DISCLAIMER: The following is an original work of fan fiction based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended. No profit is being made - enjoy!!

The Guest

by
Jean Graham

Zoé Elliott was the kind of woman who turned heads. At a compact five feet five she was neither statuesque nor incredibly beautiful, in fact Zoé would have been the first to point out her physical imperfections, but she had a presence that made people take a second look. This particular morning she was turning heads in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms building as she strode purposefully through the foyer and to the bank of elevators which would carry her to the seventh floor. Oblivious to the stir her passage had created she punched the button for her destination glancing briefly at her watch as the elevator doors closed.

The office she entered was open plan, studded with desks and partitions -- cubbyholes assigned to various ATF personnel -- a high percentage of which were currently deserted. Zoé scanned the room and spying a huddle of men at the coffee machine made that group her target raising her voice as she closed in.

"Excuse me, but where could I find Commander Larabee?"

The five men turned as one in response to the question but it was a tall, mustached agent who reacted first stepping forward to tower over Zoé's diminutive frame. Pointing he indicated an open office door along a short corridor to the left.

"Right in there, Miss."

Zoé bestowed on him the full force of her 1000 watt smile before moving off in the direction he had indicated.

"Thank you."

He turned back to the others to find the quartet struck dumb and staring after the woman as she sashayed away from them and towards Larabee's office.

"Very nice," breathed Sanchez quietly but loud enough for his associates to hear and voice agreement.

The group broke apart, each agent moving towards a different bolt hole as the subject of their combined interest disappeared from view although the one who had responded to her question persisted in staring at the door of Larabee's office into which the woman had vanished until physically nudged in the direction of his own desk by one of the others.

Chris Larabee paused in his conversation with agent Ezra Standish as Elliott knocked perfunctorily at the open door and entered the small, very utilitarian room which served as his office, a raised eyebrow begging the question why she should be there.

"Good Morning, Mr. Larabee. I'm Zoé Elliott. HMCE." The blank expression on his face prompted her to continue. "UK Department of Customs and Excise."

Larabee frowned, deliberately not rising from his chair.

"Should I know something about this, Miss......?"

"Elliott," she repeated, "And considering that I have been seconded to this unit for the next six months I naturally assumed that you would at least have been informed of my arrival."

Standish rose sinuously from his perch on the edge of Larabee's desk and turned to scrutinise this woman of the rapid-fire speech delivered in a clipped English accent. He was pleasantly surprised to see a thirty-something, athletic-looking female of middling height with deep blue eyes offset by almost black hair. Although not tall she was physically well put-together and Standish had no doubts from the outset that this agent was one ironclad, ball-busting bitch with an axe to grind. He smoothly excused himself, and beat a hasty retreat to the safety of his own desk, wondering how Chris was going to deal with this obviously unexpected development. Buck Wilmington sidled up behind Standish and stared with undisguised longing at Larabee's now closed office door.

"Now there's walking dynamite, Ezra."

Standish smiled wickedly, momentarily showing a gold-clad premolar as he picked up a deck of cards from his desk drawer and began shuffling and dividing them in an impressive show of manual dexterity.

"You can upgrade that to Semtex, Mr. Wilmington and I'm not sure that Mr. Larabee is capable of defusing this particular bombshell. Apparently she is to be the newest addition to the team."

Buck almost snapped to attention, choking on the coffee he had chosen at that moment to swallow.

"No!"

"As I live and breathe. Name's Zoé Elliott and she's a British Customs agent."

Wilmington's expression was a comical mixture of confusion, disbelief, and suspicion.

"What? Why?"

Standish rocked back in his chair as Larabee's office door swung open.

"I wouldn't care to even hazard a guess at this stage but I do believe we are about to find out."

Initial introductions over and with the woman settled at a spare workstation Chris Larabee looked up from his desk and into the six pairs of accusatory eyes staring straight at him. He raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

"I swear I knew nothing about this, guys. The Judge organised it."

He didn't miss the expressive nuances that suggested disbelief and tried again.

"Ask Travis if you don't believe me but whatever you might think this is all news to me too."

"Yeah, bad news," he heard someone mutter.

Buck Wilmington parked himself unceremoniously on the edge of Larabee's desk and picked up a paper clip which he proceeded to twist out of shape.

"So what's it all about, Chris? Why us?...."

"More to the point," interrupted Standish, "What exactly is her role going to be in the team?"

Larabee rose from his place at the desk and crossed to the window, pausing to look out over the cityscape before turning his back on the impressive vista and leaning the backs of his thighs against the window sill.

"Believe it or not this woman has been seconded to the ATF in an exchange of agents which is supposed to strengthen our ties with overseas agencies doing similar work. The British customs service has an enviable record when it comes to illegal arms trafficking and Travis believes we can benefit from importing some of that expertise."

There was a moment of silence before Buck laughed.

"You mean she's going to teach us our job?"

Larabee looked uneasily at the floor.

"And vice versa I hope. For the six months Ms. Elliott - Zoé - will essentially be part of the team."

Vin shifted restlessly.

"On ops too?"

"She's just spent the last three months with the FBI in training and orientation to the job. From now on whatever the team does, or wherever the team goes Ms. Elliott will be right alongside us."

Someone swore softly and a murmur of uncharacteristic discontent rippled through the group.

Larabee had been afraid of this very reaction but before he had a chance to respond Standish had already spoken.

"Excuse me, gentlemen but just what has changed here? If you could manage to cast your mind back as far as twenty minutes ago, you were all openly lusting after this woman; now it's clear that the lady isn't merely a new secretary or a computer technician the testosterone levels seem to have dropped considerably. I do believe you are all displaying varying degrees of chauvinistic insecurity."

Larabee barely succeeded in maintaining a straight face at the typically Standish riposte as he watched the almost comically changing expressions of the remaining team members. Sometimes, he thought, the Southerner took the opposite tack to the rest of the team just to be ornery.

Buck rose slowly from the desk to tower over the smaller agent.

"Is that right, Ezra? And I suppose you didn't even notice that a great piece of ass had walked into the office?"

Larabee winced wondering already if they would manage to survive the coming months without Elliott slamming a sexual harassment suit on Wilmington.

"Oh, on the contrary Mr. Wilmington, I could hardly avoid noticing the lady's not inconsiderable assets but unlike you my thought processes occur in an organ above the neck not below the waist!"

Larabee moved quickly to intervene aware that the situation was likely to deteriorate rapidly if Standish and Wilmington were allowed to continue.

"Enough! Whether any of us like it or not, Elliott is here and there's not one thing we can do about it. I want you to remember just three things: firstly, that we are under orders to co-operate with this exercise secondly, that Elliott is now officially ATF whatever her background and thirdly, that we still have a job to do. Any of you have a problem with that?"

Apparently no one did.

Larabee's gaze flickered around the room settling finally on the urbane Southerner as the least likely to commit any social gaffes or inter-agency faux pas when dealing with their newest recruit; within the agency his mastery of political correctness and diplomacy was legendary. On the negative side the gambler had a caustic wit coupled with a highly developed sense of irony which sometimes landed him in trouble. Larabee sighed and, having selected his target dropped his gaze.

"Ezra. You'll be responsible for showing Officer Elliott the ropes. Make sure she's kitted out from stores and draws a weapon from the armoury then it's up to you to keep an eye on her. I'll be holding you personally accountable for any fuck-ups."

Standish inclined his head slightly acknowledging his brief without the protest Larabee could have expected from any one of the others save possibly Jackson. The remaining agents let out a collective sigh, relieved that the task had fallen on someone else. To Ezra himself, the fact that Chris had singled him out came as no great surprise. After all, he was the only one who had formed no natural alliance with any other individual in the group and continued to remained the odd man out, circulating through the group but never allowing anyone too close. To pair him with the British agent was not only a way of furnishing him with a fixed partner but of avoiding splitting up well-established pairings.

"My pleasure."

Chris nodded. At least he sounded as if he meant it.

The team dispersed silently and rapidly, not one of them eager to venture into territory in which their familiar parameters had suddenly been changed but none of them wanting to linger and possibly draw Larabee's ire either.

J.D. Dunne and Buck Wilmington retired to their adjoining desks, while Josiah, Nathan and Vin all quickly found reasonable excuses to leave the office within minutes of each other. Standish, sighing, removed his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair before crossing to where Elliott sat a few desks away at a spare terminal. It was shaping up to be a very long day.

Zoé had watched the six men file morosely out of Larabee's office with a degree of amusement. She had worked in a male dominated industry long enough to realise that she was usually far from welcome in new territory and she didn't believe that her current assignment was likely to be any different. As one of the agents approached - Standish she thought - she looked up.

"You got the short straw, huh?"

Ezra straightened, flexed his shoulders and eased the tightness in his lower back. After spending several hours orientating Elliott they had adjourned to their separate desks and while Elliott had been set some routine search work he had started on some outstanding reports. In spite of the ergonomic design of his workstation, prolonged time in front of the monitor always resulted in a literal pain in the neck often accompanied by a pounding headache. Aware of the pressure already building behind his eyes he pushed himself away from the desk and rose stiffly from his chair, stretching and feeling the muscles in his shoulders crackle in response. Crossing to the coffee machine he poured himself a generous measure of the dark, strong brew and swallowed a couple of Excedrin; with any luck that would be enough to avoid one of the potentially debilitating migraines which would occasionally descend like a pestilence to plague him. Realisation dawned that it was unusually quiet in the office and a glance around the room served to confirm the fact that most field agents had found an excuse to be somewhere else; engrossed in his own work he had failed to notice the subtle exodus which eventually had left only himself, the English customs officer and a handful of support staff.

"Some trick, eh?"

Ezra turned sharply, rigid neck muscles protesting at the sudden movement, as Elliott materialised at his elbow. He raised a hand to massage the back of his neck.

"Trick?"

She gestured to the almost empty room.

"That's the effect I have on people."

"I can't imagine why."

The woman paused in pouring her coffee and tilted her head to one side, as she considered the response.

"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm there?"

Standish allowed himself a smile.

"I regret to admit that you do, Ms. Elliott, and for that I apologise."

Zoé filled her cup and returned the carafe to the hot plate as Ezra, squeezing his eyes shut, rode the first familiar wave of nausea that signalled the start of a monster headache.

"Are you all right? You're as white as a sheet." Her concern he was forced to admit sounded genuine.

Standish drained his the last of his coffee and casually dismissed her question

"Just a headache."

"May I talk to you Agent Standish?"

"I thought that's what we were doing." He started to walk back to his workstation.

Elliott looked briefly at her watch and tried a different tack.

"Look, how about lunch? I'm starving and you look like you could use a break."

Standish hesitated, then looking around the deserted room he experienced a moment of shame at the behaviour of his co-workers towards this woman and promptly accepted the offer, although at that moment he would have liked nothing better than to lie down in a darkened room and concentrate on riding out the pain that he knew was to come.

"I do believe you and I are on the same wavelength at this moment. Allow me to share with you some of the culinary delights of a little restaurant I know not far from here."

He retrieved his Sig Sauer from the desk drawer and slipped it into the holster nestled in his left armpit then donned his jacket before locking his terminal. Elliott mimicked his actions almost exactly except her weapon was a HK which she slid into a holster in the small of her back.

Together the unlikely pair walked down to the basement carport chatting casually and leaving some open-mouthed agents in their wake when by chance they crossed paths with Agents Tanner, Wilmington and Dunne returning to the office.

"I understand you were previously with the FBI."

Standish lowered his eyes and stared intently at the rosé remaining in the bottom of his glass. While the lunch had been enjoyable the Southerner had been finding it increasingly difficult to maintain focus on what Elliott was saying and portions of the conversation now eluded him completely; in truth his mind was straying more to the welcoming prospect of bed, a dark room, an ice pack and some suitably powerful analgesia, but now she had his undivided attention.

"That's one part of my career that I try not to dwell on."

"Sorry. I don't mean to pry."

He raised his head and met Elliott's gaze. She recognised pain there but no animosity.

"I'm sure you don't."

Zoé crumpled her napkin and dropped it onto her empty plate sorry that she had raised the issue of the agent's former career at all and wondering where to go next with the conversation which had now unaccountably stalled. Standish finished off the last of the wine and wearily rubbed his temples. Most of his meal, Zoé noticed, remained untouched.

"Now, it's my turn to apologise Miss Elliott. I've been very poor company." He sounded tired and although he had masked it well she guessed he was in some discomfort.

"No, don't. You've at least made some effort to make me feel welcome." She glanced at her watch. "Look, it's already past two o'clock and unless I'm very much mistaken you're obviously unwell. How about we forget the coffee and get you home?"

He signalled the waiter for the check.

"An excellent suggestion, Ms. Elliott."

