All the legalese that states that JAG and its characters aren't mine. Just taking them out to play - promise to put them back.
10-10-10 seems an auspicious time to launch this story. I've been working on it off and on since I finished Catspaw. Whenever I got stuck, I'd wander off to another in-progress story for another fandom. It probably wasn't the most productive way to deal with it but it did keep me writing and the frustration at bay. The first half (third?) of this story is my attempt at fluff, dealing mostly with the nuptials of Harm and Mac and the acquiring of domestic bliss. After all our fearless couple has been through, I didn't want to leave it at 'and then they got married'. The devil's in the details and I assumed (hopefully, correctly) that most of you don't want to be shortchanged. If you find it boring, I apologize. KeruM is ever so much better at this stuff. I've also found I can't keep from adding a little suspense here and there. So, I suppose, these first chapters could be considered 'occasionally ominous' fluff.
Enough rambling - Heartstone picks up about 4 months or so after Catspaw. I'll probably be updating every four or five days. As always, I hope you enjoy the story.
Falls Church, VA
With a deep feeling of satisfaction, Mac walked into her office, dropping her briefcase on the floor by the desk. She'd annihilated Vukovic in court today. She was three for three with him now and with a little luck, that streak would continue. The man annoyed the hell out of her. She didn't normally let her personal feelings affect her professional opinion of junior officers but this guy kept pushing all her buttons. He was a pretty decent lawyer but not nearly as good as he thought he was - not yet. Mac was fairly certain she could have tolerated his arrogance - God knew he had nothing on fighter pilots in that regard - but he combined it with a condescending attitude towards women that made her want to kick his six to the moon and back. The fact that he was more than willing to flaunt ethical boundaries didn't sit well with her either. She tried to set him straight a number of times but apparently it had gone in one ear and out the other. Half the time it seemed like he was trying to out-Harm Harm. Mac amended that thought. He was trying to out-Harm the office legend of Harm, while ignoring the important ingredients of compassion and integrity. Vukovic was a train wreck just waiting to happen and Mac had no intention of sitting on the tracks.
Shaking her head, Mac dropped into her chair and turned to her computer, logging on and checking messages. As she expected, there were a ton of emails. Only a third of them had anything to do with JAG business. The rest were personal messages dealing with her upcoming marriage. The wedding was just about eight weeks away - or fifty-eight days, four hours, twenty-seven minutes and fifteen seconds - if she happened to be counting. She actually wasn't. She couldn't help it if her time sense was monitoring the situation closely.
Resolutely, Mac began sorting through the emails, separating official from personal. She and Harm were trying to keep things simple. When they'd finally gotten back on track and settled on a new date, neither was figuring on a large wedding. That assumption was soon turned on its ear. For one thing, there turned out to be a lot more people than either of them anticipated who wanted to come to the wedding. It might have become completely overwhelming had not their family and friends stepped up to help. One of the first things Harm and Mac had done was approach Chaplain Turner and he'd graciously agreed to officiate the ceremony. When he learned they were searching for a church (there wasn't a snowball's chance of getting the Navy Chapel on such short notice), he'd made use of his contacts and set up a meeting with a local pastor. The Chaplain was a discerning man so it wasn't surprising that the JAG officers and Rev. Forrest got along famously. They arranged for the church that very day. In the meantime, Sturgis informed them that Varese had volunteered to sing. Then Carol Dzurick had stepped in (with Gheorghe's blessing) and offered the Bacovian embassy ballroom and kitchen staff for the reception. After that, Frank decided a DJ wasn't appropriate and hired a small orchestra for the evening. When Harm protested the expense, Frank waved it off, airily declaring it an early wedding present. With such major items under control in such a short amount of time, the men were feeling rather smug. Women just liked complicating things, weddings weren't hard at all.
The women, however, were much more aware that there was little time for complacency. Trish, Harriet and Emma Fine had combined forces to discreetly step in as the Colonel's surrogate family. After all these years, Mac had no idea where her own mother was and no desire to hunt the woman down. Knowing how much had yet to be done and how full her schedule was at work, she was grateful for any and all help. Although it was her wedding, Mac had been hard-pressed at times to get a word in edgewise during the frequent strategy meetings. She wasn't really worried. These three knew the couple well enough to understand her and Harm's tastes and priorities. There would not be the same debacle that had been looming for Chegwidden before his wedding had gone off the tracks. Considering the time-crunch they were in (something which seemed to be strictly genetic; none of the men involved, from Harm on down, could understand the urgency still displayed by the women), Mac merely made sure they kept to the broad strokes of her wishes and let them handle the details however they thought best. For her, the most important detail was marrying Harm. She didn't truly care if the invitations were printed on a linen finish card or written on the back of a cocktail napkin. All things considered, it was much like the delegating she already did as a senior officer.
The hardest thing was keeping everyone within budget. Knowing it was traditionally the bride's family that handled the expense, Mac was intent on footing as much of the bill as possible. It had been the source of several arguments with Harm. At first, he'd tried to take over all the expenses, pointing towards his nearly untouched trust fund as ample reason. Mac had surprised the hell out of him when she presented her own considerable bank account as a counter-argument. Growing up in a household where the weekly pay was just as likely to go towards liquor as food and necessities had instilled a deep-seated fear of ever returning to that sort of destitution. During her entire military career, Mac had rarely been frivolous with her money. Notwithstanding the occasional forays into fashion (which Mac thought of as more of a business necessity considering the formal events she'd had to attend), the only luxuries she'd allowed herself were her paleontology hobby, shoes and, most recently, the 'Vette. The rest had been carefully invested.
