Chapter One

In hindsight, perhaps he should have seen it coming.

But Chris Larabee wasn't a mindreader, and he just assumed that Josiah Sanchez was dealing with it in his own inimitable way. But as he sat in his office on that cold November afternoon, watching the chill rain drizzle down the windows, he knew he should have recognised the signs and done something about it. But as it was Josiah, he didn't. Leave him be, he thought. Josiah's just needing more time … more space. I'll leave it a while longer, maybe until Monday. See if the weekend will let him chill out a little.

And so he let Josiah be. Later on he wished he hadn't, but by then it was too late.

"Mr Tanner, if you flick one more of those paper-clips in my direction you'll be eating your Twinky through your derriere."

Ezra P. Standish was trying valiantly to finish his report that should have been on Larabee's desk three hours ago, if only his PC hadn't crashed and eaten the three pages he had already painstakingly written.

Vin grinned.

"I finished mine this mornin'. Done an' dusted, Ez … done an' dusted."

Ezra grimaced. If there was anything worse than a Vin Tanner with low blood sugar, it was a Vin Tanner who had already completed his report.

"Yes, well, I have to dot my own 'i's and cross my own 't's. I can't get away with - and I quote - 'the perp exited the buildin' lookin' like he got a rattler up his ass'."

Vin Tanner just grinned innocently. One of the girls in the typing pool would happily help him tidy up his report, charmed by his shy blue eyes and mumbled 'Yes Ma'ams'. Damn, but Tanner had 'strong, silent and dyslexic' down to a fine art.

Ezra looked at his Rolex. Four thirty-five. Another twenty-five minutes then he could leave this hell-hole of an office and go home. He looked up as a shadow passed his chair, and saw Josiah, coffee cup in hand, stop to gaze out onto the already darkening day. Ezra frowned at Vin, and the young sharpshooter in turn glanced at Nathan, the big agent tidying up his desk in preparation for leaving.

Vin raised his eyebrows questioningly. Nathan shrugged and looked over at Chris Larabee, standing at the big glass partition window of his office and watching Josiah. Chris caught the EMT's worried gaze and scowled. Josiah, oblivious to the concern of his compadres, was lost deep in his own thoughts.

This had been festering and rumbling on for a week now, ever since Josiah had returned from St Louis after a month on secondment. Some madman had been kidnapping, torturing and finally butchering teenage girls, and both the police department and the FBI were at their wits' end. So, they called in the best damn' profiler in the country to get into the crazy sonofabitch's head, and that man was Josiah Sanchez.

It had taken Josiah twenty-nine days to find Jonathan Becks Weller … but he did it. How, Chris wasn't quite sure, but he did know Josiah had eaten, lived and breathed the case for those twenty-nine days. In twenty-nine days Josiah Sanchez became submerged in whatever strange, warped soul inhabited the body of Jonathan Becks Weller, and the high-profile case attracted a lot of media attention. Josiah had been under tremendous pressure, and Weller had take the opportunity to taunt the profiler with small, obscure clues, subtle red herrings, all the while knowing Josiah would painstakingly investigate and study each tiny detail with the tenacity of a bloodhound.

It had become a cat-and-mouse game … a game in which the life of his latest victim was at stake, a sixteen-year-old girl who was popular in school, got straight 'A's in class and was the pride and joy of her mother who worked three jobs to keep herself and her daughter.

In the end Josiah's inspired intuition, experience and plain, unadulterated hard work had won … but at terrible cost.

By the time the police had stormed the basement of the old wharfside house and cornered Jonathan Becks Weller, the girl was dead.

Josiah was devastated.

He had flown home that same night, desperate to be with his wife and daughter, and needing to be somewhere he felt safe … with his team. Josiah's four-year-old daughter Rosie had been suffering from a heavy cold, so Chris had volunteered to pick Josiah up at the airport … and one look at the big man made Chris' heart contract. Josiah looked exhausted, terribly depressed … and angry. But he had mustered a tired smile and Larabee knew Josiah was relieved to see him, the profiler glad to be home.