A short time later Standish leaned back gratefully in the passenger seat as Elliott took the wheel, his vision sparkling with black spots exploding into coloured flares in spite of the sunglasses and the darkly tinted glass of the Jaguar. The pain in his head was distracting in its intensity and he inwardly cursed himself for not routinely carrying a supply ergotamine tablets. Elliott had asked for his car keys as soon as they had left the restaurant realising when the colour drained from his face in the bright sunlight that Standish was in no condition to drive. It was a measure of Standish's state of mind that he actually complied without protest and permitted her to pilot the vehicle. Now the ATF agent felt Elliott lean across him and realised that she was buckling him into his seatbelt - smart lady to understand that he was incapable of completing even that small operation for himself. He barely registered the ride, concentrating rather on not embarrassing himself by vomiting as the powerful car surged through the light mid-afternoon traffic, but was aware nonetheless that the woman drove well handling the big V12 with ease.

"Come on, Agent Standish. You're home."

Elliott had, without any fuss, located his townhouse, parked the car and was now coaxing him out of the vehicle. He followed her

stumbling in a blinding technicolour haze, almost tripping on the steps then feeling her arm around his waist as she steadied him, and suddenly he was out of the glaring sunlight and into the cool, darkness of his own home. With a profound sense of relief Standish crossed immediately to the couch and sinking gratefully into the soft leather closed his eyes. A few minutes later he stirred as Zoé loosened the knot of his tie, unfastened his shirt collar and laid a cold pack across the back of his neck.

"You look like death, Standish. Migraine, right?"

He nodded slowly and promptly wished he hadn't.

"You have some medication for it?"

"Bathroom...cabinet." The slight slurring of his speech was not lost on the woman.

Elliott was back in seconds, dropping two of the small, green sub-lingual tablets under his tongue before helping him out of his jacket. With a deft economy of movement Zoé stripped him of his shoulder rig, unclipped the cell phone from his belt and removed his sunglasses before rearranging the cushions on the couch.

"Here. Lie down."

Standish experienced a rush of vertigo as he too quickly changed position then sank listlessly against the leather, fighting rising

nausea and craving relief from the pain thundering in his head. Zoé looked critically at the man lying on the couch. The day had not quite turned out the way she had expected. The lukewarm reception from her future colleagues had been no great surprise, that was the nature of the job; lunch with Standish had been an impulsive gesture on her part -- an opportunity to get to know the agent who had been designated as her minder -- but winding up playing nurse certainly had not been on her agenda. She shrugged out of her jacket and moved purposefully through the unfamiliar house gathering various items together; a blanket, washcloth, ice water and a basin. Returning to the living room she tucked the light cellular blanket around the ATF agent and sat down on the edge of the couch before pouring some of the water into the basin, wringing out the washcloth and placing the folded towel over Standish's eyes.

"That better?"

"You, Miss Elliott, are an angel," he breathed, "And I take back any uncharitable thoughts I might have had about you."

Smiling faintly Zoé finished unfastening his tie and adjusted the cold pack under his neck, her movements economical and businesslike.

"Does this happen often?"

"No. An annual event only I assure you."

She could tell it was an effort for him to speak so she merely sat, occasionally refreshing the cold compresses as she waited for the medication to take effect. Fifteen minutes later she realised some of the tension had gone from his body and that the rhythm of his breathing was subtly changing as he finally relaxed and succumbed to sleep. She rose quietly from the couch and taking off her shoes crossed to the kitchen; initial crisis over she could at least take time out to make some coffee for herself.

The kitchen, as with the living area, was immaculate. Looking around Zoé came to the conclusion that either Standish was never at home, employed a housekeeper or was one incredibly tidy individual. After finally discovering the components she needed to make coffee in various cupboards, plunger, mill, beans -- no such thing as instant in this kitchen -- she filled her cup and, prompted by curiosity, began to move through the rest of the house. She had to admit above all else this man had taste as she navigated her way through rooms filled with objet d'art that brought to mind a private gallery rather than a home but she soon realised that the house reflected nothing of its owner. Zoé felt no representation of the man himself in either the decor or furnishings, only in the study did she see any hint of personality and it was here that she finally sat and felt comfortable. Looking round she knew intuitively that this was where Standish spent much of his time at home; his retreat. Tucking her feet under her in the huge leather chair she glanced idly at the reading material on the side table -- several magazines devoted to the stock market (why was she not surprised?), a publication on military history (interesting), the New York Times and several books on subjects as diverse as antiques, handguns, the Mayan civilisation and the autobiography of the Dalai Lama. Under the literary detritus she found a well-used deck of playing cards and, resigned to a lengthy stay, she began to shuffle them deftly dealing herself a hand of solitaire.

Standish surfaced tentatively unsuccessfully trying to cling to the last remnant of sleep. Awake but initially disorientated he lay quietly for a few moments until he was able to gather his fragmented wits. Resisting any sudden movement, he slowly peeled the damp washcloth from his eyes and was surprised to find the room in darkness; not the darkness of drapes closed against the intrusion of sunlight but the true darkness of night. A soft glow of light came from the hall just enough to dispel utter darkness. He swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and sat up, movements deliberately slow so as not to antagonise the dull ache still remaining in his head; according to his watch it was 11.30pm so he had been asleep over eight hours. He picked up the bottle of pills from the coffee table, took one just to be safe, and stood up. Remembering Elliott's part in the afternoon's proceedings, he wondered if she had caught a cab home then noticed first her jacket thrown over the chair then her shoes kicked behind a chair and with mixed feelings realised that she was still somewhere in the house. In his present condition he would have preferred to be alone with his misery. Moving slowly towards the bathroom he was unsure if the urge to vomit was going to take precedence over the pressing need to empty his bladder but thankfully on reaching the ensuite he successfully managed to answer the call of nature before nausea overtook him.

"Ezra?"

Standish squinted as the bathroom light flicked on, illuminating the tiled expanse of the bathroom and fixing him in its glare as he leaned over the toilet bowl miserably retching. Elliott was beside him in an instant, one hand solicitously on his arm the other rubbing his back as the last of the shuddering spasms passed and he stood trembling from the effort.

"Christ, you look terrible Standish!"

The Southerner wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, torn between disgust at having someone witness his current sorry state and the surprisingly welcome comfort of the woman's touch.

"Excuse me;" he panted raggedly, "I'm usually at my very best when I'm throwing up."

She turned on the faucet at the handbasin and waited while Standish sluiced cold water over his face, rinsed his mouth and washed his hands. Looking at his reflection in the mirror he could understand her concern; he had seen healthier looking corpses. He turned as the woman shut off the flow of water and slipped an arm around his waist.

"Come on. You need to sit down before you fall down."

He had to admit that the sensation of Elliott's body pressing against his own was far from unpleasant and given other circumstances he may even have thought of exploring further in that direction but tonight he was merely glad of her support as the two of them exited the bathroom and crossed the short distance to the bed. Elliott switched on the bedside lamp as Standish pulled off his tie and sank wearily onto the divan only to rise again in faint alarm as the woman first popped the button on his pants then began unfastening his shirt. His protest died as the sudden movement sent a galaxy of stars spinning across his vision and he was forced to surrender his dignity and allow her continue. Within a few minutes she had efficiently stripped him down to his satin boxer shorts and he was lying in reasonable comfort beneath the covers. Retrieving the ergotamine tablets from the living room and finding some anti-nausea medication in the bathroom cabinet she made him take them before allowing him to rest. Sitting beside him she absently massaged his neck and shoulders.

"You should go home, Ms. Elliott," he muttered drowsily, "It's getting late."

"Ezra, please call me Zoé. I think the fact that I just undressed you entitles us to be on a first name basis, don't you?" When he didn't respond she realised he was already asleep. "And if you don't mind I'd rather stay here - it's far better than that cheap hotel the Bureau booked me into."

Zoé had woken promptly at sunrise, just as she always did after a sound night's sleep, in Standish's guest bedroom. After finding the laundry and throwing her clothes into the washing machine she spent fifteen minutes luxuriating in a hot shower then wrapped herself in a towel and padded barefoot out to kitchen. Grabbing an orange juice she briefly ducked into Standish's room to find him still sleeping; sprawled untidily across the bed with both arms outflung and the sheet tangled around his hips, looking curiously young and vulnerable. Zoé withdrew soundlessly not wishing to disturb him unnecessarily while it was still so early. For the next twenty minutes she busied herself making and eating a quick breakfast as she impatiently waited for her clothes to dry. She had just finished donning her still-warm underwear when she heard subdued voices outside and the unmistakable sound of someone trying the front door. Slipping noiselessly into the living room she slid Ezra's SIG from the holster and waited, aiming the heavy weapon two-handed at the opening door, prepared for any unwelcome intruders. So it was that Buck Wilmington and J.D. Dunne came upon her as they roughly jostled each other through the doorway having used their spare key to gain entry, abruptly stopping, slack-jawed, at the sight of the custom's officer standing in just a sports bra and briefs pointing an unfriendly looking nine millimeter automatic in their direction. Wilmington raised his hands in mock surrender, a broad grin on his face as Elliott slowly lowered the pistol and thumbed the safety back into position. Dunne seemed to be having trouble finding somewhere to look, while Wilmington unashamedly allowed his eyes to travel the length and breadth of Elliott's compact and muscular form. Ignoring the open scrutiny of the taller man she took a step forward and replaced Standish's gun in the shoulder rig.

"Oh, it's you two. Tell me, are you in the habit of walking straight into someone's house unannounced?"

Buck and J.D. exchanged amused glances.

"We do when it's a friend and we have the key," countered Wilmington reasonably, glancing around and taking note of Ezra's jacket discarded in one chair, gun and cell phone on the coffee table and Elliott's shoes and jacket carelessly cast aside in and around the second chair. "Where's Ezra? Chris is as mad as hell. Ezra hasn't been answering his phone and we have a briefing at eight."

Zoé struck an unconsciously provocative pose, hands on hips and pelvis tilted forward, as if she would physically block them from moving any further into the house.

"Asleep -- and I strongly suggest that you put out of your mind any thoughts of disturbing him right now."

Buck winked knowingly and nudged his younger companion.

"Sleepless night, huh?"

Elliott narrowed her eyes and looked levelly at the two men deliberately not reacting to Wilmington's innuendo, until they both started to shift restlessly under her intense scrutiny.

"Is this just a wake up call or was there something else?"

"No, ma'am. Just that Ezra has a bad habit of oversleeping. If we'd known he had company........." he left the sentence unfinished.

"Trust me, Mr. Wilmington. Agent Standish will be on time -- I guarantee it. Now, if you'll excuse me I'd like to get dressed."

J.D. beat a hasty retreat recognising the unspoken dismissal, followed by a still smiling Buck.

"See you at eight then, Miss Elliott."

"Indeed, you will Agent Wilmington."

Zoé cursed inwardly as the door closed behind the two men not sure if what had just transpired would hinder or help her. She didn't need to be a candidate for Mensa to know exactly what sordid conclusion Wilmington had come to after seeing her in a state of undress at six in the morning in Standish's house.

She crossed hurriedly to the master bedroom only to find Standish already awake, sitting sleepily on the edge of the bed and rubbing the back of his neck. He looked up as she entered the room his face registering but a fleeting expression of surprise before he recovered his usual equanimity.

"Well, Miss Elliott, am I to assume that rather than take a cab to your lodgings last evening you unselfishly maintained a night-long vigil in concern for my welfare?"

Zoé shot him a glance of pure disdain that would have withered lesser men.

"As a matter of fact I spent a very restful night in your guest bedroom." She moved to sit beside him on the bed, her expression softening. "That is, of course, following a brief interlude during which you threw up in the toilet and finally allowed me the dubious pleasure of getting you out of your clothes."

Standish lowered his head into his hands.

"Dear Lord, yes. I'm so sorry."

She smiled suddenly and squeezed his shoulder.

"Don't be. It wasn't exactly the sort of introduction I'd recommend to everyone but I'll say one thing, it was different. How's the head this morning?"

"Better," he acknowledged, slowly raising his head, "Apart from feeling like a locomotive ran over me I'm fine."

The woman leaned forward and rested her forearms on her knees.

"Wilmington and Dunne were just here."

"Oh?" He registered her less than enthusiastic tone, glanced briefly at her attire and came to the obvious conclusion himself. "Oh."

She sighed in resignation.

"C'est la vie! But more importantly, Larabee's called a briefing at eight."

Standish checked the gold Rolex on his wrist and wearily stood up wishing he could just crawl back under the covers knowing that particular luxury was not to be afforded him.

"Well, might I suggest that given Mr. Larabee's summons we move with alacrity. The man definitely does not take kindly to latecomers."

Zoé stood up.

"Does that by any chance translate to 'move your arse woman or we'll be late?'"

