching at his chest where blood was already staining his uniform.

"Aw, hell!" Diving away from what little protection the mailbox post offered, Vin scrambled to his partner's side, clutching his shoulders and dragging his writhing body back behind the protection of the vehicle.

"Officer down! We have an officer down!" Tossing aside the radio mic, Vin's trembling hands clumsily tugged at the blood saturated shirt. "Jamie! Jamie!" The older man was not wearing his kelvar, and the bullet had mangled his chest, blood spurting with each beat of his heart. "Aw, hell, Jamie, why? WHY!?" How many times had the older man lectured him on always wearing the vest, never taking the unnecessary risk of leaving it in the locker? Why hadn't he listened to himself? Why hadn't he worn his vest? Why had he left the safety of their vehicle?

With a pain, which seized his heart, Vin knew the answer to the last question. Jamie had heard Vin's own cry of pain.

Feverishly pressing his hands to the gaping hole, Vin futilely tried to stop the flow of blood, but it had little effect and as he watched, his partner's eyes rolled back and his friend released a last sigh of breath. With a heart wrenching wail toward the heavens, Vin clutched his partner's lifeless body to his chest and sat rocking him, as tears tracked down his cheeks and blood pooled around him. Jamie had been more than his partner. He had been Vin's mentor, his rock in this alien city the rookie was just beginning to think of as home. He had been Tanner's best friend.

Later, when the situation was under control, the perpetrators handcuffed and on their way to lock up, it took three officers to pry Jamie's lifeless body from Tanner's fierce grasp and the three stood shaking their heads at the man, grieving with the young officer. They were career cops, had seen their share of death on the street, but this shook them to the core. All they could do was stand around the young rookie, offering useless words of comfort, which he never heard. A medic on the scene finally sedated him and with the help of the other officers, ushered him into an ambulance where he was hurried away to be checked out at the hospital.

The wound in his arm stitched and bandaged and with no other injuries, except a broken heart and lost soul, the young officer had been released, a fellow officer driving him to the lonely silent apartment he called home in this bustling city. Like a zombie, he had showered, tossing his blood soaked uniform in the trash.

Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, he sat on the battered old sofa, staring out the window at the darkness beyond, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. That fiery liquid gave no comfort and no oblivion. Finishing off the bottle, he vowed on Jamie's life, he would never again allow himself to get close to another person. No one would ever again penetrate the walls he erected around his heart.

The loud banging and beeping of a garbage truck outside pulled Vin back to the present. Giving himself a mental shake, he still could not lose the strange feeling which had washed over him when Larabee had first looked at him. He knew, had felt it clear to the bone. If given half a chance, he would trust that man as he had Jamie. Instinct told Tanner that Larabee was a man who would not betray that trust. Something in that man's eyes had felt like home.

Swearing under his breath Vin grabbed his shirt and painfully tugged it on, gasping in hissing little breaths as his ribs protested. Not taking the time to struggle with the buttons, he let the shirt hang open and carefully pushed to his feet. Screw Candless and that damn good Samaritan! Tanner knew he didn't need the money and he sure as hell didn't need no nursemaid. And he definitely did not need anyone wiggling under his skin, offering a friendship he desperately wanted. He knew all too well where the hell the path of friendship led. The hell with it all, he'd just get the fuck outta Dodge.

*******

Chris eased his truck up the lane to the drive-through, letting the vehicle idle as the two cars in front of him ordered. He wasn't hungry, but he did need some coffee. The sun was beginning to show its face and he had wasted most of the night with the irritating bounty hunter who looked barely old enough to be chasing girls, let alone the dregs of society. Hell, he had been so caught up in worrying about the man, he had totally forgotten the judge's offer! What a way to start out, his inner voice griped. His scowl deepened as he glanced at the seat beside him, the early morning light revealing several dark bloodstains on the headrest. Shit!

Fumbling, he reached for his wallet. Damnation! He'd left his jacket in that ungrateful bastard's room! And his wallet was in the pocket. Swearing, he dug through loose change in the console, counting out the coins. For some reason Larabee couldn't comprehend, he heard himself order two large joes with cream and sugar on the side. Transferring the cups from the carrier to the console holders, he pitched the paper tray in the back seat and turned back towards the hotel.