When Chris dropped him off at the tiny house by the river he called home, Del was waiting for him on the porch. Josiah had walked into her arms and she held him tight, as though her touch could make all the horror of those dreadful twenty-nine days disappear. Chris had smiled, climbed into his Ram and quietly driven away, leaving Del to soothe Josiah's battered soul as only she could.

But it had become obvious the following Monday morning that all was not well with Josiah Sanchez. He was quiet and withdrawn, and silently his team-mates, his brothers, had closed ranks around him, protecting him until he was ready to face the world again. Chris had told him to go home, take some time off with his family and rest up, but Josiah would have none of it. He needed to have normality around him, he said … he just wanted to get back to work.

And work he did. Calmly, thoughtfully, with all of the care and heart that typified the big man. He would sometimes smile at JD's antics and listened tolerantly to the banter of his team-mates. But none of them failed to notice that there was something fragile about him, and sometimes Chris saw such a look of raw desperation on Josiah's face that it took all of the team leader's phenomenal self-control to stop himself forcibly hauling Josiah's sorry butt into his office and putting the big agent on leave until further notice. But he knew he couldn't do that. Larabee knew he would just have to wait until something inside Josiah gave way and the big idiot would finally allow his compadres to help him. Chris sighed.

Shit. What the hell was wrong with all these morons? Standish pushed them away all the time, keeping them at arm's length unless he was so sick or hurt he couldn't fight back. He only let them help him under sufferance, as though they had to prove that they cared enough, or so it seemed. And as for Tanner … why, he just disappeared into the wild blue goddamn yonder like a wounded animal and they had to go hunt his sorry ass down and fix whatever the hell was wrong with him. Buck was always 'don't worry about ol' Buck … just you take care of JD, the boy can hardly wipe his own ass …'. Damn you, Buck Wilmington! He'd be half dead before he'd let on he was hurt. And Nate was just as bad, often trying to hold his own body and soul together because one or the other of the team was needing him to keep them alive. Hell he, Chris Larabee, was probably worse, chawin' out the others because they cared enough to try and stop himself falling to pieces because he hadn't managed to keep his team from takin' hits. But Josiah? He was always there it seemed, cajoling, caring, big hands and big heart trying to keep his brothers safe and sound. But now he needed them more than ever before.

But he was distracted by Buck Wilmington's deep, laughter-filled voice as Buck and JD returned from turning in their reports. Buck had an arm around JD's neck and was happily giving the young agent a noogie. JD squirmed and managed to wriggle out of Wilmington's grasp.

"Jeez, Buck! One of these days you're gonna have to grow up, you know that, dontcha?" JD said, rubbing the noogied area on the top of his head.

Buck grinned, eyes crinkling warmly.

"C'mon, JD! Live a little, boy!" He sighed heavily. "Young 'uns these days … got no sense of fun …"

JD collapsed into his chair and rummaged around in his drawer, bringing out a multi-coloured Gameboy and began a game of 'Hunchback'. As he played he cocked an eye at Josiah, the big man still gazing out of the window.

"Josiah, 're you coming over to the CDC for the game on Sunday? We got beer and chips. You could bring some chili …"

Josiah was silent for a moment as though he hadn't heard JD, but he turned back to the youngster and smiled ruefully.

"Not this weekend, John Dunne. I think I'll just spend some time with Del and Rosie. Maybe next time, huh?"

JD was surprised. Josiah enjoyed his time with the team watching a football game, and Del was happy to let the profiler chill out with his friends - she understood how important it was to him, and welcomed the support the seven gave one another.

"But Josiah - " JD was stopped in his tracks by a frown from Buck, the big agent shaking his head imperceptibly.

Not now, JD. Give him some space, son …

JD, embarrassed, nodded his understanding. The room fell into silence.

Chris decided enough was enough. He opened the door to his office and poked his head out.

