Moran stood looking out one of the large windows that overlooked the city. One of the good things about this hotel, and the room in particular, was that it was the tallest building in a four-block radius and the balcony outside these windows made it impossible for a sniper to look up into the room. There was a possibility of helicopter attack, but he had men stationed on the roof with rocket launchers. The police wouldn't risk one of those rockets hitting a civilian target.

"Makes it so much easier for us," Moran murmured to himself. The reflection of his second-in-command, a dour-faced man named Dolan, appeared in the window next to him. "Yes?"

"All of the building is secure, sir, except for the sub-basement level. O'Roarke and Caden are securing them now."

"Good," Moran nodded, turning from the window. "Any casualties?"

"Four, sir. An elderly woman and a man who appeared to have suffered heart attacks from the gas and two conference attendees who tried to stop us. We're checking now on their IDs."

"Fine. Send out the word. I want our people looking for the three men in those pictures. I want them found and I want them brought to me now."

"Right away, sir." Dolan sketched a salute before heading to the corner of the room they'd set up for communications.

Turning back to the window, Moran let a feral smile creep onto his face. It wouldn't be long now before he had them in his grasp. He was going to greatly enjoy breaking Ellison and Malloy, but Tanner. Oh, he was going to have so much fun playing with Tanner. He would make that young pup scream and scream until he had no voice left to scream with.

**********

Jericho O'Roarke, mercenary-for-hire, moved silently through the sub-basement of the hotel. It was a dark, damp place, reminding him of hideouts he'd used as a child growing up in Belfast. He'd joined the IRA as soon as they let him, eager to gain vengeance on the bloody English who'd killed his parents. Nowadays, everything was politics, and if you did one little car-bombing without orders your own friends would turn you in. That was not the kind of war Jericho fought, so he'd left Ireland, hiring himself out as a mercenary. It wasn't the righteous war against the bloody English, but it paid well enough and fed his thirst for blood.

The sound of voices, or more accurately, a voice, drew his attention. As he got closer he was able to understand what was being said, and also hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

"...many years I've waited for this day? I plotted and planned. Carefully checking each and every little detail. I know more about him than God! And now he's going to slip through my fingers because some fucking idiot decided to TAKE MY BULDING HOSTAGE!!" The feminine voice rose shrilly and Jericho heard a muffled grunt. There was a slight pause and he continued inching forward. Finally he was able to see. In a small open space among the pipes stood a slender woman, her back to Jericho as she talked to her captive. She looked like some sort of executive in her stylishly tailored aquamarine business suit, her blonde hair done up in a tight French Twist. Her heavy-heeled boots echoed dully on the concrete floor.

Her captive, a young man in his early twenties maybe, Jericho guessed, was strung up with his hands cuffed over a pipe so his feet barely touched the floor. His shirt had been stripped off, leaving him naked from the waist up. The pale flesh was already beginning to mottle with bruises. There were a couple of cuts, shallow-looking but still bleeding. Blood trickled from his nose and one eye was almost swollen shut. A large ball gag prevented the kid from doing more than grunting. Jericho couldn't help wondering what the poor bastard had done to deserve this.

A rat squeaking had her whirling around, her face a hard mask as she scanned the surrounding area. "Who's there? Show yourself. Don't make me come find you."

Slowly he stepped forward into the meager light so she could see him and the rifle he carried.

"Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?"

"Me?" Jericho said with a lazy smile, "I work for the fooking idiot that took this buildin' hostage. Who d'ye be, lass?"

"Your best friend or your worst nightmare, depending on if you've pissed me off or not. Who do you work for? I want to meet him."

"Well now, lass, I'm not so sure," Jericho couldn't help watching the seductive sway of her hips as she walked towards him, "I, uh, I should take you to him. I mean, you still haven't told me who you are."

He swallowed convulsively as she ran her fingers lightly over the barrel of his rifle, caressing it. She smiled sweetly up at him, the fingers of her other hand travelling up the front of his shirt. Too late he started thinking with his head rather than his pants.

Like a snake striking, she twisted her fist in his shirt, pulling him down and forward. The other hand pushed the rifle to the side as she brought her knee up into his crotch then down on his instep. As he doubled over she backhanded him, sending him to the floor. She followed him down, a knife appearing in her hand. She pressed it to his throat.

"Now, lad," she sneered, the Southern accent replaced by a soft Irish lilt, "you're goin' to be a good boy and take me to the man in charge, or," she paused to smile gleefully, "I can carve you into tiny little pieces just for the pleasure of it. Ask him. He'll tell you how much I'll enjoy it. Oh wait," she giggled, "he's gagged. He can't say anything. You'll just have to take my word, won't you?"

Jericho stared up at her as he nodded his head slightly, trying to get his breathing back under control. The bint was just plain crackers. No doubt about it. He'd questioned Moran's sanity a little, but the man paid well so he didn't care. Her though, he fully believed she'd kill him just 'cause she'd enjoy it. He didn't think introducing her to Moran was a good idea, but there wasn't a chance in hell he was goin' to tell her no.

The knife disappeared into her boot as she rose to her feet. She smiled down at him. "Let's get goin', sugar."

Eyeing her warily, Jericho got to his feet slowly, wincing at the pain in his groin, rifle clutched tightly in his hands. He felt wetness and a stinging pain in his cheek. Careful probing revealed a cut. He shuddered when she lifted the hand she'd cut him with and licked the smear of blood from her ring and fingers.

"What 'bout him?" he jerked his head towards the kid watching them listlessly.