He once again parked next to the green Ford truck, and climbed the stairs to room 205, berating himself for forgetting the drink carrier as he juggled the two cups, cream and sugar packets, and his keys. He made a face, imagining how Tanner would greet his quick return. Hell, he'd just leave the coffee, grab his jacket and get! Simple enough. He had too many things on his mind, worrying over the Judge's proposal to hang around the bounty hunter any longer than was necessary.

Knocking on the door, he waited, frowning when he received no response. The stubborn jackass was probably ignoring him on purpose.

"Tanner, open up," he called out. "I forgot my jacket." He pounded a little harder, hoping he didn't wake any occupants in the nearby rooms. He'd had more than enough trouble for one night. But his irritation quickly turned to worry when there was no sound from inside the room. "Shit....!"

The squeaky wheel of a pushcart caught his attention and he looked up to see a cleaning woman entering a nearby supply room.

"Excuse me, ma'am, I seemed to have locked myself out," he explained, hurrying toward the woman. "Could you open the door with your pass key?" He saw her glance suspiciously at the two cups in his hand. "Guess my wife must still be in the shower."

She hesitated a moment longer before sorting through her keys, and unlocking the door. With a wide smile he thanked her waiting until she had walked back toward her cart before slipping into the room.

Larabee froze, his heart skipping a beat. The bounty hunter's lanky body was sprawled on the floor between the bed and the bath room door. Setting the cups on the dresser, he knelt down beside the younger man, shaking his thin shoulder.

"Tanner? Hey, Tanner, can ya hear me?" He pushed the long hair away from the man's face, rocking back on his heels shocked at how pale Vin looked. "Damn, damn, damn!" How had he gotten so tangled up with this ungrateful bastard? Better yet, why did he even give a damn what happened to the total stranger? He really should have minded his own business and kept driving.

Instead, he found himself digging through the desk drawers until he found a local phone book and skipped to the yellow pages. Grabbing the phone, Larabee dialed the number for the hospital, requesting to be transferred to the emergency room. Several long minutes and three helpful operators later he heard the vaguely familiar voice on the other end, "Jackson here."

The blond released a deep breath of relief. "Mr. Jackson, Chris Larabee...we met earlier in the 7-11 parking lot..."

"The stubborn head injury. How's he doing?" The concern in the man's soft voice was obvious. "Is everything all right?”

"I don't think so. I'm not sure. I left to get coffee, and when I got back, I found him out cold on the floor."

"Can you bring him to the ER?"

Chris hesitated, his gaze never leaving the still form. Whatever his reasons, Tanner had not wanted anything to do with the hospital. "I don't think so. He was very adamant about not going..." He trailed off. Maybe the man just had a phobia.

"Humm...." The voice became muffled, as the intern spoke to someone else, then, "I'm off duty soon. If you'll tell me where you are, I'll swing by and check him out."

Quickly rattling off their location, Chris grabbed a pen, writing down the things the intern wanted him to do then hanging up, he moved back to Tanner's side.

The young man seemed to be breathing okay, but he wasn't a doctor and double-checked to make sure Tanner's airway was free and clear before pulling a blanket from the bed and covering the bounty hunter.

Larabee had finished two-thirds of his coffee when there was a soft rap on the door. Scrambling to his feet, he nodded to the slim black man who entered, carrying a beat up green cloth pack. Chris had seen that type bag in the military. It was a medic's pack. "Mister Jackson, thanks for comin'."

"Call me Nathan. There been any change?" Even as he was questioning the blond, the intern had dropped to his knees beside the unmoving man.

Larabee had seen the intern's sidelong glance at the SIG pistol still lying on the bed, but the man didn't say anything, focusing his concern on the injured man on the floor instead.

At Chris' negative response, Nathan quickly and thoroughly checked out the bounty hunter, his gentle hands running over the bandaged ribs, tsking softly at the deep gash half-hidden in the long wavy hair. "Someone sure nailed him good. Probably a baseball bat, or a metal pipe of some kind," he pointed out, pleased the wound was no longer bleeding. "Could use some stitches. With that kinda hit, he could have a compression. You check his eyes?"

At Chris' negative shake of his head, the intern pulled a penlight from his shirt pocket and peeled back the hunter's eyelids, checking one side, then the other. "That's a good sign. The pupils aren't dilated. Did he have any problems with his speech?"

Chris shook his head again, this time displaying a wry grin, "No, he told me to get the hell out quite clearly."