Standish grinned mischievously as he walked to the bathroom.

"Couldn't have put it better myself."

Standish shrugged into the shoulder rig settling the harness comfortably across his back and adjusting the Sig to his satisfaction, before donning the grey jacket of his Hugo Boss suit. Consulting his watch he finally collected car keys and cell phone from the coffee table and as an afterthought swept up the small bottle of ergotamine tablets. Smiling at Elliott he dropped them into his pocket.

"Ready?"

She sat with her head on one side examining him critically.

"You know you still look terrible."

He deliberately feigned misunderstanding and looked down at his perfectly accoutréd body.

"Oh? I rather like this suit."

"You know what I mean."

He did indeed. The shower had refreshed him but had been unable to erase the dark shadows of fatigue and his eyes remained heavily shot through with vivid streaks of red.

"Is this better?"

He put on his sunglasses and moved to open the door. Elliott wordlessly gathered her few things together and allowed Standish to usher her out to the car, beset by misgivings that the day was about to get very complicated.

Chris Larabee checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Sanchez, Jackson and Tanner already chatted quietly by the coffee machine; with ten minutes to go three of his team were still missing. A few minutes later he glanced up as, with their usual lack of decorum, Dunne and Wilmington exploded noisily into the office shouting greetings to the others in between excitable bursts of conversation. Shaking his head slowly he wondered if Buck would ever grow up.

"Where's Ezra? Did he come?"

Larabee had tried to contact the agent the previous night but his mobile phone had repeatedly diverted to voice-mail and Standish had not responded to the messages he had left on his answering machine for which lapse in protocol Standish would, in due course, be receiving a reprimand. Wilmington and Dunne had been charged with the task of ensuring the Southerner put in a timely appearance at the morning's briefing. Larabee frowned, innocent of the double entendre, as Wilmington seemed to be suddenly overcome with uncontrollable mirth at his question. Reluctant to draw Larabee's ire, Buck was sensible enough to control his laughter and hurriedly assume a more dignified mien.

"We called at Ezra's place and delivered the message.........." Buck confirmed soberly, pausing for effect, "...to a certain visiting custom's officer."

Larabee, in no mood for Wilmington's bizarre sense of humour, was about to snarl angrily at him when a sudden silence descended and the group turned in a single body to stare, speechless, as the final member of his team strolled through the door with his arm draped casually around an animated and smiling Zoé Elliott.

During the briefing Larabee's gaze was continually drawn to the unusually pale countenance of his best undercover operative who had positioned himself unobtrusively in the corner, where he now leaned against the wall with his arms folded. Standish appeared to be majorly hung-over and the team leader had been shocked when the Southerner had removed his designer sunglasses to reveal the dark semi-circles beneath his eye sockets. He mentally shrugged; no wonder Ezra had not answered the phone -- he had obviously been otherwise engaged. Yet, Larabee had misgivings about accepting these particular facts at face value. For one thing it was completely out of character for Ezra to allow his social life to encroach on his work and while he had been known at times to drink to excess those rare episodes had never interfered with his duties.

"So Josiah and Nathan will work surveillance?"

Larabee realised his concentration had wavered as J.D's voice cut through his thoughts and brought him rapidly back to the briefing.

"That's right. This is Team 3's bust, we're just going along for the ride but it's a big one and could get messy. Vin, Ezra and I will provide back up while Buck and J.D. are on standby." He turned to Zoé. "You can either go with Josiah and Nathan or partner me."

"I'd rather not do surveillance," she answered quickly, "I prefer to be where the action is."

Larabee nodded abruptly, not failing to notice at the tail of his vision Vin Tanner's subtle change in expression which for his friend spoke volumes. The Texan was obviously displeased at the allocation.

"Okay, you're with me then. You have two hours."

The team broke up and one by one started to file out of the office, Standish the last to move from his position against the wall.

"Ezra."

Standish paused with his hand on the door knob, turning at the expected summons to face his boss.

"Sit down."

Closing the door softly behind the others he did as he was bidden and waited for Larabee to speak.

"You weren't answering your phone last night."

Ezra inclined his head in assent but refrained from offering a response, prompting an agitated Larabee to stand up and run his hand through his hair in exasperation.

"Talk to me, Ezra. You leave work for lunch yesterday with our...guest..., effectively disappear for eighteen hours, refuse to answer your phone and come into work looking like shit! Now I have Buck telling everyone who will listen that you and Elliott spent the night together. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

Standish snorted derisively.

"Is there any point? It seems I already sit condemned before judge, jury and executioner."

"That's crap, Ezra and you know it! This is not like you."

The Southerner sat in silence for a few moments before raising his head and meeting Larabee's steely gaze.

"Elliott and I did go out to lunch. I became ill. She drove me home and yes, she did stay the night -- playing nursemaid while I either slept or puked! I had my phone switched to vibrate and the answerphone was on mute. That's the truth of it, Chris. End of story. No dramas, no intrigues, no booze, no sex. Disappointed?"

Larabee sighed and shook his head.

"Only you could make life so complicated, Ezra." He walked around the desk and sat down. "Are you all right now? You don't look so great."

Standish looked mildly surprised.

"That's it? You believe me?"

"Is there any reason I shouldn't?"

"No. I've told you the absolute truth. Ask Elliott."

Larabee ignored the challenge.

"In two hours we're going in for a major bust. Can you promise me that you're 100% fit?"

Standish smiled roguishly.

"Never better."

"Liar," accused Larabee without rancour, "Let me down and I'll personally have your balls! Now get out of here and Ezra, get some gear for Elliott. And make sure she has body armour. It won't look good for us if she gets herself killed."

J.D. sat behind the wheel of Wilmington's pickup beating a tattoo on any available surface in counterpoint to the pounding beat issuing from the Chevy's radio. Buck slid lazily down in the passenger seat and backhanded the younger man in the thigh.

"Here they come."

Dunne turned the volume down a notch and watched as a dark blue Ford sedan eased into the kerb fifty yards ahead. Buck swatted at a persistent fly and frowned at his companion.

"Goddamn J.D. if you're gonna park next to a dumpster you could at least close the window."

The younger man merely grinned seemingly oblivious to both the ripe odour invading the vehicle and the swarming insects.

"Leastways we'll have this stretch of the street to ourselves."

Four men exited the Ford; the two dealers and their personal bodyguards, both powerfully muscled and dangerous-looking individuals.

"That's Paco Giuliano," murmured Buck quietly, identifying one of the heavies, "Glad this is McMurray's baby, kid."

J.D. scanned the almost empty street that was made up of mainly warehouses and a few shopfronts as Wilmington kept his eyes fixed on the four men. After a cursory inspection of the area the quartet entered a judas gate in one of the warehouses and disappeared.

"So what happens now?"

"With any luck we just get to sit here and watch."

A few moments later, a sleek Mercedes rapidly approached from the opposite end of the street and parked in front of the Ford, five more players boiling from the open doors.

"Shit! This part isn't in the script. Who the hell are these jokers?" He turned to Dunne. "How many guys did Chris say McMurray's got in there?"

"Two."

"This is not good, J.D." He activated his communicator. "Chris..."

Larabee's voice immediately crackled through his ear-piece: "I see 'em. Maintain station."

The Team 7 leader observed the unexpected development from a second storey window across the street from the warehouse with Tanner, Standish and Elliott waiting in reserve for the signal to move. Tanner and Larabee squatted shoulder to shoulder in conference at the window while Standish leaned easily against the wall. Elliott, feeling like a rookie, hovered at the periphery of the group her anxiety showing in her movements as she found it impossible to remain still. Catching her eye Standish smiled and winked. Since the briefing she had been trying to distance herself from the Southerner for both their sakes, Standish she knew had borne the brunt of Larabee's displeasure over the events of the previous night, and she was loath to damage in any way the cohesion of the group through being perceived to be aligning herself with any particular one of them. She ruefully glanced at Tanner and Larabee. Not that it was going to be a problem with either of those two. So far Larabee had accepted her on sufferance and the young Texan agent had barely acknowledged her presence. Impulsively she moved closer to Standish, not failing to notice the flicker in Larabee's gaze as he marked her movement.

"How's the head?" She kept her voice low.

"I'll live. How's the ego?"

Zoé grinned quite aware that he was referring to the belief among the team that they had slept together. She held her thumb and index finger a millimetre apart and they both laughed. The two men at the window momentarily speared disapproving glances in their direction before returning their attention to the street below. The sound of a single gunshot from the warehouse charged the room with an almost palpable tension. At a signal from Larabee Standish smoothly made the transition from relaxation to animation in a millisecond and disappeared out of the door. Tanner followed in his shadow clutching the sniper rifle that was his tool of trade. Waiting in anticipation for her own instructions Elliott was conscious of Larabee barking instructions into his headset mic then he too was moving, catching her by the upper arm as he passed and pulling her into his wake.

"Come on. We're on."

The Team 7 leader ran for the stairs but surprised her by taking the flight up rather than descending to ground level. Zoé followed, adrenaline pumping freely through her body, keeping as close to the wiry ATF agent as she dared. Larabee exited the building through the fire escape and again chose to move upward and onto the roof. She noticed that he didn't look back but assumed that she would not only follow but keep up with his pace. She smiled inwardly knowing that she was equal to the challenge any of these men could throw at her as far as fitness and athleticism were concerned. Larabee dropped face-down on corrugated metal and wriggled, knees and elbows, to the crest of the roof. More gunshots cracked in the still air and she could clearly hear the whine of the ricochets in the warehouse. Her headset filled her ears with disjointed commands, responses and general babble but she was able to interpret enough of what was being communicated to realise that the bust had gone to hell in short order. One agent from Team 3 was already down, and in spite of reinforcements it looked like a stand-off was developing. No-one was coming out and, apparently no-one was going in either. Looking from side to side Zoé could see Wilmington and Dunne moving in from the south and on the neighbouring roof Tanner was already drawing a bead on a target within the building. She had no doubt that he was about to alter the odds slightly in the favour of the law enforcement teams. Larabee was talking earnestly into his communicator, instigating new strategy on the fly. Conscious that time was wasting, and that every passing minute increased the danger to the ATF men already in the building Zoé quickly scanned the rooftop. A few yards to her left a narrow girder spanned the road joining the two buildings. She elbowed Larabee and jerked her head towards the steel beam her intention clear. The flinty blue eyes appraised the feasibility of using it to cross and at once dismissed it.

"Forget it. We're not in the circus, Elliott."

"I can do it," she insisted, "If I go over this way, we've got the element of surprise. It could be enough of a distraction to swing the odds in our favour."

Risking the wrath of her new boss she skittered crabwise towards the girder and squatted in front of the length of steel. It was slightly wider than a gymnastic balance beam and studded with steel rivets; she checked the soles of her running shoes and, confident that they would not slip on the weathered surface, stood upright. Looking down the length of the girder she momentarily raised herself on her toes and setting foot on the metal ran lightly across its width to land easily on the opposite side. Powerless to follow Larabee watched her progress with trepidation, but so graceful was her execution of the stunt that at one point he was certain she would pause midway to perform a walkover. With a wave she disappeared over the roof top and Larabee turned his attention to co-ordinating a new attack.

With his men alerted to Elliott's presence in the warehouse and redeployed to take advantage of the fact Larabee spared a moment to scan the opposite rooftop narrowing his eyes as he searched for some sign of his wayward agent. Nothing.

"Elliott. Talk to me," he rasped down the mic.

His own men he knew well enough to second-guess their actions, Elliott was a maverick and there was no telling what her response to any given situation would be. Hell, she wasn't even ATF and at the moment she was alone in the shark's mouth without anyone to back her up. A volley of gunfire reminded him that there was no time for deliberation left to them and he darted across the tiles to join Tanner on the adjacent roof. The sharpshooter squeezed off two shots in rapid succession then paused, his eye still glued to the telescopic sight as Larabee dropped face-down beside him.

"Lost your partner, cowboy?"

"It's called gaining a tactical advantage," replied Larabee, as he picked up the binoculars lying beside his friend and trained the powerful lenses on the building opposite.

"Maybe you should've gone with her."

Tanner's face remained deadpan but Larabee could detect the laughter in his voice. He glanced at the steel beam once again then back at the Texan.

"Yeah, right."

Elliott peered over the edge of the gutter trying to find the best way to enter the warehouse unobserved. Eyeing the loading platform jutting out from the second storey she tested the gutter for strength and swung over, hanging for a moment before she dropped lightly into a crouch on the floor of the wooden platform. She spoke two words into her headset before flicking it off.

"I'm in."

She knew she was probably breaking every rule in the book but the last thing she wanted was for the static squawk of a communicator to alert the entire building to her whereabouts. She wiped the sweat from her palms and adjusted her grip on the HK. Time to go to work.