"Josiah, you've finished your report I expect?" He saw Josiah nod. "So go home. Go home, get some rest and we'll see you Monday. And I don't want to see hide nor hair of you before then, okay?"

Josiah looked at Larabee with such naked pain that the team leader had to take a deep breath to calm himself down. Sanchez was hurting, and he could do nothing about it until Josiah let them close to him. Until then, he would just have to wait. But the wait was killing him, just as it was killing the rest of the team.

Monday. On Monday he would try and do something to help his friend, but now wasn't the time. He saw Josiah's hesitation.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Josiah, go home! We've got twenty minutes before we head out the door - we ain't gonna fall to pieces without you in twenty minutes, so get lost!!" And without waiting for a reply he turned to Ezra, the undercover agent quietly listening to Larabee's exasperation. "You finished that goddamn report yet Ez??"

Standish blinked.

"Huh? Oh … not quite, Mister Larabee. If you would be so kind as to allow me to continue without further interruption, then I'm sure I'll manage to finish it in time." His voice was slightly acid.

Vin grinned at the irritation in the southerner's tone, but the smile faded as Josiah tidied his desk and slipped on his jacket.

"You take care, J'siah. We'll see you Monday, and say Hi to Del and the pup for me will ya?"

Josiah allowed a grin to break out on his gaunt face.

"Thanks Vin, I'll do that. See you fellers Monday, and enjoy the game."

Without waiting for a reply, Josiah Sanchez turned, headed out of the door and was gone.

Vin Tanner felt Chris' presence as the leader of Team Seven came to stand beside his desk. He looked up into worried green-gold eyes, and Tanner sighed.

"He's all tore up, Chris. All hurt inside. Whatever the hell Weller did is chewin' him up real good."

Larabee nodded.

"It was bad, Vin. I haven't read the reports, but what I heard from Ray was pretty goddamn awful."

Ray Palumbo was the FBI agent in charge of the Weller case, and an old friend of Chris'. It was he who had asked for Josiah's help in the first place, and neither Chris nor Josiah had hesitated in saying 'yes'.

Vin rocked back in his chair thoughtfully.

"He's close to breakin', cowboy … you know that don't you?"

Larabee didn't answer, but his face spoke volumes. He knew all right.

"Well, we'll just have to be there for him when the shit hits the fan is all. He's been there often enough for us … but we gotta be careful. He might not take kindly to us interferin'," Vin continued, his sky-blue gaze concerned for his friend.

Five pairs of worried eyes looked at Chris Larabee, and for once in his life he didn't have an answer for them. They would wait. And when the waiting was done, they just hoped Josiah Sanchez was still in one piece.

Rrrrriiinnnng.

Rrrrriiinnnng.

Chris Larabee turned over in bed and pried open an eye, trying to get the telephone that jangled noisily beside his bed into some kind of blurred focus.

Rrrrriiinnnng.

"Sheeee …it!" He reached out with an unsteady hand and fumbled the receiver from its cradle, noting in passing it was six in the morning.

Goddamit! It's Saturday! Who the hell …

"What??" he growled, none-too-happy about being woken so rudely on his first day off in nearly a month.

"Chris? It's Del."

Larabee's eyes snapped open and he levered himself up, shivering in the early morning chill. Delancey Cowper Morgan Sanchez wasn't in the habit of telephoning Chris at the ranch, let alone at six in the morning on a dull November day.

"What's wrong?" Chris felt his gut tighten.

"Josiah didn't come home last night. He called me on his cell phone after he left the office and told me he was goin' for a drive to clear his head, an' not to wait up. I got up twenty minutes ago and he ain't come home." Del's voice was raw with worry as she continued. "I called the hospitals an' he ain't there, and he's not answering his cell phone, so God only knows where the stupid sonofagun's got to. I got Rosie wakin' up in a coupla hours, an' I don't know what to do, Chris. I cain't go lookin' for the big fool …"

Chris rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand, cursing silently to himself.