Nathan chuckled as he emptied the pack, once more cleaning the wound and dousing it with antiseptic before covering it with a sterile bandage. "You did a good job on his ribs. This’ll work better when it's time to change them." He tossed Chris a package of elastic bandages, then sat back on his heels. "Well, from what I can tell, I don't think it's too serious, but he really should have an x-ray-"

"Noooo...." The soft raspy word floated up from the vicinity of the floor as the bounty hunter groaned and turned on his side, his blue eyes focusing on Larabee. "Aw, hell, I thought ya left." The words were a cross between a growl and a groan as he carefully levered himself into a sitting position, resting his back against the side of the bed. He turned his attention to the intern who was regarding him intently. "Who the hell are you? This room suddenly become a bus stop or something?"

"I called him," Larabee cut in. "Nathan Jackson, meet your patient, Vin Tanner, grouch extrodinaire. Nathan's an intern. He thinks you should have that head wound x-rayed."

"'m fine," Vin muttered. Using the bed for support, he climbed to his feet. Jackson sprang to steady him as the tracker swayed unsteadily.

Blue eyes locked with brown. "'m fine," he repeated through clenched teeth, slowly lowering himself onto the bed. He eyed Larabee across the small room. "Why'd ya have ta come back for?"

A small smile flickered on Chris' face. "I could lie and say I was worried 'bout your sorry ass, but if you want the truth, I came back for my jacket." He pointed to that forgotten object still draped over the chair.

Tanner appraised him, his expression suspicious.

"Best be glad he's partial ta that coat. Head injury ain't somethin' ta be playin' 'round with," Nathan pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ya had any nausea, vomiting? Blurred vision? Bloody nose?" He quickly ran through a list of symptoms, all of which Tanner denied. Both Nathan and Chris wondered how many of the denials were lies. "Why don't ya stop by the-?"

"No." Vin shook his head, trying not to wince in pain. "I ain't."

"Of all the stubborn, pig headed....why not?" Chris demanded.

"Don't need a hospital. Hate hospitals. Ain't goin'." From his fierce expression and set jaw it was quite evident to both men they were fighting a losing battle.

Sighing, Nathan dug in his pocket. "Look, here's my number." He turned the card over, writing on the back. "You get sick, dizzy, start seeing double, anything, ya call me, 'kay? Cell number's on the back."

Vin looked away. He didn't like people making a fuss over him, but he had the feeling it was the only way he was going to be rid of the two interlopers. Nodding, he accepted the card. "Alright," he acceded, then softly, he added, "thanks."

"Anytime, Mr. Tanner. Anything....you call," Nathan stressed. "I do mean anything. Keep that wound clean and the bandage changed. Give it time to start ta heal."

"Okay, okay..." Vin agreed as the man shoved everything back into his pack and crossed to the door.

Chris had dug his wallet out of his jacket and pulled out several bills. "Nathan, thanks. What do I owe ya for this.... house call?"

Nathan smiled and shook his head. "First one's on the house." He lowered his voice. "Ya gonna hang around and keep an eye on him?"

Blowing out a deep breath, Chris scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Don't know. Guess that's up to him."

"He's too stubborn for his own good," Nathan pointed out. "Damn lucky you came along."

"Don't think he'd agree with ya."

The black man looked back at the slender man slumped on the bed. "I think maybe he does..... he just don't know it. Maybe I'll see ya around sometime." Nathan offered his hand. "Take care now."

"You, too, Nathan," Chris shook his hand, watching to make sure the man made it safely to his car before turning back to enter the room.

The bounty hunter was turning Nathan's little business card over and over in his long fingers. "Coulda paid him my ownself," he muttered. "Told ya once I ain't destitute."

Chris nodded noncommittally, his hazel-eyed gaze flickered over the small rented room. Did anyone have more pride or independence than this kid? He suddenly realized his gaze had come to rest on the duffel bags stacked by the door. Tanner was obviously clearing out.

Blue eyes looked up at him. "Ain't ya got a job or a wife or somethin' ta get back ta?" Tanner questioned lowly, staring at the man who slouched against the wall. He must have hit a nerve as he saw a flicker of pain move across Larabee's face, but the tracker chose to ignore the hurt he had caused the other man.

"Nope," Chris admitted.

"Well, I don't need a roommate."

"Me, either." After several long minutes of awkward silence, Chris motioned toward the gear. "Leavin' were ya?"

Tanner bristled. "What the hell is it to you?"

Larabee lifted both hands in his second show of mock surrender. "Hey, I'm outta here. I just came back to get my jacket." Snagging the garment, he moved for the door, pausing to look back. "Take care of yourself, Tanner."