To Elliott's amazement and immense satisfaction the second level, a mezzanine floor, was unguarded but the area below her was a hive of activity with a dozen men brandishing arms but deadlocked in a stalemate. Among the diverse weapons on display she identified an Ingram and all too aware of it's murderous firepower she decided to avoid any direct confrontation with that particular individual. Body armour or no she was not likely to walk away from such an encounter unscathed. As tempting as it was to draw a bead on any one of the men below she knew she was obliged to make herself known before firing a shot. One man lay on the floor both hands clutching his abdomen as he moaned softly, his legs drawn up in pain. ATF. Two men stood off to one side, one holding the other in a choke hold and pressing an impressively large handgun to his neck. She judged the guy with the gun to be the second ATF agent and his captive to be a major player; it was the only scenario that made any sense. She stood up and assumed the firing position.

"ATF! Freeze!"

The reaction to her unexpected appearance was almost comical but it also created sufficient confusion to allow a shift in the balance of power. As heads swivelled in her direction there was a sudden enfilade of gunfire to which she quickly added her own contribution. Two men dropped bonelessly to the floor one after the other - headshot -- and she guessed that Tanner had nailed them from his vantage point across the street. She fired several shots which scattered those still standing, then the world seemed to explode around her ears as ATF agents poured into the building to join the firefight. She heard the familiar stutter of the Ingram as it poured out its deadly rounds at a rate of a thousand a minute and a moment later she was thrown against the wall as a stray round punched into her kevlar vest driving the air from her lungs. Fighting for breath she felt as if a sledgehammer had struck her in the side and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick, but the feeling passed and she scrambled to her feet as the gunfire abruptly died leaving a ringing echo in the cavernous building. Holding her side and leaning over the rail she caught sight of Standish, Wilmington and Dunne amongst the Team 3 agents as they rolled up the operation and secured the area. The agent who had held the hostage at gunpoint looked in her direction and she straightened, composing herself before anyone else pinpointed her position. Taking a deep breath she started down the metal stairs to join the activity below. She tried to make her way unobtrusively towards the Team Seven members but the undercover agent moved in on her.

"Lady, I don't know where the fuck you came from but I'm sure glad you did!"

She half-smiled then looked sadly at the man now being removed from the scene by the paramedics.

"Is your partner all right?"

He looked anxiously after the departing gurney.

"Gotta go, doll. And thanks."

He made a hasty withdrawal and disappeared into the back of the waiting ambulance.

Zoé scanned the area, now a confusion of milling ATF agents, hoping to seek out Standish and the others but stopped abruptly as her eyes locked with the steely blue gaze of Chris Larabee, Tanner beside him, searching also but for her.

Larabee pinned her against the wall, his extended arm resting against the wall beside her head, a move she knew was intended to intimidate her.

"I ought to bust your ass, Elliott."

His voice was low and controlled with just the right amount of menace to effectively communicate the fact that she had managed to majorly piss him off. Zoé crossed her arms in front of her, a shield against his quiet anger.

"I accept responsibility for my own actions," she retorted stubbornly.

"Well, I have to take responsibility for everyone's actions and the last thing I need right now is a pint sized rebel working to her own agenda."

She tilted her head up to look him in the eye refusing to allow him to bully her.

"Would you feel better if you hit me?"

Someone nearby choked back a laugh, she thought it was Buck.

"Don't tempt me, Elliott."

He pushed himself away from the wall and turned his back effectively dismissing her.

"That's it, guys. Show's over."

She wasn't sure if he was referring to her public upbraiding or the bust.

As the four men ambled away Larabee suddenly turned back to her before he too strode away.

"You know you scared the crap out of me with that stunt!"

Zoé sat quietly in the back of the SUV wedged between the broad shoulders of Standish on one side and Tanner on the other. Sanchez and Jackson filled the remaining passenger seats while Larabee took the wheel. The five men talked almost incessantly riding the crest of an adrenaline high while she had already slipped into the trough of that particular wave. She squirmed awkwardly, claustrophobic in spite of the vehicles generous dimensions, silently grateful when Standish responded by pressing himself against the door and rested his arm along the back of the seat to allow her more space. Her side ached where the bullet had punched with such force into the body armour and while thankful to have been saved from serious injury she guessed that she would be sporting a sizable bruise for some days to come. Closing her eyes she allowed her head to fall back against the seat and let the sound of conversation as it ebbed and flowed lull her into a meditative trance. She sighed as the Southern agent's fingers absently caressed her hair and came to the conclusion that she could easily get used to be being close to this man, even if the others continued to consider her a pariah.

Elliott sat through the debriefing going mechanically through the motions like an automaton then quickly excused herself and escaped to the relative safety of the change room once it was over. Zoé looked critically at herself in the mirror, brushing her dark hair out of her eyes as she studied her reflection. Navy fatigues coupled with a white T-shirt did nothing to conceal her feminine attributes and she wondered just what she would have to do to earn the professional respect of these men. Seven separate rites of passage were probably more than she could cope with. She pulled the stretch cotton out of the waistband of the fatigues and examined her left side; a raised fist size bruise had already developed in the space between her lowest rib and her waist. She ran her fingers experimentally over the area and winced, surprised at the pain which lanced through her side. Still, she thought, it was better than a bullet. She sat for a moment on the bench in front of the lockers then, too tired to move, she stretched out and contemplated whether she could last six months. From behind closed eyelids Zoé reflected on the operation. Her significant if unorthodox contribution had at least been acknowledged in the debrief, although Larabee's acknowledgement was a two edged sword and she had read in his words the implied criticism of her individualistic approach. His initially icy demeanour however had thawed a degree or two once his anger had dissipated and, she recalled, he had been the first to help her off with the bulky body armour on their return to the vehicles. Even Wilmington had tacitly given her his seal of approval with a hearty slap on the back as she had climbed into the SUV after the bust. Sighing, she rested her forearm over her eyes and tried to ignore the pain of her bruised ribs, pondering if she would have to keep proving herself to earn any respect. If that was the case she wondered if she would still be in one piece at the end of it. Nursing her side, she swung her legs over the edge of the bench, stood up and checked her watch: 15.40. She would write her report and then with any luck she could take off for a hot bath and an early night.

In the bull pen, Standish had already shed his fatigues and was sitting at his desk, immaculate even in shirtsleeves and suspenders, his hair still damp from the shower. Wilmington was parading around in a state of high excitement and semi-undress as he continued to recount various aspects of the operation to anyone who would listen while Dunne, already changed into jeans and T-shirt, added his own enthusiastic counterpoint. As she passed his desk Wilmington playfully reached out and caught her around the waist pulling her towards him.

"....and this little filly," he continued, "should be in the Olympic gymnastic squad."

He stopped suddenly as he realised that Elliott had unexpectedly folded, clutching her left side as she hung onto his arm for support. Deftly switching his grip he held her upright then gently lowered her onto his own chair, genuine concern etched on his face.

"Zoé?"

She tried to laugh but couldn't quite carry it off.

"Sorry. You caught me off guard."

The big man crouched beside the chair his hands still around her small waist.

"No. I hurt you."

"I'm all right, Buck. Just winded." She made a half-hearted attempt to stand but found herself too easily restrained, and suddenly the idea of protest evaporated.

"Bullshit."

Without ceremony he pulled up her T-shirt and revealed the vivid purple and black haematoma just below the ribs.

"Jesus!" This from the young Dunne.

Suddenly, she became the focus of the entire group's attention and seven pairs of eyes reflected various emotions from mild interest through to real concern. The African-American agent, Jackson, broke through the ring of observers to squat easily beside Buck.

"Nate's a doctor," explained Buck, "Can he take a look?"

Zoé smiled tiredly as she looked at the cluster of agents surrounding her.

"I don't see why not. Everyone else is."

Fifteen minutes later Zoé reclined on the couch in Larabee's office with an apologetic and solicitous Buck holding an ice pack to her side as she swallowed the Percodan urged upon her by the softly spoken doctor.

"I'm all right now. Truly," she had insisted, "I feel so stupid. It's only a bruise."

Nathan had indeed satisfied himself that there was only soft tissue damage and had massaged the haematoma with a heparinoid ointment in order to reduce the blood clot but nonetheless had insisted that she lie down for half an hour or so.

"Just rest up awhile," he advised, "Give the codeine a chance to kick in before you start any more of those acrobatics of yours."

Zoé nodded, for once not in the least inclined to argue. After what only seemed like a moment but which in truth was an hour and a half later she stirred in response to her name being softly called. Opening her eyes she found Standish sitting on the edge of the couch.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, your rescue is at hand. I believe it's time to escape the confines of this miserable edifice and retire to more a more favourable environment."

She yawned inelegantly and pushed herself upright, ignoring the stiffness in her side.

"If that means you're taking me home, lead the way, Prince Charming."

Ezra guided the Jaguar skilfully through the heavy late afternoon commuter traffic quietly humming to a piece of classical music that

Zoé recognised but couldn't name which was playing softly through the car's state-of-the-art sound system. As the traffic started to thin out she realised that they were leaving the inner city and following the same route she had taken the previous day to Standish's house.

"This isn't the way to my hotel," she protested.

"No."

"But I thought you were taking me home."

"I am."

"My home. That is my hotel."

"I believe you're far more comfortable in my guest room."

She thought of the cramped and aging hotel room she had been allocated and having already spent one night under his roof already she knew he was right.

"But I have nothing to wear. All my things are..."

"Taken care of. Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Dunne are at this very moment checking you out of that plague pit that the Bureau calls a hotel."

Zoé turned to stare at him in disbelief.

"Do I have any say in this?"

Standish changed down through the gears as he negotiated the traffic, keeping his eyes on the road as he answered.

"I'm just returning a favour, Miss Elliott. By all means you can look for more suitable lodgings whenever you're ready but for tonight I'm offering my unconditional hospitality."

She searched his face for any sign of masculine wiles or artifice that might signal danger ahead but she could read nothing from that handsome but closed countenance.

"You don't have to do this."

"I don't have to," agreed the Southerner, "But I want to."

Zoé impulsively reached across the space between them and squeezed his arm.

"Thank-you." Leaning back and nestling into the black leather upholstery she stared pensively out of the side window. "You know something Ezra? If Buck had offered me the same I would have refused."

Standish laughed in genuine amusement as he powered through the gears and accelerated away from the remaining traffic.

"That alone, Miss Elliott, makes you an incredibly astute woman."

Zoé combed her still damp hair into some semblance of order and cast an appraising eye over her reflection. Now barefoot and dressed in loose linen pants with a white cotton over-shirt she felt pleasantly relaxed. In fact, if she tried hard enough she could even put aside the thought that she was three thousand miles from home and in the house of a virtual stranger. She could even pretend that the unrelenting pain in her side wasn't there but she couldn't get out of her mind the absolute reality that she was trying to operate in a world she didn't completely understand with a group of men who resented her very existence.

Steeling herself, Zoé followed the sound of voices out to the patio and finally located Standish, Wilmington and Dunne sitting around a barbecue table conducting a lively debate as to the quality of imported beer over the domestic product. She noticed that Wilmington and Dunne upholding their side of the argument each held a can of Coors' while Standish was, predictably, drinking Heineken and eloquently extolling the virtues of Danish beer. Lowering herself into a vacant chair she cautiously stretched out her linen-clad legs not wanting to aggravate the throbbing ache in her side and wriggled her bare toes.

"Beer, Zoé?"

She looked across at Buck who was offering a chilled Coors'.

"God no!" She exclaimed good humouredly, "It all tastes like dishwater to me but if you've got something stronger on offer I wouldn't say no."

"Ezra here's got just about anything you could wish for. Just name your poison."

"Bourbon?"

Standish rose sinuously and crossed the patio to access the bar in the den.

"With ice or water?"

"Coke."

Ezra arched a critical eyebrow at her in an expression that positively screamed 'philistine' at her choice but nonetheless acquiesced and promptly returned with a heavy cut glass tumbler, while murmuring a protest at the adulteration of perfectly good Kentucky bourbon. The strong, smoky flavour of the liquor struck her palate and she had no doubt that his heavy hand with the spirits had been intentional; in a glass that probably held six ounces at a stretch she judged three ounces of it was alcohol. As a purely social drinker she estimated that after two of Ezra's drinks she would be completely legless. Meeting his eyes over the rim of the glass she was forced to smile at the laughter she saw reflected there. Maybe the evening would not be a complete disaster after all.