"Okay Del - sit tight. I'll get the fellas together and go find his sorry ass, I promise. You go take care of Rosie, and we'll let you know as soon as he turns up, all right?"

"Thanks, Chris … oh, and tell him from me that he's dead meat, y'hear?"

Chris grinned, despite himself.

"As long as I get to kick his ass afterwards, Del."

Del Sanchez snorted.

"He ain't gonna have any ass left to kick when I've finished with him." Del's voice softened. "He's havin' a tough time, Chris, an' I ain't been able to reach him, not this time. Bring him home safe, will ya?"

After saying their goodbyes, Larabee replaced the receiver and ran his fingers through unruly blond hair.

"Shit!" he said again, hauling himself out of bed and reaching once more for the phone. Punching in the familiar number, he waited until a soft, drowsy Texan voice answered.

"Um … yeah?"

"Vin, call Ez, Buck and JD. I'll get hold of Nathan and we'll meet up at the office."

"What's goin' on?" Vin said, now wide awake and alert.

Chris had but one thing to say.

"Josiah."

"Hell!" Chris could hear the worry in the sharpshooter's voice. "He okay?"

"Don't know. Del phoned, and Josiah didn't go home last night. She's spittin' nails and tore up with worry, so let's go see if we can go find him."

"We'll be there in an hour." Vin didn't wait to say goodbye and Chris heard the soft click as Tanner rang off.

Larabee replaced the telephone, stood up and began to dress.

It was Chris who found the Suburban.

They had split up, the remaining members of the Seven, and searched all of Josiah's usual haunts … the mission where he liked to help out, and the children's home in Purgatorio. They even visited the unit where Josiah's sister Hannah lived out her days, oblivious in her delusion to the trauma and heartbreak her big brother was suffering because of another man's cruelty. They checked the bars, the pool halls and even the old church he occasionally visited, but he was nowhere to be found.

But as Chris drove out of Denver and headed north on eighty-five towards Greeley and the Rockies, he passed 'Burt's Bar and Grill'. The bar was midway between the ATF office and Josiah and Del's small ranch on the banks of a quiet tributary of the South Platte.

There, sitting outside the bar in the deserted parking lot, was Josiah's battered old Suburban.

Chris did a swift u-turn and screeched into the lot, bringing the Ram to a halt beside the vehicle. There was no sign of Josiah. Decanting from the Ram he studied the SUV, and was disturbed to see signs of a scuffle around the profiler's beloved old pile of rust. He noticed a new dent in the wing panel and frowned as he saw a smear of something that looked suspiciously like blood. He scratched his head.

"Dammit, Josiah! Where the hell are you??" he muttered under his breath.

He was about to dig out his cell phone and call Vin Tanner when a voice hailed him.

"Hey! You lookin' for the big bastard that owns that heap o' junk? Cuz if y'are then you tell him when you find him that if he leaves that rust-bucket here again I'm gonna start chargin' parkin' fees!"

Chris turned to see a lean, lanky man with tousled hair and a missing front tooth glowering at him as he emptied a trash-can into a dumpster.

Larabee frowned at him.

"You Burt?"

The man shook his head.

"Nope. I'm Rudy. I bought the place from Burt. He's gone to Chicago to live with his sister. You know him?"

Chris hauled out his ATF badge and Rudy straightened, alarmed.

"Hey! Whatever the hell that sonofabitch's done, it ain't got anythin' to do with me! All he did was sit in here for goddamn hours and nurse a beer. One lousy beer! Then he started takin' some crap from the Biggles boys an' he just upped an left. Ain't seen hide nor hair of him since. He in trouble?"

Chris shook his head and tucked his badge back in his pocket.

"Nope. Just a friend is all." Chris wandered over and looked at Rudy. The man was scared, he could tell. He fixed him with a Patent Larabee Glare. Rudy began to wilt. "So, tell me Rudy - what time did this big feller leave?"

Rudy thought for a moment.

"Oh … 'bout midnight. One beer, that's all he had. Goddamit, he sat there all evenin' an' had just one beer …"

"The Biggles boys. Who are they?" Chris asked.