Blue eyes locked with his again, surprise evident in their azure depths as the young man slowly nodded. "Yeah, you, too."

Chris stepped onto the landing and turned to pull the door closed.

"Hey?" Tanner's expression was unreadable as he slowly uttered, "Thanks."

Larabee nodded and closed the door behind him. Slipping on his jacket, he hurried down the stairs and climbing in his truck he pulled from the lot before he could change his mind and insist the injured man came home with him to recuperate.

He didn't see the lone figure standing in the window of room 205, watching him leave with regretful blue eyes.

*******

Chris Larabee sighed as he hung up the phone. The call to Judge Travis was the most he had talked in longer than he remembered. Assured that he would have a free rein in selecting the men he wanted to work with, Chris had been surprised to hear himself accept the Judge's offer. Travis' reassurances still echoing in his ears, he made his first request.

The judge had sputtered when he heard Buck Wilmington's name. The Navy officer had quite a reputation with the ladies, and Travis wasn't close to being deaf. "Isn't he the man who was in the center of that little fiasco concerning General Hardesty's only daughter?"

Chris grinned at the question as he admitted, "He's the one."

Besides being close friends, he and Buck had always worked well together. Chris trusted the man and knew Buck's habits, both good and bad. If he was going into trouble, he wanted Wilmington beside him. Stressing those points to the judge, the older man had finally agreed. He would see about having Buck recalled from his current assignment, a carrier somewhere in the Gulf, far away from any general's daughters, sisters, or wives. Larabee then asked that Buck not be informed why he was being recalled or who was behind it. He personally wanted to see his old friend's face when he broke the news to him. After all, he owed Buck.

With that first step taken, Chris knew he was now committed to heading up the Judge's special team. He hesitated, then asked for all the information the judge could get him on one Vin Tanner. The judge had fallen silent on the other end of the line. When he had finally spoken, his voice was reproachful. Chris could still hear the words ringing in his ears:

"That bounty hunter's been in my court, Chris. He's good at what he does. Probably the best you're ever going to find, but you're making a big mistake if you're thinking of recruiting him. He's a loner. You'd better go looking somewhere else. You need team players, men who'll work well together and that's not Tanner. He'll never make a team player. I'd hate to see this project fail before it even gets off the ground and a man like that, well..."

Chris had softly, and very adamantly, requested the information again, pointing out until he knew more about the man, he wasn't sure he would offer him a place on the team or not, adding, even if he was so inclined to make the offer, the bounty hunter might not even accept. With a half-hearted promise to see what he could do, the judge had hung up.

Chris had sprawled on his couch, staring at the ceiling as the realization hit him like a physical blow. He had accepted the Judge's offer. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

*******

The following evening, returning from checking his livestock in the lower pasture, Chris flopped into the desk chair and signed onto the computer before pulling off his boots. Unlike some small ranchers, he didn't use a jeep or four wheeler to travel about his property preferring instead the relaxation of horseback riding.

Seeing an e-mail from the judge, he pulled up the message and noting attachments checked the paper level and hit print before heading for the shower.

Later, dressed only in jeans, his wet hair dripping onto the towel draped about his neck, he poured himself a cup of coffee and returned to the desk. Gathering the stack of papers from the printer basket, he carried them out to the porch. Settling sideways in the squeaky old swing, a sun faded pillow at his back, Chris drew his knees up towards his chest balanced the pages against them and began to read.

The judge had done a good research job and Chris found himself reading a condensed version of Vin Tanner's life. Starting with his mother's death when Tanner was five, to his brushes with the law in his teens, his military records, police records, as well as his many successes and few failures with fugitive recovery. The judge had even included a copy of his medical records. Larabee whistled under his breath. No wonder the man hated hospitals. Shot, stabbed, beaten, run down...the man seemed to spend more time in the ER than most doctors.

Skimming over the files a second time, Chris tossed them on the floor and lit a cheroot, inhaling deeply and slowly releasing the smoke. The judge's words reverberated in his ears: "...a loner. You need a team player and that's not Tanner...."

Well, hell! From what he had just read, Vin Tanner had never been given much chance to be a team player. No real home, no family, no security. Maybe given an opportunity...