The four of them shared a take-out Chinese meal, several more drinks and an abundance of idle conversation which Wilmington dominated with his outrageously improper stories that elicited from the others either protestations of disbelief or outright hilarity until slowly, in the relaxed atmosphere, the tensions of the day dissipated. By the time Dunne and Wilmington left shortly after eleven, Zoé came to the conclusion that she liked both of them; even Buck's continual flirtation with her became more a source of amusement than irritation although that could possibly be attributable to the generous amount of alcohol she had imbibed. Wilmington had apologised several times during the course of the evening for his rough handling of her in the office and she believed he was truly chagrined that he had unintentionally hurt her. It was plainly obvious that Buck was one of those rare specimens of manhood who genuinely enjoyed being in the company of women even if he was suspicious of working with them as equals. Standish on the other hand had become less talkative as the evening progressed and even now seemed preoccupied, still nursing a half-full tumbler of whisky and staring pensively into its' depths. Zoé smothered a yawn and stretched out pleasantly tired but not yet ready for sleep. As if her actions had broken a spell the Southerner lifted his head to look at her and then drained the remains of his drink.

"Well, Miss Elliott, I think the evening went rather well considering the inauspicious start to the day."

Zoé laughed.

"Ezra, why is it you make me feel like a crabby, old, spinster school-teacher? For God's sake call me Zoé."

Standish inclined his head slightly in tacit assent then pushed himself out of the chair and in three strides crossed the distance between her chair and his, offering his hand to help her out of her seat.

"By all means, Zoé. Now might I suggest we withdraw indoors before it gets much colder."

She allowed him to assist her to her feet, relieved that she could stand without too much help, and indeed his hands were icy although she had thought the night quite pleasant.

"God, you're freezing!"

He ushered her inside and closed the sliding door behind them.

"These Georgia bones don't take too kindly to the mountain air."

"Georgia? That explains the old fashioned Southern hospitality."

Zoé realised that he was looking at her with a puzzled expression on his face and she turned to face him taking one of his hands in hers.

"Why are you doing all this for me, Ezra?"

He raised his free hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Because, my dear, you're young, you're beautiful and you're a long way from home."

She smiled and squeezed his hand.

"And you, sir, are a perfect Southern gentleman."

<<<<< >>>>>

"I don't think Chris likes me."

Ezra took his eyes from the road a moment to glance at her.

"Give the man his due, Zoé - he just doesn't know quite what to make of you. To make matters worse you really know how to yank his chain."

"What's the problem?" she retorted defensively, "Don't I have the right hormones? I didn't realise testosterone was a prerequisite for joining the ATF."

The Southerner raised a questioning eyebrow at her sudden outburst and returned his attention to the morning traffic.

"I believe," he explained patiently, "That Mr. Larabee finds it difficult to send a woman, however capable she might be, into a potentially lethal engagement."

"Why?"

"If you must know, for most men there's something inherently abhorrent about a woman dying a violent death."

She twisted in her seat.

"And there's nothing abhorrent about a man dying a violent death? Is my life worth more because I'm female?"

Standish halted at a red light and fixed her with a look which spoke of incredible sadness.

"Not worth more but infinitely more precious."

Elliott looked quickly away.

"All I want to be able to do is operate on equal terms and not to have anyone make allowances for me. Is that so hard?"

Standish accelerated away from the line as the signal changed to green.

"For Chris it probably is. I shouldn't tell you this but he lost his wife and son a few years ago in an accident; killed in a bomb blast. I think you remind him too much of Sarah."

Zoé straightened in her seat and unclipped her seatbelt as Standish drove the Jaguar into the ATF underground parking garage.

"Well, I can't do much about that can I? I'll just keep my head down and do my job and try not to rattle his cage too much."

"I would personally be much obliged if you would do just that. Mr. Larabee can be cantankerous enough without you actively encouraging his ire."

They were late as usual. In all her working career Zoé had never been late, since moving in with Ezra she had not managed to make one day even remotely on time. It had finally stopped bothering her after the first week and she just accepted the fact that unless she wanted to find an alternative form of transport that she was destined to go along with Ezra's leisurely approach to starting work. At least today they were only twenty minutes overdue and it was, after all, Friday.

Zoé quickly went to her desk and checked her email before helping herself to coffee. The office was relatively quiet and she noticed that both Buck and JD were missing from their customary stations, which probably accounted for the unusually peaceful atmosphere. Nathan sketched a friendly wave in her direction and continued typing industriously at his computer. Chris strolled out of his office, a wad of faxes in his hand and without looking up addressed Standish.

"Aren't you due in court this morning, Ezra?"

Standish checked his watch as he continued to gather stray files into his briefcase.

"Correct, Mr. Larabee," agreed the unfazed undercover agent without any suggestion of either remorse or concern.

"In precisely fifteen minutes?"

Even Standish understood when not to press his team leader too far, and Larabee's stern countenance alerted the Southerner to the fact that this morning was one of those instances. He rapidly gathered the last of his gear together.

"On my way."

Zoé smiled as he made a hurried exit, as reluctant as the rest of them to incur Larabee's wrath, then turned her attention to the stack of files in her in tray. The fact that she was in a different country with a different agency did not alter the basic requirement of attending to the minutiae of everyday routine. Dotting the 'i's' and crossing the 't's' - the attention to detail - was what won or lost cases. There was no point in expending valuable resources and risking lives to bring the criminal element to justice if when the perpetrators were brought to trial the evidence was lacking. With that comforting thought in her mind, Zoé mounted an attack on her own quota of reports.

Chris Larabee watched the Englishwoman as, head bent in concentration, her fingers flew over the keyboard. It surprised him that in the two weeks she had been on board she had succeeded in finding her own niche which amazingly had kept intact the finely balanced symbiosis of the group. The introduction of an outsider into the team, more importantly a woman, had the potential for disaster that Larabee had not wanted to contemplate but so far his fears had been groundless. It had taken little time for Buck and JD to be completely won over by her while she and Ezra had established an almost instantaneous rapport that seemed to be mutually beneficial; and Larabee had chosen not to examine the relationship too closely. Both Nathan and Josiah had ultimately accepted her with their usual degree of equanimity in spite of some initial misgivings and while not overly friendly with their guest worker neither were they hostile towards her. Larabee's gaze slid to Vin Tanner a few desks away. Tanner had uncharacteristically and inexplicably proved to be the exception and while he had not entered into open conflict with Elliott, his body language left no doubt to his true feelings. The Texan had gone out of his way to avoid any direct association with the woman and their working relationship was confined to bare essentials. Larabee knew that if his friend continued along that track he would be forced to take action before the brewing discontent had a chance to grow into something far more malignant and destructive.

<<<<< >>>>>

"I don't think I should go."

The young customs officer stood stiffly in front of Chris Larabee's desk and tried to match his unwavering stare already knowing that she was fighting a losing battle .

"It's not an option, Elliott."

"But I'm not a part of this team."

Larabee raised an eyebrow.

"I thought that was the whole point of the exercise."

She tried again.

"This is a guy thing. I'm not going to fit in."

Larabee sighed and pushed himself away from the desk.

"You've been with us what....two - three weeks now? Time for a little team-building and the way we do that - and let off some steam - around here is to get away for a few days."

"And you don't think that me being the only female is a little unfair?"

"On who?"

"On me!"

"Come on, Elliott. No-one's about to take advantage of you. For God's sake you live with Ezra already!"

"That's different," she protested.

Larabee sighed in exasperation.

"This is important, Zoé. Don't make me have to pull rank on you."

The woman straightened and fixed him with a penetrating glare that only partially succeeded in reflecting her extreme displeasure.

"Okay. You win. I'll go, but don't blame me if it turns out to be a disaster."

"Fine. And make sure you get Ezra here on time too. We leave at five a.m."

Elliott turned abruptly and strode out of the office, her retreating back a study in contained fury. Larabee shook his head slowly. Women!

They were taking Chris' Dodge Ram as well as Nathan's Suburban this trip in order to accommodate not only the team but equipment and supplies as well. Nevertheless it was an exercise in logistics to distribute equipment and personnel between the two vehicles in spite of the Suburban's huge capacity. Nathan, Josiah, Buck and JD had unilaterally decided that they were going to travel together leaving Ezra and Zoé to either join the more boisterous of the two crews or make up the second party with the taciturn Vin and their illustrious leader who could make a stone look talkative. Zoé suspected the decision also had something to do with the fact that the Suburban carried all the provisions which included several crates of beer. Ezra opted for the quiet life choosing to accompany the least verbose members of the team in the Ram and Zoé tagged along by default. The seven were obviously quite familiar with the drill, leaving her standing awkwardly to one side feeling slightly out of place as preparations were completed and everyone started to climb into the vehicles. Larabee rescued her by placing a hand on her shoulder and steering her towards the Ram.

"Might as well ride up front with us, Zoé. Believe me, Ezra will be asleep before we hit the end of the block."

Chris ushered her into the front seat then moved around to slide behind the wheel, while Vin climbed in after her. She was thankful that the cabin was more than wide enough to accommodate the three of them as she did not relish the prospect of riding for several hours sandwiched between the two men neither of whom she yet felt entirely comfortable around. Vin still treated her with cool reserve as if he hadn't quite worked out the nature of the beast and whether or not he should be threatened, while Chris although friendly enough just plain intimidated her. She sighed and fastened her seat-belt; if nothing else this was likely to be an interesting trip.

Elliott woke up with a neck-snapping start, unaware that she had even fallen asleep and embarrassed by the fact that she had obviously made herself quite comfortable against Tanner of all people as the rhythm of the truck's movement combined with the steady murmur of the V8 engine had lulled her to sleep. She quickly pushed herself upright mumbling an apology and brushing her hair out of her face, trying not to manhandle the quiet Texan as she hastily broke contact.

"S'okay. I ain't got nothin' catchin', " he drawled, withdrawing his arm which she only now realised had been draped around her shoulders.

She moved her head experimentally and winced as cramped muscles protested, rubbing the side of her slender neck in an attempt to ease the tightness there. She stiffened at the unexpected contact of a firm hand descending on her shoulder which began massaging her neck, gentle fingers working to relieve the painful spasm.

"Better?"

Zoé rotated her neck and flexed her shoulder, moaning in a pain/pleasure response triggered by the Texan's touch. She turned, slightly puzzled, to look at the usually reserved agent and gave a final shrug of her shoulder as he withdrew his hand.

"Thanks." She transferred her gaze to the road ahead and cast a glance at Larabee who was starting to apply the brakes and she realised that he was turning the Dodge into the thickly wooded area to the right of the road.

"Where are we now?"

He pointed ahead.

"About ten miles up this track is where we're headed."

"You mean we're there?"

"Yes, ma'am," interjected Tanner, "and going just about as high as you're likely to get in these parts of the Rockies."

She quickly discovered just how right Vin was. The four room cabin stood in a small clearing surrounded on three sides by dense evergreen forest and the rugged peaks of the Rocky Mountains, the fourth side was bordered by a lake. The two dusty vehicles stood to one side of the cabin, various pieces of equipment having been disgorged onto the gravel parkway as the trucks were unpacked. Walking slowly across the dewy grass she dug her hands in the pockets of her fleece lined jacket and watched her breath mist in the cold, crisp air. This was one of those days when it felt good to be alive and she realised that she was glad that Chris had pressured her into making the trip with them. On reflection Zoé had to admit that she genuinely liked all the team but she had some misgiving as to whether the feeling was reciprocated. While she had developed a close and easy going relationship with Ezra, and Buck continued to flirt outrageously with her, she remained uncertain about her place within the team. J.D. seemed always to be in awe of her, both Nathan and Josiah treated her with professional courtesy but so far she had seen little of their true colours and Vin had managed to successfully keep himself out of reach always giving her the impression that she was an unwelcome intruder. She paused and looked up at the clear blue sky. In the drive up he had shown a part of himself that she had not suspected existed in the Texan marksman; a gentle and caring person lurking beneath the veneer of studied aloofness. Chris on the other hand she felt was destined to be her antagonist in the group. The two of them ever and always on opposite sides of the fence.

"Zoé!"

She turned and waved, walking slowly back towards the cabin at Larabee's summons to help.

The seven men and one woman stood in a circle each looking apprehensively at the upturned hat in front of them. Chris was being truthful when he had told them the trip was not just going to be a vacation. He was determined that they would first endure a few "team-building" exercises and from the evidence before them it seemed that Larabee had planned the day with a thoroughness that would have done a military tactician proud. Zoé was already shuddering to think what physical jerks she was going to be subject to as a result. The idea was that they should draw lots, first to decide on random pairs which would then either be designated 'hares' or 'hounds'. The hares would be given a thirty minute head start to reach a particular geographical goal, retrieve a pre-determined object and return to the camp. The hounds had the task of trying to either catch the hares before they could achieve their objective or reach the goal before them. Zoé knew this to be an S.A.S. exercise which in the UK was invariably conducted in the inhospitable Brecon Beacons in Wales. Looking around she decided Larabee had probably gone one better on location than even the elite British army unit.