Rudy shook his head, disturbing a few flakes of dandruff from his greasy hair.

"Stupid assholes is who they are. Local boys out loaded for bear. Took a dislike to your friend … somethin' 'bout dog-tags. Started in on him about Vietnam, 'bout how the Marines were nothin' but goddamn jar-heads." Rudy dragged out the word, emphasising his point.

Chris mentally swore. Josiah must have had his car keys on the table in plain view, as he had his army dog-tags from his time in the Marine Corps attached to the key-ring.

"What did my friend do?"

Rudy shook his head in wonderment.

"Just left. Finished his beer and left. Didn't say a word. Mighty glad he didn't take agin 'em cuz those morons would've broke up my place for sure. They followed him out though. But when I closed up I seen that the Biggles boys' Dodge was gone. I seen your friend walkin' off down the road too. He looked okay to me."

Chris closed his eyes for a moment in relief. It sounded as though Josiah was all right - but where the hell was he?

"Okay, Rudy - which way did he go?"

Rudy thought for a moment, then his pimply face cleared.

"He was headin' north. It was rainin' though, an' all he had on was a jacket. No hat, nothin'. He hadn't had much to drink so why the hell he was walkin' I have no idea …"

Chris knew why. Josiah never drove when he had been drinking, no matter how small the amount of alcohol. He sighed. Looked like Josiah was heading home … but he had never got there. It was an eleven-mile hike, and on a rainy, cold night walking wasn't the best of ideas, especially when Josiah was dressed in jeans and a shirt and jacket. Stupid sonofabitch!

Thanking Rudy, he turned back and eased himself into the Ram. Pulling out his cell phone he called Vin Tanner. Vin was concerned.

"He's not thinkin' straight, Chris. I'm headin' south towards you … I'll keep an eye out. If he's still out in this weather Lord knows what condition he's in. Jeez, sometimes J'siah's worse'n all of us put together."

Larabee had to agree. He told Vin to keep searching and he would meet up with him as he drove north. Ringing off, he called Ezra and told him the plan. The southerner had been to Josiah's old town house that he was restoring, but had been met with nothing but echoes and dust. Standish told Chris he would inform the others of the plan, and they agreed to meet at Del's in two hours.

Chris rang off and placed the cell phone on the seat beside him, and sat and thought for a while. Shit, he really should have seen it comin' … But fifteen minutes later as he prepared to drive off his cell phone bleeped at him.. Lifting it he pushed the receive button and answered.

"Yeah?"

"Chris?" Vin's voice sounded relieved. "I got him."

Larabee exhaled noisily in relief.

"Is he all right?"

"Yeah. Well, from what I can see. I ain't been near yet. Thought I'd ask you what you want me to do."

"Where is he? And what do you mean you haven't been near yet?" Chris said, his patience near to breaking.

"Stars'n' Bars Diner, about seven miles north of where you are. I'm outside sittin' in the jeep, watchin' him through the window."

"What's he doing?" Chris was mystified. Josiah must have walked those seven miles in the dark and the rain, so why didn't he phone someone to come fetch him rather than go through all of the discomfort?

"He's just sittin'. I think he's got a cup of coffee in front of him, but I ain't sure. He looks a bit wet but other than that he seems okay." By the tone of Tanner's voice he was equally mystified.

Larabee ran his hand through his hair as he always did when he was near the end of his tether.

"Okay, okay - sit tight, tell the others, and I'll be with you in ten minutes. Then we'll find out what the hell's going on in his head. Oh, and Vin? Don't go near him. Wait until I get there. I should've dealt with this before now, and it's up to me to fix it if I can." He heard a soft murmur of amusement on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, cowboy, I hear you. I'll see you in ten."

Tanner rang off and Chris once more put the cell phone on the seat beside him. Turning the key in the ignition he shifted into gear and drove out of the lot, heading north to the Stars 'n' Bars All-Nite Diner.

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