Chris pinched at the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. Perhaps the judge thought he was just testing him. Pushing the boundaries to see just how far he would be allowed to go. He re-adjusted the pillow and closed his eyes. Somehow somewhere deep in him he knew Tanner had to be a vital part of this team he was building. He knew it was irrational, and he couldn't even explain it to himself, but his gut instincts were telling him he needed Tanner. He couldn't explain it, hell, he didn't even understand it, but he just knew it. Knew it and accepted it. The question was, would the bounty hunter accept, given the chance? There was only one way he was going to find out....

*******

Forty-eight hours later, Chris sat in his truck, finishing off his slim cigar and with a last puff, snuffed it out in the ashtray. Might as well get this over with. He hadn't driven half the day looking for this place to just sit in his truck and smoke his cigars. With a deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped out.

It had taken him longer than he expected to locate Tanner's home. According to the files, the bounty hunter kept an apartment in the poor section of Four Corners known as Purgatorio but his neighbors had all agreed they hadn't seen the young man in several weeks. The Judge had furnished a second address, but it hadn't been listed on any readily available map. Larabee had spent the previous day at the county courthouse tracking down land records and using ASC aerial maps had finally pinpointed a location for Vin Tanner's cabin.

Chris had been a bit taken back when after miles of climbing, the unmarked paved road had turned to dirt, before becoming just two tracks through the tall grass. Tire impressions showed a vehicle had traveled the trace recently and slowly wound its way through the pine woods and open meadows. The trail had finally ended here and Chris had parked behind a familiar green Ford truck.

The small cabin, made of peeled logs, fit the location perfectly. Surrounded by trees on three sides, the fourth opened out on a breathtaking mountain vista, the majestic Rockies towering close enough to touch. Through the trees Chris could see the sun sparkling on the placid surface of a small crystal blue lake.

A rustic porch graced the front of the cabin and like his own, this one contained an old wooden swing, but the older man was surprised to see a basket of blooming vivid purple flowers hanging from one of the exposed porch rafters. As his eyes roamed the area, he noted everything was neat and well maintained which surprised him, considering the court records had shown Tanner spent more time searching out low lifes than he had at the mountain retreat. Somehow, although the peacefulness contrasted with the man's profession, Larabee could not see the bounty hunter living anywhere else. This was where he belonged.

Debating with himself, Chris slowly moved for the porch and climbing the creaky steps, he knocked on the wooden screen door. There was no response, but the inner door was open and the aroma of something cooking wafted onto the porch. He figured Tanner wouldn't be far away. This wasn't exactly downtown Four Corners, he thought with a smile. What were the odds of someone breaking in when they couldn't even find this place?

Nervously knocking again, Chris turned to scan the area and saw no movement. Hell, Tanner had to be around somewhere. He'd be damned if he left without talking to the man after all the trouble he had gone to find him. Pulling another cheroot from his pocket, he lit it and sprawled on the top step to wait.

Crushing the small bit of cigar under his boot heel, Chris picked up the butt and dropped it in his pocket. Even that small piece of litter stood out against the tidy surroundings. Sensing he was no longer alone, he looked up to see Tanner, a lever action Winchester rifle casually slung over his shoulder, rounding the far corner of the cabin. There was a slightly stiff movement to his walk, a remnant of his sore ribs. In an old tan-fringed jacket and even older wide brimmed hat, he looked as though he could have just stepped from the 1860s.

As he approached, surprise flickered over Tanner's face, to be quickly replaced by cold suspicion as he glared at the interloper.

Chris stood, leaning against the porch post. "Ya ain't an easy man to find, Tanner."

The younger man continued to stare at him silently before brushing past him and entering the cabin.

Chris' mouth fell open as he found himself looking at the man's vanishing leather clad back. Shaking his head, he reached for the door to follow, before abruptly dropping his hand. What the hell was he thinking? He had been about to enter the house, without permission, of an irritable stranger carrying a rifle. An act that could very well get him shot. To hell with it. Maybe he should have listened to the judge after all. Shaking his head again, he turned to start down the steps, pausing at the sound of the screen door being opened.

He turned as Tanner stepped onto the porch, silently offering him a beer. Larabee tried not to look surprised as he accepted, twisting off the cap as the longhaired man dropped onto the swing and took a long pull from his own bottle.

"Mind if I sit?" Chris questioned as the man studied him with intense blue eyes. Well, he should have known this wasn't going to be easy.

Tanner shrugged noncommittally and Chris dropped back to his earlier seat on the step, bracing his back against the wooden post. "Beautiful place. You hunt?"

A small lop sided smile graced Vin's lips, "Just bounty."