Larabee looked around at the group.

"Okay, folks. Let's get this show on the road. J.D., Nathan, Zoé and Buck pick a scroll."

Jackson was the first to step forward and select a slip of paper. He rolled his eyes.

"What did I do to deserve this? Ezra!"

The Southerner merely grinned.

"Just your lucky day, Mr. Jackson."

J.D. plucked a scroll out of the hat and quickly scanned it.

"Chris."

Zoé reached out a split second before Buck not wanting to be the last to choose and unfurled the rolled paper.

"Vin."

That left Buck and Josiah as the last pair. She raised her eyes and looked at Chris. Somehow he had managed to contrive a situation where the team were forced into partnerships that they would not normally have chosen. This would be a true test as they each worked with a partner with whom they were not entirely comfortable.

Larabee started to hand out sealed envelopes to each couple along with a canvas haversack.

"Okay. Vin and Zoé, Nathan and Ezra you're the hares. Buck and Josiah will be the hounds for Nate and Ez, JD and me will be chasing down Vin and Zoé. Hares have five minutes to read your instructions before timing starts. This is all you are allowed to take with you. The aim is to reach your objective and return by sundown without being caught by the hounds."

Ezra started to rummage in the canvas bag but Nathan retrieved it and pulled the Southerner away from the group.

"No, Ez. There isn't a Winnebago in there. We have to do it the hard way like everyone else. Let's go."

Larabee smiled and glanced at his watch.

"Let's move it people. Your five minutes starts now."

Zoé found herself standing with her designated partner as he read the instructions Chris had handed to him before passing the sheet of paper to her with a wry smile.

"Hope you remember what they taught you in the Girl Scouts, Zoé." He hoisted the rucksack on his back, took a quick glance around to get his bearings and set off at a jog towards the trees to the right of the cabin. "Come on."

She sighed and tucked the paper into her pocket. She didn't think this was the right time to tell him that she had never been in the Girl Scouts.

Tanner travelled at a punishing pace leading her through the forest and away from the marked trails until her own harsh breathing rasping in her ears finally drowned out any other noise and she began to develop a stitch in her side. So automatic had her actions become that she failed to notice the Texan stop in front of her and she crashed heavily into him. He looked critically at her then dropped into a squat, pulling her down beside him.

"We'll take five."

Zoé wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve.

"Can we afford to?"

Vin glanced around and checked the compass.

"I reckon we've put a good buffer between us and them, but Chris will be on our trail like a bloodhound so we can't waste too much time."

He put away the compass and offered her the water canteen which she accepted gratefully.

"Do you know where we are?"

She drank and offered the canteen back. Tanner took a mouthful , ignoring the implicit criticism of his skills, and recapped the bottle.

"We're about two hundred metres from the waterline on the eastern side of the lake."

It took a moment for the information to compute.

"You mean we're almost back where we started?"

"S'right. We doubled back. It'll take them a while to realise we're not in front of them anymore.

Zoé rubbed the aching muscle of her calf.

"Look, Vin. I have to trust you on this because I sure as hell don't know where we're going but if we get separated I'm lost!"

H

e smiled and quickly sketched a map in the dirt.

"Okay. This is where we started; we're here and this is where we're headed. Between us and the target is a river, right here, and then a hard climb here to this point. The worst thing we can do is go in a straight line."

She hunched over the lines drawn in the dirt.

"But then all Chris and J.D. have to do is go from A to B and will get to the target first."

Tanner erased the line drawing with a fallen branch lying nearby.

"No. J.D. is probably as bad as you at this, and Chris won't just settle for reaching the target first. He'll want to run us to ground."

"If you know him so well, what's to stop him second-guessing us."

He rose and offered his hand to help her up.

"Nothing."

Zoé gratefully allowed him to pull her to her feet and brushed the dust from her jeans.

"Great."

Tanner, she noticed, slackened his pace slightly and rather than leave her to flounder in his wake, drew her alongside keeping a guiding hand on her arm as they made their own trail through the trees and undergrowth.

"How good are you at climbing?" he asked suddenly.

"Define good."

He cocked a dubious eyebrow in her direction and she could see him calculating just how much of a burden she was going to be. Zoé smiled and decided to put him out of his misery.

"I'm no expert but as a matter of fact I do climb recreationally; usually indoors these days though."

He nodded briefly, apparently satisfied and they continued in silence for a while.

Gradually Zoé became aware of a noise that was getting louder as they moved northwards; a sound which she finally identified as fast moving water.

"There's a river here." She made the question a statement.

"And we've got to get across it," agreed the Texan, "I'm not sure how wide it is in these parts but it's moving pretty fast by the sound of it."

She freed herself of his grasp.

"You're not going to ask me to swim are you?"

"Don't rightly know until I see it," he responded truthfully, "But we might have to get a little wet."

Zoé stared at him as if he had grown another head.

"You're joking, right? It's freezing."

Vin started to move again and she knew that he was not. These guys certainly took their games seriously.

Standing beside the rushing water, she was taken by the wild beauty of the place. The river wasn't particularly wide and Tanner was scouting for a likely place to cross. Finally he sat down on a rock and started taking off his boots.

"I reckon we can walk across. My guess is that it's no more than waist deep."

He systematically began to strip off his clothes, packing them into a remarkably small bundle, until he stood in just a pair of Speedos. She couldn't help but think that Tanner must definitely have been a Boy Scout - he took preparedness to new heights.

"I'll check it out first."

He waded out into the water, hesitating only a moment as the water crept inexorably towards his crotch, then pushing across the current to reach the other side. The water at its deepest point reached chest height and when the bank started to rise once more he turned back.

Tanner stood shivering on the bank, his body a mass of raised gooseflesh as he gathered his boots and clothing together.

"Come on. Give me your clothes."

Unquestioningly, she quickly mimicked his earlier actions and stripped to her underwear then handed her gear over and followed the lean ATF agent into the water. The cold hit her like a physical blow and her breath caught in her throat as she fought to maintain her balance against the strong pull of the water. As the water level rose to her armpits she thought her heart would stop altogether from the shock but she pushed on, glad that Tanner had assumed responsibility for keeping the clothing dry. If it had been up to her she would have already dropped them in the water several times as she struggled to keep her head above water. Cursing she wondered if Tanner had forgotten that he had a good six inches in height on her. The more cynical part of her suspected that he was probably enjoying her discomfiture. By the time she had battled the current to reach the opposite shore, Vin was already waiting to help her out. She stumbled up the shingle bank, glad of his strong grip hauling her to the welcome security of dry land. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably and she felt the wind blowing through to her very bones as she crossed her arms defensively over her upper body to ward off the icy chill. To her surprise Tanner pulled her close to him wrapping a well-muscled arm around her shoulders as he reached for his t-shirt and began to rub them both dry. She attempted a shaky laugh feeling a little self-conscious at the close physical contact in her present state of undress but Tanner seemed not in the least perturbed and she finally came to the conclusion that false modesty had no place in a situation such as this.

"If you expect me to do that again," she managed to get out between clenched teeth, "I'm taking the long way round."

He released her and turned to pick up his clothes with a quiet chuckle then moved to a discreet distance where with his back to her he promptly dropped his still wet Speedos and tugged on his jeans. Turning her own back on him she pulled off her singlet and finished drying off with Tanner's now decidedly damp t-shirt before shrugging into her shirt. A few minutes later the pair had redressed although Zoé couldn't decide if she would have rather kept on her wet underwear rather than experience the unpleasant sensation of going without. Tanner had pulled the compass out once again and was checking his bearings.

"Ready?"

She nodded, hoping that movement would drive away some of the chill she still felt.

Zoé rested against the rocky outcrop and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt, muttering a litany of curses

and casting doubts on Tanner's legitimate ancestry. The Texan was as agile as a mountain goat and although Zoé was no slouch

when it came to fitness, she was finding it hard to keep up as Tanner swarmed across the face of the rock like a spider. Taking a deep breath she followed doggedly, ignoring the ache in her calves and the broken fingernails as she clawed at handholds that were barely more than irregularities in the rock surface. Five minutes later she hauled herself onto a small plateau where Vin already sat drinking shallowly from the water canteen. She dropped down beside him and reached for the bottle.

"How are we doing?"

Vin leaned back on one elbow and stared out at the magnificent vista spread before them. She tilted her head to one side watching Tanner and suddenly realised that the Texan was enjoying himself. In fact, she decided, it was more than that - he belonged here.

"I reckon we'll be back at the cabin long before Chris and J.D. get anywhere near us."

She stretched out full length beside him on the warm rock glad of a rest however brief and closed her eyes.

"So it's all down hill from here, right?"

She could hear the laughter in his voice as he responded.

"Just about."

Taking a deep breath of the crisp mountain air she smiled without opening her eyes.

"Liar!"

The pair were quiet for a few minutes each relishing a moment of utter calm as the wind whispered softly through the firs and moaned

through the rocky outcrops surrounding them. Finally, Zoé raised herself on both elbows and looked around.

"Vin, this is so beautiful."

"Yes."

The timbre of his voice had subtly changed and she turned back to him but his gaze rather than taking in the view was focused on her. Like a rabbit transfixed in the glare of a car's headlights she momentarily froze, seeing an almost feral hunger in those intense blue eyes. Caught in a strangely elongated moment of time Zoé waited, recognising both confusion and indecision in the Texan, as unconcealed longing vied with the possibility of rejection to gain the upper hand. As if in slow motion Zoé found herself reaching out, and sliding a hand around the back of his neck she drew his face towards her own granting him the approval he sought. The kiss, tentative at first, increased in both persistence and passion as they each responded to awakening primal urges, hands eagerly exploring the contours of the other's body. Overwhelmed by the sensory overload she was suddenly experiencing, Zoé breathlessly drew away and hurriedly began adjusting her clothing to conceal her embarrassment, no longer sure of herself and faintly alarmed by her own behaviour. How could she have let that happen? What was she thinking of? Tanner - of all people !

She jumped up and moved away to the edge of the precipice as if distancing herself from the man would somehow change what had just happened.

"Shouldn't we be making tracks," she asked abruptly, her voice a little unsteady as she tried, and failed, to regain her composure.

Vin slowly sat up. Whatever his own thoughts his expression revealed nothing to her.

"I thought you wanted to rest."

Zoé straightened her jacket and tried to avoid making eye contact; letting her professional persona take control and set her once more on an even keel.

"Vin. I didn't freeze my butt off in that water and lose half my fingernails climbing up this fucking rock to let them catch us here!"

Tanner with his usual economy of movement rose to his feet and collected their gear, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips.

"Let's go then."

<<<<< >>>>>

Ezra glanced down at the rip in his pant leg with resigned tolerance more concerned with the damage to the material than any injury to his person while Nathan looked on in undisguised amusement.

"Two hundred dollars," he muttered savagely, "What a waste."

Jackson took a perverse delight in tormenting the Southerner about his wardrobe and here was an opportunity he wasn't about to miss.

"Man, you've got more money than sense if you put on expensive threads to go hiking upcountry. Don't you ever wear anything that doesn't have a designer label? You know a pair of Levi's or somethin'?"

"Excuse me?" Ezra retaliated, immediately rising to the bait, "You don't truly believe I would entertain the idea of entering a department store to purchase clothing?"

"If all you're going to do is rip it up out here, you might as well go to a second-hand store."

Standish looked at the doctor as if he had just suggested that he eat a worm.

"That's all I would expect from someone as sartorially challenged as yourself."

Jackson grin broadened.

"Are you saying I dress badly?"

He looked down at his well-worn but practical denim jeans, his checked shirt and woollen jacket.

"Mr. Jackson, I'm saying that your idea of fashion leaves a lot to be desired."

"Hell, Ezra. We're not going to the opera!" He pointed to the ragged tear. "You know red just isn't your colour."

Ezra turned his attention back to his leg where blood was now seeping from the tear not only in his pants but in his leg. Swearing, he quickly mopped at the blood with a pristine white handkerchief and stared accusingly at the man beside him, muttering darkly.

"Some doctor you are."

Jackson shook his head and started to walk away.

"Come on, Ezra. It's just a scratch."

Standish followed the bigger man further into the trees wondering if he walked slowly enough whether Buck and Josiah would catch up and put an end to this tiresome wilderness jaunt. At least that way they could be back at the cabin well in time for supper and a friendly game of cards. He made a mental note to find a way of paying Larabee back for putting him through this misery, sparing a moment to wonder if Zoé was faring any better with Tanner.