"Oh, he's just part of the plan, aren't you, puppy?," she smiled, gliding over to run a finger down the boy's cheek. "I'll tell Ezra all about how you're going to boil to death when that steam vent opens at six. How do you think he'll take it? Will he cry and scream? Or will he go all cold and unemotional? Maybe, do you think maybe he won't care, puppy? Do you think he cares what happens to you?"

She laughed that light, tinkling laugh that sent shivers down Jericho's spine as the kid jerked and shouted behind the gag. With a look of regret, he followed her to the freight elevator. Yeh, she was definitely crackers. God help them all.

**********

"Do you recognize any of these men?" Ezra said quietly to Trent.

They were sitting with their backs against the wall, various agents, officers and a few civilians with them. When they'd come to after the gassing, it had been to discover they'd been moved along with the others from the seminar into a larger conference room. There had been fourteen people in the seminar; they were now 46 being guarded by 5 men with automatic weapons. Ezra had been most displeased to find all his weapons and his cell phone missing.

"No, I don't," Trent replied just as quietly, "But I suspect they're part of that militia group Jim told us about."

"I agree. Which means it's a good thing they didn't attend this morning. I suggest that you try to keep a low profile."

"Believe me, I plan on it."

"Will you two quit it?" hissed a slender young man to Ezra's right. "They're lookin' at us."

Ezra smiled at the guard watching them until he turned away. Then he glared at the young man. "Unless you have something to say that will aid us in effecting our emancipation from this unwelcome situation, I suggest you mind your own business."

The young man stared then finally huffed and turned away. Trent shook his head and chuckled. "You sure do like big words, don't you?"

"I am simply trying to expand the vocabulary of those around me," Ezra replied haughtily, then with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, he added, "And if it happens to confuse the hell out of them, all the better."

"Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"As you are a friend of Mr. Tanner's, that is unlikely to happen." Ezra stiffened suddenly. "Keep your head down."

Movement at the door had caught his attention. He watched a man armed with a single-shot rifle talk to the guard closest to the door, showing him what looked like newspaper clippings. Without a doubt they contained pictures of Vin, Trent and Jim. While he was quite relieved that Vin wasn't anywhere in the hotel, he feared for Trent's safety. The single-shot rifle was an oddity since all the others were carrying automatics. A flash of red on the man's belt caught his attention.

He couldn't be certain but he hoped those were tranquilizer darts in the man's belt. It would mean Moran wanted them alive and relatively unharmed. Yes, that would be Moran's style. It would allow him a healthier captive to torture. Like the Stalker.

The two men looked at him and Ezra suddenly found himself with an assault rifle aimed at him. The one with the single-shot rifle aimed and fired at Trent.

"What the...? Shit. Sorry, Ezra." Trent slumped over into unconsciousness.

As Ezra had hoped would be the case, Trent now had a tranquilizer dart in his shoulder rather than a bullet wound. Another man came into the room and he, along with the one who'd tranked Trent, came towards them.

Rationally, Ezra knew these men couldn't be working with the Stalker. Nor would the Stalker have picked Trent as a target, but sometimes rationality has little to do with one's reactions. In his mind's eye, all he could see was what had been done to Eleanor and Devaney. He would not allow the same thing to happen to Trent. Vin would never forgive him.

With an inarticulate cry of rage he threw himself at the two men when they reached for Trent's unconscious body. He got the closer one in a choke-hold and kicked the other in the shoulder, sending him sprawling. Arms wrapped around him, trying to pull him loose but he held on tight. Rage coursed through him. These men wanted to hurt Vin. They didn't even know him, but they were going to hurt him. Trent was just a convenient way to get to Vin.

Hands tangled cruelly in his hair, making him grunt as his head was pulled back. Ezra had a brief glimpse of a rifle butt coming towards him, then the world exploded into darkness.

**********

Chris glanced over at Vin while trying to keep up with Jim's truck and stay on the road. Vin was quiet, too quiet, his gaze locked on the back of the blue Ford. It reminded him of how Vin had looked when he zoned out earlier.

"Vin?" He couldn't quite keep the worry from his voice.

"I'm here, cowboy," Vin replied softly, the suppressed rage audible in his voice, his gaze never wavering.

"What're you thinking?"

There was a long moment of silence and Chris began to wonder if Vin hadn't zoned. Vin's voice was a low growl when he finally answered.

"I'm thinkin' how I'm gonna tear those bastards apart if they've hurt Ezra. If they've hurt any of the boys. Gonna take my time with Moran if he's even touched a hair on Ezra's head. Gonna make him pay."

A shiver ran down Chris' spine at the feral light in Vin's eyes, the deadly calm voice. Over the past couple of years, he'd seen glimpses of the dangerous man that lay just beneath the surface of the placid Texan, but this was was different. This was a primal killer protecting what was his.

As they'd set up the markers for the test, Blair had told him some of the 'new' behavior he could expect to start seeing in Vin. One had been the 'Blessed Protector' mode, as Blair had put it, or as the guys would put it 'Mother Hen from hell' mode. A Sentinel was extremely protective of his Guide. Overprotective to the point of smothering at times. Chris could understand that, well, as much as he understood any of this Sentinel business. Actually it sounded like typical behaviour for most of the team whenever any of them was hurt and in the hospital. But Blair hadn't said anything about this cold-blooded killer.

Turning his attention back to the road, Chris prayed that nothing happened to Ezra. Not that he wouldn't be angry that they'd hurt the Southern cuss, but because he didn't know how Vin would react.

No, he knew how Vin would react. He just didn't know if he'd be able to control him, or if he'd even want to.

Part 16