Chris snorted, almost choking on his beer. He had walked right into that one.

"What’d ya want?" The bounty hunter questioned bluntly, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs.

"Yeah, this is right pretty and private," Chris remarked as if Tanner hadn't spoken. "Man could find his soul out here."

"I asked what you wanted." The question was more insistent, the look in the blue eyes a little more indignant. "I know ya didn't come all this way to bum a beer. What is it you want?"

"You."

Tanner stiffened. "To each his own, but I done told ya I ain't into..."

Chris waved a hand in the air to silence him. "Don't mean that, Cowboy, so don't get your hackles up. Even if I was, ya wouldn't be my type. Too damn ornery." He grinned before taking a long swallow. Damn, it tasted good. He hadn't had a drink since just before meeting the judge at the diner. Larabee rubbed his thumb over the label as he took a deep breath and began. "I'm looking for a few good men..."

Tanner pushed to his feet and Chris shook his head. "...to make up a team. Do you ever let anybody complete a sentence before you leap to conclusions?""

Vin slowly sat back down. "What kinda team?" Suspicion laced his voice.

Chris chewed on his bottom lip. At least the kid was showing a modicum of interest. He debated, really not sure if he should say anything just yet, but intuitively he knew if the bounty hunter turned him down, their conversation would go no further than this front porch. "A top secret go anywhere do whatever it takes team of specialists for when normal law enforcement can't or won't function. A team willing to covertly handle jobs which can't be done through normal channels."

"Vigilantes?"

"No."

Vin ran a hand through his long hair, pushing to his feet to stare at the older man. "You're serious?"

Larabee just nodded.

"But ya don't even know me."

"Know enough," Chris countered.

Tanner paced the porch for several minutes before facing Chris. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, stating flatly, "I don't know you."

Larabee nodded. The man's suspicion was understandable. In his line of work, the man who wasn't suspicious was soon buried. "You know Judge Orrin Travis?"

Tanner's eyes flickered and he nodded.

"He knows me."

The man's bright blue eyes narrowed. He was aware the judge was an honest and fair man in an often-corrupt system, but that didn't necessarily mean this man was. He tried to quiet the inner voice reminding him this man had gone out of his way to help a total stranger and from the very beginning, his instincts had told him Larabee could be trusted. "The fact he knows you don't mean squat to me."

Chris chewed his lip, debating. He came to a decision. "This team of mine," he felt a moment's pride at the words, "will answer to only two people. The judge, and the president."

This time the blue eyes widened as Tanner absorbed what the older man said. Maybe there was something to this man after all. "The judge recommend me?" he finally asked.

Larabee grinned slightly. "Nope."

"Told ya it'd be best to stay the hell away from me, did he? The tracker returned his grin with a small one of his own.

"I wouldn't exactly say that either."

"Least yer honest." Tanner gave a short nod, as Chris glanced at his watch.

It was getting late and if it took him as long to find his way back to the main road as it had to get here, he needed to head out. Pulling a card from his pocket, Chris laid it on the porch railing next to the half-empty bottle. "Give it some thought and call me. Thanks for the beer."

"Like to hear more." The softly drawled words stopped Larabee before he reached his truck. Erasing the slight smile of satisfaction from his face, he turned back to the young man who had pushed out of the swing and stood on the top step .

"'Sides, you'd just get lost in the dark and I ain't about to track your sorry dumb ass...." Shrugging, Vin motioned toward the door. "Hungry?"

Chris blinked, remembering the smells wafting through the screen and realizing how long it had been since breakfast.

With long strides, Chris climbed the steps and followed the tracker into the cabin. His hazel-eyed gaze roamed over the interior as surprised by the inside of the structure as he had been by the outside. The place was larger than it seemed. The open floor plan showed a one-wall kitchen, with a small dining counter dividing it from the living area. A stone fireplace graced the opposite wall and a flight of steps led to an open upper loft. An old wooden desk with a computer and other electronic equipment filled one corner of the living area and a half-opened door under the stairs evidenced a bathroom.

"Nice place," Chris remarked. He waved a hand toward the expensive electronics. "Ain't you afraid someone will steal all that?"

A slow smile came to Tanner's face as he turned from the stove. "I had to lead the men from the electric and phone companies up here, then had to show 'em the way back. You're the first person to ever find the place." His blue eyes suddenly twinkled, "Ya plannin' on comin' back and rippin' me off?"

Chris snorted. "Hell, I got lucky! I'd never find my way back a second time!"