<<<<< >>>>>

More than a mile away from where Standish and Jackson struggled through the timber Zoé stared wistfully at the solid wall of rock in front of her and wondered how much more her protesting muscles could take before they rebelled altogether and went out on strike. She swivelled her head from one side to the other but the expanse of weathered rock seemed to have no end to it. She was heartily sick of the mountain and its unforgiving barriers; tired of playing games and of being chased for miles by unseen pursuers in a race for an unspecified prize. She knew now that she had been right to tell Chris it was a guy thing and she had been right that she didn't fit in. Tanner was probably regretting having drawn her as a partner. But there was nothing for it now but see this through to the end, there was nowhere to go but up and no one to go with but this man who had managed to shake her convictions so thoroughly in a moment of time that she was beginning to think had been a dream.

"I'm hoping you're going to tell me that you have a master plan which does not include me climbing up this vertical face."

Tanner dropped the rucksack to the ground and walked slowly backwards and forwards thoughtfully examining the rock surface before them.

"I do."

"You do?"

" I'm going up alone."

She sat down and wearily pulled the canteen from the rucksack.

"That's not a master plan, Vin, that's just leaving me behind."

She held out the water bottle and the Texan drank deeply, before passing the canteen back to her.

"This is it, Zoé. We're right where we're supposed to be, but whatever we're supposed to collect is up there." He held his arm up to indicate the top of the bluff. "I'll stake my life on it."

Elliott tilted her head back and stared at the rock rearing up behind her head.

"That's just what you might be doing."

"It's no big deal. I've been free climbing up here for the last three years."

"Well, Sherpa Tensing, off you go then. Just don't be too long and for God's sake don't fall or I'll be stuck up here forever."

He grinned suddenly and she was struck once again by the transformation from the taciturn agent she had been introduced to in the city and this man, totally at ease with nature and the outdoors. If anything Tanner seemed to thrive on the challenges they had met and overcome and if she admitted the truth she had complete confidence in him to get her safely home.

"Don't worry. I'll be back."

"What if Chris and J.D. find me first?" she called after him as he scrambled up the rock.

He looked down from a perch already ten feet above her head.

"They won't."

True to his word he was gone less time than it took for her to start seriously worrying and Chris and J.D. were nowhere in sight. She had just begun to nibble on her second strip of leathery dried fruit when a shower of stones heralded Tanner's timely if somewhat unorthodox descent. The ATF agent landed heavily a few feet from her accompanied by a mini-avalanche of loose stones, earth and assorted debris from the rock above; jeans torn at the knee, knuckles skinned but with such an expression of triumph on his face that Zoé didn't need to ask whether or not he had been successful. She asked anyway.

"You got it?"

Tanner crouched down beside her and taking hold of her hand, dropped a small object into her upturned palm. She stared at the brass shell casing then up at the Texan, not knowing whether she should laugh or cry.

"You're telling me that we climbed half way up a mountain to get this?"

Vin sucked on a grazed knuckle and reached across to pick up the rucksack.

"You sound disappointed. Where's your sense of adventure? It's the thought that counts."

Zoé tucked the cartridge into her jeans pocket.

"Would you like to know what I think?"

Tanner slung the rucksack over one shoulder and standing up, held out a hand to help her up.

"I'm almost sure I can make a wild guess. But first would you like to know what I think?"

Zoé tilted her head to one side and allowed the Texan to draw her to her feet.

"What's that?"

"I think...that we've won."

She smiled, in spite of the sudden sense of loss she felt as Vin released her hand.

"And it's all down hill from here, right?"

"Just about."

Tanner slid his arm around her shoulders giving her a quick hug and she realised that she didn't mind one bit.

<<<<< >>>>>

Chris Larabee stopped and raised his head to look at the mountain rising in front of them.

"He's made it."

J.D. caught up to the older man and followed his gaze.

"Made it?"

"Vin."

"No way!" protested Dunne, "We're right on his tail."

Larabee turned an indulgent gaze on the youngest member of the team.

"J.D. believe me, we're chasing shadows." He checked his watch. "He's had us suckered from the word go."

"But he had Zoé........"

J.D. trailed off not wanting to sound critical of the Englishwoman's capabilities but unable to reconcile himself to the fact that she might possibly have been able to match not only Vin's talents but his stamina as well. He frowned and thought back to the exceptional agility she had displayed on their first op and wondered if even Chris had not underestimated her abilities. He realised Chris was looking at him, waiting for him to finish. He shook his head and moved forward not prepared to pursue his first thought any further but finally unable to contain his puzzlement.

"I don't see how...he can't be so far ahead..."

Larabee smiled knowingly after a long moment's thought.

"He went across the river." Dunne looked at his leader as if he had uttered some profanity but Chris nodded, suddenly sure. "That's it, J.D. They went across the river and my guess is they went straight up Simpson's Bluff."

"Okay, what do we do now?"

Larabee pulled the compass from his pocket and turned towards the declining sun.

"We get them on the way down."

<<<<< >>>>>

Vin stopped, putting his hand out to stop Zoé moving any further and signalling for silence. He tensed, listening, then moved his head in a slow arc like an animal onto a scent. The Texan had been wary since they left the bluff, avoiding established trails and circling in an ever decreasing spiral until Zoé barely knew which direction they were pointing at any given moment. They had even walked for a while in a stream bed and had crossed and recrossed the watercourse several times with Zoé silently giving thanks that this was a more manageable body of water which didn't require the shedding of her clothing or necessitate getting anything more than her boots wet. Their descent was furtive and executed with a great degree of stealth as opposed to their outward bound attack on the summit which had been a flat out race to avoid a successful pursuit. She looked at her watch and wondered how much longer she would have to endure crawling around the undergrowth before the game was finally over.

"Almost home."

Zoé looked up quickly. Damnit, she'd swear this man was psychic sometimes.

"Then why have we been sitting here for the last twenty minutes?" she hissed, keeping her voice low.

"Just making sure we get a clean run. No surprises."

The two of them sat comfortably shoulder to shoulder in a bower of greenery, looking down into the valley where, less than half a mile away, the cabin - Zoé's personal nirvana - stood like a lone sentinel.

"What sort of surprises?"

"If Chris couldn't catch us on the way up, he'll try and get us on the way down."

She smiled in spite of her weariness.

"And we're not going to let happen are we?"

"Damn right!"

Suddenly in one smooth motion the Texan was on his feet in a crouch staring intently in the direction of the cabin his body as tense as a wound spring and resembling so much a hound on point that she expected to see the hackles rise on the back of his neck. A moment later she heard a deep echoing rumble that she finally identified as the pulsating throb of engines in concert - motorcycles, more of them than she wished to contemplate. As her brain made the connection between what she was hearing and what she was seeing she realised that the natural basin in which the cabin sat was progressively filling with countless machines, and without any prompting from Tanner she understood that something was seriously amiss. Vin swore and shouldered the pack, wordlessly urging Zoé to her feet and almost dragging her along behind him in his haste to cover the remaining distance to the cabin. She understood his sense of urgency. A dozen or more bikes in her estimation constituted a gang and as far as she, or probably anyone else on the planet, was concerned that spelt trouble. As she was pulled along in Tanner's wake, the Texan finally abandoning any pretence at stealth in exchange for speed, she had one thought and one thought alone. This is a very bad idea.

To Zoé's intense relief Vin had no immediate intention of signalling their arrival to the bikers and once again they resorted to skirting along the treeline, staying out of sight while an army of drunken, leather and denim-clad bikers crawled ant-like over the cabin and the two parked vehicles. Zoé winced as several of them systematically began to vandalise the Suburban while a second cadre broke into the cabin. Vin instinctively started forward only to find himself restrained by the sleeve.

"Are you mad? In case you hadn't noticed you're outnumbered 15 to 1. Ezra certainly wouldn't give very good odds on that outcome and Chris would have your hide nailed to a fence post."

He hesitated, knowing that she was right and torn between the need to act and the impossibility of of a satisfactory outcome.

"All our weapons are in there, Zoé. I can't risk them getting to them."

She understood his very real fear of the ATF handguns ending up in the hands of these two-wheeled terrorists but given the alternatives it was better to let the guns go than to put a life -- she made a mental correction, his life -- at risk.

"But they're secured, Vin. Let it go."

"Do you think that's going to stop them. There'll be nothiong left of this place when they've finished." He fished in his pocket and pulled out his cell-phone.

"At least wait until we can get some help," she persisted, genuinely frightened that Tanner would act on impulse.

It was as if she had not spoken.

"You wait here. See if you can raise the others. I'll try and get closer."

Zoé caught the phone as it tumbled through the air towards her and before she could utter another word, Tanner had melted into the trees and was gone. Cursing she thumbed through the numbers in the phone's memory and tried to summon help before the bikers discovered that they were no longer alone and that there was a now cat among the pigeons. Almost distraught with frustration, she repeatedly stabbed at the numbers only to be rewarded by a "no signal" message or the continuous ring of an unanswered phone. Finally she crept forward, loathe to remain on the periphery knowing that Tanner was going into the fray unsupported. Shoving the useless phone into her pocket she moved cautiously, edging ever closer to the two ATF vehicles. On the gravel parkway, the Suburban now leaned drunkenly to one side with both its left hand side tyres slashed, it's doors hanging open and its interior a scene of wanton destruction. Zoé paused to wonder as she carefully skirted around the damaged vehicle if the gang had been aware of the identity of these men whose domain they had invaded whether they would have pursued their goal so determinedly. Larabee and his team were not the men she would have chosen with whom to pick a fight. She looked back into the trees. Larabee. If you're anywhere near, we need you now. She froze, in heart-stopping panic as the shrill notes of the cell-phone's ring echoed across the clearing. Swearing roundly, she dug into her pocket to retrieve the offending instrument with the faint hope of silencing it before her position was betrayed. No luck there. Already a couple of the bikers had turned searching for the source of the alien sound and were starting to move in her direction. Hitting the off button, she considered the vagaries of fate which had decreed that someone should finally respond to her calls at this particular moment. Now she had to make a choice - stay or run. She chose to run. At least she could draw off some of their man-power and level the odds for Vin although she was not sure that she was capable of evading a determined biker posse for long. First she doubled back to where she had left the rucksack and set off at a determined lope away from her rapidly approaching pursuers. Finally an angry shout went up and she knew the hue and cry was on. She was struck by an ironic sense of déjà vu, only this time there was no Vin to lead her. This time she was on her own.

Chris Larabee's curiosity was well and truly piqued. His cell phone had begun to vibrate in his pocket as he and J.D. had been alternately sliding and stumbling down a treacherous patch of scree into a dry gulley in order to cut twenty minutes from their return journey. Now the flashing LCD readout informed him that he had missed one call. Tell me something I don't know. He thumbed a button and the screen flashed alternately Vin's name and cell phone number. J.D. moved to look over his shoulder.

"What's up?"

"Vin tried to call."

Dunne dusted off his jeans and looked ruefully down at the grazes covering the palms of his hands.

"Probably calling to tell us he's got supper on!"

"If it'd been Ezra I'd say you were right," a brief smile touched his lips then his frown returned, "but Vin? I don't think so."

Dunne looked up at his leader picking up on his unease.

"You think something's wrong?"

"That's what I'm about to find out."

Larabee hit the send button and waited for a connection. A few seconds later he shook his head.

"Diverted to voice mail. Phone's switched off or out of range."

Speed dialling from the phone's memory he tried to raise the others; Buck and Ezra he knew had kept their phones as a safety precaution. Finally on the second attempt Buck responded.

"Shoot, Chris! You trying to give our position away? What's up and this had better be good."

"You heard from Vin?"

"Nope. Trouble?"

"I don't know. Are you far from base?"

J.D. heard the snort of laughter from his best friend.

"Damned if I know, Chris. Talk to Josiah."

Josiah gave a position not too far from their own.

"Okay. You try and get a fix on Ezra and Nathan then get back to the cabin ASAP. We're coming in."

He terminated the call and hefted the pack more comfortably on his shoulders.

"So you do think something's wrong?" asked J.D. carefully.

"I don't know if something's wrong but I do know something's not right."

Zoé zig-zagged through the dense undergrowth and finally stopped, catching her breath when she found the ground suddenly vanished in front of her as the earth dropped with sudden finality into a deep chasm. If she even managed to get to the bottom without injuring herself on the way down she doubted she would be able to find a way out on the other side where vertical banks rose twenty feet into the air. There was no choice but to turn back. She could hear several bodies crashing noisily through the forest making no attempt to conceal their passage, their very numbers assuring safety. Feeling very much like a hare chased by a pack of hounds she retraced her steps trying to maintain a safe distance between herself and her pursuers, doubling back towards the cabin where she hoped Vin had fared better than herself.

Certain at last she had managed to place a buffer between herself and the men chasing her Zoé crouched in the shadow of a gigantic fir and once again pulled out the cell-phone. She dialled, already having decided that if no one answered this time that she would call 911 and hope for the best. The connection made, she listened impatiently to the ringing tone, willing Larabee to answer.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Zoé's hand closed around the cell phone keeping the connection open but hiding it from view as she slowly turned to face the owner of the voice. If there was only one she had a fair chance of dealing with him. Two hundred pounds of solid beef stood behind her, grinning inanely and obviously delighted by his find.