A mouth watering aroma filled the cabin as the long haired man pulled a pan from the oven and quickly set about finishing up whatever he'd planned for his supper. Chris' stomach growled. If it was as good as it smelled, he'd hire the kid as his team's chef!

Shortly, Tanner waved Larabee to one of the two wooden chairs at the counter. "Wasn't expectin' company," he explained, shifting several bowls to the counter. Chris wondered if that was his subtle way of telling him not to ask for seconds.

Full of homemade meat loaf and fixings which rivaled anything he'd ever eaten, Chris sat back as, waving aside his offer to help, Tanner quickly cleaned up, loaded the dish washer, and pulling two beers from the fridge, he sat down opposite Larabee and shoved one of the bottles across the counter.

"Tell me." He took a long swallow from his beer, his expression serious.

Chris eyed the beer longingly, before taking a small swallow and pushing it aside. The motion wasn't lost on Tanner.

"Ya got a problem?" he jerked his chin toward the bottle.

Chris shook his head. "Not any more."

Tanner poured a cup of coffee from the brewed pot on the stove and set it down in front of Larabee. Chris gave him a nod of thanks as the young man returned to his seat, eyeing him intently.

"Tell me more." he repeated.

Chris hesitated for a long moment, gathering his thoughts. He knew what he wanted his team to be. He also knew what he wanted to say but he hadn't even so much as voiced his ideas to the Judge. To give them life, to say the words aloud to this man...He took a deep breath and looked at Tanner. The blue eyes were staring at him so intently, waiting for what he had to say that Chris felt as if the young bounty hunter was trying to read his very thoughts. Deep in his being's core, Larabee knew, other than Buck, of all the people in the world, this man would listen to him, without judging, without rancor. Tanner would just listen to what he hoped he could do.

With another deep breath, he cupped his hands about the mug and launched into what was on his mind, quickly outlining what he thought would be best and who he hoped to find to make up this team of special enforcers. As he spoke, he saw Tanner's eyes light up. Taking in every word, the younger man was drawn in. He couldn't explain it, but Chris knew deep in his soul, if the tracker joined him, together they would accomplish whatever they set out to do.

"....five, maybe six men. I've got one on the way. Navy SEAL and pilot. Figure you can't go wrong having a pilot, and he's a damn good fighting man to have at your side, or watching yer back." He nodded toward Tanner. "Weapons expert, tracker, sharpshooter. That's you. I've seen yer records."

"I bet. Compliments of the Judge?" Tanner watched with amusement as Chris took his first sip of the coffee, struggling to swallow the brew without reacting. "I like it strong."

Larabee snorted. "Ain't you afraid it'll walk away before ya can drink it?"

Tanner grinned, running a hand through his long hair. Chris smiled as the man hesitated, obviously wanting to say something. Seeing encouragement in Chris' hazel eyes, he softly suggested, "I'd think you'd want a computer expert, someone who can hack into records, find out things you can't..." he used the older man's words, "through normal channels. And a criminal profiler...to help give ya an idea what to expect from the bad element."

Chris nodded approval. "Hadn't even thought of that. You're good."

Tanner shrugged, embarrassed by the compliment. "Might even give thought to gettin' someone from the shady side too." At Chris' look of surprise, he hurried to explain. "Not someone who'd kill just for the hell of it, but someone who knows how ta run a con. Someone who'd fit in working both sides of the law. Might come in handy 'specially undercover."

Chris forced down another swallow of the potent coffee. Prepared, it was a little easier the second time. "Good point." He gave the tracker a sly grin. "And if you're gonna be a part of my team, I want a full time medic."

Tanner pushed to his feet. Searching through his desk, he returned and laid a small card down in front of Chris. Seeing the name Nathan Jackson, the older man looked up into twinkling blue eyes, as Tanner shrugged, "First one's on the house."

Chris returned the grin with one of his own, pleased the young man had a sly sense of humor and wasn't afraid to use it. Jotting down Nathan's number he turned back to the subject at hand.

Stretching to ease the kinks from his back, the blond glanced at his watch with a groan. Engrossed, he hadn't realized the passage of time and was stunned to discover it was past two a.m.

Tanner pulled bedding from a chest near the stairs, tossing the items to Chris. "Yer welcome to the couch, or floor....whatever. The bed's mine." So saying, he disappeared into the bathroom and with a slight smile, Chris began making up the couch. Before he'd finished, Vin crossed to the stairs sank down on the bottom one and began to unlace his hiking boots, placing them next to the steps before standing. He stood, glancing at Chris awkwardly. "'Night," he finally offered, padding up the steps in his sock feet.

"Yeah, night," Chris called after him, pulling off his boots. It was obvious the kid wasn't used to having house guests. He wondered if having another person in the house would even allow the bounty hunter to sleep at all. A quick visit to the bathroom, wishing he had a toothbrush, and he was shortly settled on the comfortable old couch, a quilt heavily scented with the smell of cedar up around his shoulders.

From somewhere outside came the mournful howl of a wolf. A lone wolf, with no answering cry. Chris smiled sadly. It seemed to fit this lonely place and its solitary owner.

He wiggled deeper under the cover and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep to the lonely howl beyond the log walls.

****

Chris awoke to the aroma of coffee, stretched and looked about. The cabin was empty, Tanner's hiking boots missing from their place by the steps. Lazily pushing the hair from his eyes, Chris twisted into a sitting position and glanced at his watch. Six a.m. He groaned. He was getting too old to be pulling all nighters. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stamped on his boots and quickly folding the bedding, replaced it in the cedar chest. Feeling a little more refreshed after scrubbing his face in the small bathroom, he crossed to the coffee pot and poured himself a mug before stepping out onto the porch.

Tanner was sprawled on the swing, a cup of coffee balanced on his denim clad chest. "Look..."

At his quiet request, Chris followed his line of sight, seeing a herd of elk, perhaps fifty or so, grazing not a quarter of a mile away. Several raised their antlered heads to look toward the cabin, but they did not spook as he slowly sank into the chair, "Big herd."

"Passin' through," Tanner uttered softly and Chris heard the unspoken, 'like you,' in the young man's subdued voice.

Larabee raised the cup to his lips, hesitating as he remembered the previous evening's brew. Screwing up his courage, he took a sip and grimaced. Damn, it was strong enough to stand up and hunt bear!

When the longhaired tracker said nothing more, Chris left him to his silence, enjoying the peacefulness of the morning and the quiet wild beauty of nature which seemed to permeate this lonely place.

It was the strange stillness which seemed to affect him most. Larabee sometimes hated the quietness of his homestead, the overwhelming hush which seemed to palpitate with the never-quite-lost-to-him presence of Sarah and Adam. The quietude here didn't tease at his mind with haunting memories of what once had been. He had even slept through the night-well, four hours of it-without awakening from one of the endless nightmares which frequented his sleep. There was a peace here. A peace he hadn't felt since the night of the fire.

He didn't want it to end, but with a weary sigh, knowing he had committed himself to do a job for the judge, he pushed to his feet and gulped the bitterly strong coffee. Vanishing inside, he rinsed the mug and left it on the sink to drain. With keys in hand, he stepped back out and looked to the young man who had twisted around to sit upright on the swing.

"I gotta be gettin' back."

Vin lowered his coffee mug to the floor by his booted foot. He ran his hand through his long hair and looked up.

Chris' breath caught at the yearning look in the azure depths. He could see emotions flickering, but denied. The longing of a little boy abandoned, alone, forgotten, ignored. A little boy wanting, needing, searching. Larabee realized the tracker had no idea the vulnerability which spoke through those expressive sad eyes. For a fleeting moment, he saw Adam.

Larabee pulled away from the memory, and focused on his keys, jiggling them in his hands.

"Ya find your way out?" The tracker's voice was low, belying any of the emotion written so clearly on his face.

"Yeah. If not, when ya find my bones, give 'em a decent burial."

A small smile tugged on Tanner's lips. "I'll do that."

Stalling, Chris turned the keys over, sorting out the one for his truck. "You'll let me know?" Vin nodded as Larabee offered his hand. "See ya around, Vin."

The tracker grasped his hand in a firm grip. "Thanks, Cowboy."

With a nod, Larabee strolled to his truck and drove away, not risking a look in the rearview mirror.

*******

Taking time to check his stock, it was late when Larabee finally headed into the lonely old house. Flipping on a light, he kicked off his boots, sagging down on his couch. Wearily rubbing his forehead, he lit a cheroot, inhaling deeply. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the answering machine message light blinking. Stretching out, he hit the play button and leaned back.

A wide smile broke across his face and he blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling as the first message played. In a slow Texas drawl he heard Tanner say, "Second one's on the house, too."

THE END

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