More trouble than you'll believe, brother. She took a step backwards and let the hand holding the phone drop to her side. She assessed the potential danger with a practiced eye; he was big but she had the advantage of speed and agility, and certainly she believed she had the upper hand in the intellect department. A burst of static from the unit in her hand momentarily drew his attention and she feinted right, then darted left before he could react. His infuriated roar as she slipped away convinced her that the last thing that she wanted to happen was to end up anywhere within his reach. Vin where are you? Unmindful of the low branches that whipped at her face and plucked at her clothing she forced a path through the trees, swinging around in a curve that would take her back towards the cabin. She risked a glance over her shoulder and a second later slammed into a solid object with such force that she staggered backwards and almost lost her footing. The cell phone flew from her hand and landed several feet away in the mulch out of reach. Shit! A second biker had stepped out from behind a tree to put an end to her headlong flight, which strategy while simple had proved most effective. Before she could regain secure footing once more, both men had closed in on her and she was well and truly trapped. Two pairs of hands grabbed her before she could think of evading them again and immediately she slipped into attack mode, no holds barred kicking, gouging, biting and scratching. One of her captors swore as she sank her teeth into his arm while his cohort tried unsuccessfully to pull her away. Finally she was forced to yield when one of them grabbed a handful of her hair and slammed a fist into the side of jaw. Her vision greying, tears springing to her eyes from the force of the blow she sank bonelessly to the ground. Vin? Ezra? Help...

Unable to use physical strength against the bikers, Zoé settled on passive resistance. She feigned a grogginess she did not feel and hung limply, a dead weight on the two men forcing them to drag her bodily back to the gathering. The left side of her face was numb and she wondered if her jaw was broken but any thought of her own pain quickly evaporated as she realised that the activity across the clearing was more than a celebration. That the cat-calls, whistles and cheers were an expression of blood lust which could only mean one thing. They had found Tanner.

Zoé moaned as the mass of bodies surged forward and she glimpsed Vin, already beaten and bloodied but still fighting, being forced to his knees and trying to avoid the various weapons and booted feet of his captors.

"Vin!"

Zoé couldn't prevent the cry from escaping as still restrained herself she watched Tanner eventually fall beneath the onslaught of fists and boots of half a dozen men. Powerless to offer any comfort let alone aid to the fallen agent she struggling frantically like a trapped animal in an effort to free herself but her only reward was a backhanded slap to her face which made her ears ring and split her lip. A meaty paw groped under her shirt and she sagged unresisting as rough hands fondled her, repeating the litany in her head that it didn't matter what they did to her as long as Vin was all right. Only a few yards away but out of reach Tanner had become very still and she hoped that he'd had the sense to play possum. She swayed, her knees rubbery as she considered her probable future in the hands of these animals but without warning she was released and thrown roughly aside, her shoulder painfully striking the gravel as she hit the ground. The roar of a score of bikes starting up and progressively leaving filled her ears and she finally understood that they were really going although what had caused the sudden change of heart she couldn't say. What's more, she didn't care. Scrambling onto her hands and knees she clutched at her now half-open shirt and stumbled to where Tanner lay. Reaching out she touched the bruised and bleeding face. One eye was already swollen shut and blood streamed from his nose and mouth. His right cheek had been laid open and from the damage she suspected one of his assailants had used brass knuckles. Curled defensively on his side with knees drawn up he lay with one arm protecting his belly and the other between his legs.

"Vin?"

Torn between wanting to comfort him and needing to raise the alarm to summon help she vacillated between the two options for several moments. Pragmatism finally won and she flew into a frenzy of activity, hoping that the rest of the team were not too far away. The vehicles' alarms had been disabled but she found and activated the siren in Chris' Dodge, more than satisfied with the shrieking ululating wail it produced shattering the silence and echoing off the mountains. For good measure she sat for several minutes at the wheel and sounded the horn until finally certain that her efforts would attract attention of one kind or another she turned her attention to the prostrate Texan. Carefully kneeling beside him she shrugged out of her jacket and laid it over his upper body, then pulled his head and shoulders onto her lap and began to wipe the blood from his face with the tail of her shirt. He stirred, softly moaning as she touched his lacerated cheek and tried to turn his head away.

"Vin!"

His good eye fluttered and as the grey curtain clouding his senses receded he curled in on himself even more as if to hold in the pain. Coughing, he cleared his mouth of blood and spat onto the driveway before stirring enough to look up at Zoé. His vision was blurred but he could see the blood on her lip and as much as he wanted to reach out to her he couldn't quite make his limbs respond to the messages his brain was trying to send. He knew she was crying and that worried him. He wanted to get up, hold her and tell her that everything was all right but his muscles were conspiring against him and the best he could manage was to lie in her lap and bleed, which required no effort at all.

Don't do this to me, Vin! Zoé adjusted the hopelessly inadequate covering over Tanner and tried to make him more comfortable. He had not lost consciousness but she had been unsuccessful in her attempts to get him to his feet and she was worried that his injuries were even worse than she had first thought. He now seemed to be finding breathing more difficult and in spite of the chill he was sweating. For the hundredth time she raised her eyes to scan the treeline hoping to see any or all of the team. Christ, where are you? What's taking so long?

Ezra and Nathan were the first to return. Buck once he had been able to raise them on the cell phone had forewarned them of possible trouble and the pair had responded by moving at the fastest pace they could maintain given the terrain, then the wail of the siren had urged them to even greater speed. Now they pulled up short from an all out extended sprint shocked by the scene of devastation before them. Personal belongings were strewn across the parkway and lawn, the two vehicles stood, doors hanging open, forlorn and abandoned and the whole area around the cabin resembled the aftermath of a riot. Ezra finally elbowed a bewildered and breathless Jackson and pointed to two figures huddled on the ground. Both men again broke into a trot and in silent accord the two men responded to the situation, the Southerner immediately turning his attention to Zoé while Nathan knelt over the Texan.

"I couldn't get him to move, Nathan, so I just tried to keep him warm. There were so many of them and Vin -- we -- tried to stop them getting the weapons, but I couldn't make anyone hear me and then they heard the phone ring and I lost it when they came after me. He was fighting but there were too many..." Zoé was curiously inarticulate, unable to maintain coherence in her relief that she was no longer alone and that the enormity of what had happened could at last be shared.

Still trying to make sense of what she was saying Ezra put a comforting arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, making soothing noises as he raised questioning eyes to look at Nathan. Jackson was intent on checking Tanner's injuries but spared a moment to glance at Standish, his eyes reflecting not only concern, but a smouldering anger. Zoé's flood of words suddenly stopped as she was drawn into Ezra's embrace and, melting against him as the tension drained out of her, the tears began.

Moments later the remaining four agents rolled out of the forest like a human juggernaut, having joined forces several miles out, and without pause raced breathlessly to the tableau playing out on the lawn amid the surrounding devastation. Larabee skidded to a halt in front of them and quickly looked from Tanner to Elliott concern, anger and confusion vying for control of his expression.

"What the hell happened here?"

Tanner weakly turned his head towards the familiar voice. With blood and mucus still dripping from his mouth and a blackening eye swollen shut he looked like nothing more than a punch-drunk prizefighter.

"Sorry, Chris." He allowed his head to fall back again. "Bad call."

J.D. his inherent enthusiasm for once stunned into silence, looked in amazement around the clearing until Chris' voice brought him back to reality.

"J.D! Turn that fucking siren off!"

Buck snapped the cell phone shut and addressed no one in particular.

"Paramedics will be here in twenty minutes."

At the opposite end of the room Chris paced back and forth, talking animatedly on his own cell phone and exuding the raw energy of a caged tiger, while Nathan did what he did best - damage control. Vin lay on the sofa in the living room in a state of undress as Jackson assessed his friend's injuries and did what he could to ease the hurt. Zoé sat on the floor and held an ice pack to the Texan's bruised eye with one hand while holding a pressure dressing over the laceration in the opposite cheek with the other. Finally, Nathan covered him with a blanket and moved away to where Larabee was angrily terminating his last call.

"Well?" snapped the Team 7 leader.

This man, already in a dark mood, would not want to hear what Jackson was about to tell him but he continued anyway.

"Whoever it was worked him over pretty damn good, Chris. Looks like he has a fractured zygoma..."

"A what?"

Buck, not averse to eavesdropping, moved closer to the two men. Nathan, pointed to the bony rim under his eye.

"Here. The cheekbone."

"Why didn't you just say so, Nate? Sometimes you're worse than Ezra..."

"Buck!"

Chris was not a man to mess with when angered, and Buck wisely chose silence in response to his best friend's irritated snarl.

"I think there's every chance that he's got some internal bleeding," continued Jackson evenly, "someone sure danced a number on his kidneys."

"How bad?"

"Bad enough. He's pretty shocky right now. I'll be a lot happier once he's in a hospital."

"And Zoé?"

Jackson was momentarily caught off guard, not expecting the sudden change in subject.

"Roughed up a bit but she won't let me take a close look."

Larabee scowled.

"But she is okay?"

Nathan nodded slowly, uncertain of Chris' motives and already sympathising with Elliott. Larabee looked as if he was about to kick some serious ass.

Ezra, standing off to one side and talking quietly to Josiah, stopped in mid-sentence as Larabee strode towards Tanner and the woman who had yet to leave his side, taking half a step forward before Sanchez reached out a cautionary hand to restrain him and shook his head. Ezra relaxed slightly but there remained about him an awareness that suggested he was ready to champion Zoé's cause should Larabee's behaviour prove anything less than exemplary. Buck smiled having seen the brief exchange. Ezra might be smaller than Chris but given the circumstances he wouldn't have been prepared to wager against the feisty Southerner if it came to a fight. His imagination took flight for a moment picturing the two of them with duelling swords in hand, an elegant Standish defending the lady's honour against an oafish Larabee.

Chris dropped to one knee beside the sofa and rested one hand on Elliott's shoulder as he allowed himself to finally take a close look at the damage done to the man who probably meant more to him than any other of the closely knit team.

"Hey, Cowboy."

Vin opened the eye which was still functioning and smiled briefly at Larabee.

"You lost the bet, pard."

Chris frowned, not sure what the Texan was talking about or if indeed he was completely lucid.

"Bet?"

Vin slowly moved his arm and held his hand out palm up in front of Zoé. Elliott shifted slightly and dug into the side pocket of her jeans, then covered Tanners upturned palm with her own, maintaining contact for a long moment in which the pair exchanged a silent glance that nonetheless spoke volumes to not only Larabee but to every man in the room. As the woman drew her hand away, Vin held up the brass cartridge case that they had brought back from the mountain.

"We win."

Larabee was not surprised by the Texan's quiet revelation and in truth he had fully expected the Tanner/Elliott pairing to meet their objective but other more immediate concerns had driven the purpose of the day's exercise from his mind. What did surprise him was Zoé's reaction.

"Bet? You wagered that Vin couldn't make it?" she spat, eyes narrowing to slits. "But of course, how could he be expected to when he had me tagging along like an albatross around his neck? God forbid that a woman might be able to hold her own in this man's world." She stood up breathing rapidly as she squared off against the still kneeling figure of Larabee. "You bastard, Larabee. You manipulating, Macchiavellian son of a bitch."

At various stages around the room six stunned ATF agents watched open-mouthed as the Englishwoman launched a verbal attack on the man whom they had collectively learned to treat with respectful awe. The blond man slowly rose to his feet, his expression flat and his eyes like two chips of flint. Tanner reached out, his attempt to interrupt the confrontation ignored. Several feet away Buck leaned towards Ezra.

"She's dead meat."

Ezra looked from Zoé to the much taller Chris. David and Goliath.

"Care to make a small wager on the outcome Mr. Wilmington?"

Zoé continued her frontal assault with apparent disregard for either her personal safety or the potential consequences of such an attack.

"I don't appreciate being set up even by the omnipotent Commander Larabee. Still, I suppose it was an interesting exercise to see if the rookie, the useless baggage, could go the distance partnered with a man who would barely give her the time of day. Well, that one really backfired on you didn't it? You don't seem to understand that people are not pawns you can move around on a chess board to suit your own ends..."

"That's enough!" Chris' voice cracked like a whip and his arm shot out, gripping Elliott around the arm as if he was going to shake her. For a moment Zoé stopped and matched him glare for glare before finally shrugging out of his grasp.

"You're right. It is. I've just about had enough of team-building, enough of this fucking job and enough of your sanctimonious bullshit!"

Having delivered her parting shot she turned an