Not one to surrender easily, Harm had gone for a compromise. Considering that they were older and well-established in their professions, he suggested that they split the cost. Even though it felt like she was reneging on her responsibilities, Mac conceded his point. She added a few caveats to the agreement. She would be responsible for her wedding dress and anything to do with the bridesmaids, as well as the decorating of the church. When it looked like Harm was going to object, she waved her engagement ring at him, pointing at the expense he'd already accrued. Mac then suggested he fight it out with Gheorghe about the cost of the open bar at their reception if he was still willing to argue about something. They would share expenses on everything else.
"Hey counselor, ready for lunch?"
Mac looked up and smiled warmly at Harm before leaning back in her chair, "Depends, know any tall, handsome, jet-jockey-turned-lawyer types who might want to come along?"
Grinning, Harm stepped further into her office, "Nah, are you kidding? They're almost as hard to find as gorgeous Marine attorneys with an uncanny sense of time."
Mac affected a sigh as she grabbed her cover and purse, "Oh well, then I guess we're stuck with each other."
"The price we pay for serving our country," Harm intoned solemnly. He waited for her to walk past and then moved alongside. Neither spoke again until they were in the elevator. Once the doors shut, Harm glanced at his beautiful fiancee and smiled, "I hear you wiped the floor with Vukovic this morning. Congratulations." What he really wanted to do was kiss her silly but that would have to wait until tonight.
Mac gave a slight shrug, pleased with both the memory and Harm's compliment, "He's been asking for it all week. I was just happy I could deliver."
Harm's smile dimmed somewhat. He was aware of Vukovic's maneuverings. The man had attempted to circumvent Mac's defense by bringing up her recent concussion. Her client was innocent but there was enough circumstantial evidence to cast some doubt. Apparently Vukovic didn't really care about the seaman's innocence as much as he cared about winning his case. Given his record with Mac, he'd tried to have her removed by claiming she was mentally impaired, which was unfair to her client. Mac couldn't deny the ongoing consequences of her injury but she did hotly contest Vukovic's assessment of her abilities. It didn't help Vukovic's contentions when Mac's client came out firmly in support of her as his attorney. In the end, Judge Rossman upheld Mac and turned Vukovic's words back on him, telling him he could try for an appeal if he lost his case. The judge then commented somewhat dryly, that it wouldn't say much about Vukovic's lawyering abilities if he was appealing because he'd lost to someone who was 'mentally impaired'.
In any event, it was still a slimy thing to do. Vukovic might have been throwing chaff but he'd managed to hit on a partial truth. Until he'd brought it up, it hadn't been general knowledge that Mac was still dealing with some effects of the concussion. Her doctor at Bethesda had warned her that it might take up to a year for a full recovery. Harm knew, of course, and he also knew that Mac had kept Cresswell informed as well. Glancing away, Harm couldn't help muttering, "Stupid son of a bitch."
"I'll say." Harm looked back to see Mac watching him, "Let it go, Harm. He got his in spades today. I heard Cresswell reamed him as well. You don't need to add your two cents' worth." She nudged him with her shoulder and grinned, "Besides, that's not what I want to be thinking about right now."
Harm arched an eyebrow before smiling smugly, "Really? And is there a tall, handsome jet-jocky-turned-lawyer involved in the 'what'?
Mac gazed towards the elevator doors, her expression innocent, "I don't think so, Navy. That delicious, juicy, double cheeseburger waiting out there is all mine."
Whatever comment Harm might have made about 'dead animal' was swallowed as the elevator doors opened. They both nodded and Mac murmured a quiet 'as you were', to the Ensign and Lt.j.g. who had snapped to attention at the appearance of two senior officers. Walking out to the parking lot, Mac didn't relax again until she was sitting in Harm's SUV. She leaned back with a sigh and Harm looked over at her, "You okay?"
"Tired," she tilted her head towards him with a slight smile. "Sometimes I have to concentrate so I can concentrate - if that makes any sense. It's wearing."
Harm nodded, reaching over to give her hand a squeeze. Backing out of his parking space, he drove out of the lot and headed towards her favorite burger place. When she realized where they were going, Mac looked at Harm in surprise, "Beltway Burgers without an argument or snide comment? Who are you and what have you done with Harmon Rabb, Jr.?"
Harm rolled his eyes and gave her a haughty look, "It's all part of the plan."
"Plan?" Mac folded her arms and tried to look serious, "You have a plan?"
"Contrary to certain people's misconceptions," Harm gave Mac another look that made it that much harder for her to hide a smile, "I always have a plan."
"Uh-huh." Mac was patently skeptical, "And does your plan include bailing you out of some life or death situation with my plan? Because unless there's a cheeseburger at the end of that tunnel, it ain't happening."
Harm pulled into a space in the parking lot of Beltway Burgers. Turning off the engine, he attempted to look affronted, "So you're saying I'm not worth a lousy cheeseburger?"
"Don't be silly, of course you're worth a lousy cheeseburger," Mac reached over and patted his arm while smiling sweetly. "It's the really good cheeseburgers that I'd have to think twice about."
Finally chuckling, Harm shook his head, "Alright, Marine, let's get you fed before I drop below french fries in the pecking order." He got out and went around to open the door for her, keeping a hand ready just in case. She hadn't had any balance problems lately but he didn't like to take chances.
Mac smiled as she climbed out. Normally, she didn't like to hovered over but lately she was finding it kind of sweet. When they'd first returned from California, she'd nearly taken a header down the front steps of her apartment building. She'd turned too quickly when old Mrs. Preston had called her name and the resulting vertigo had nearly knocked her off her feet. Fortunately, Harm had been there to catch her. Unfortunately, it had scared himself enough that, even though it was three months later, he was still worrying about it.
Harm returned her smile and they walked into the restaurant. Fifteen minutes later, she was happily munching away on her double cheeseburger while he worked on a salad. Harm looked over at her as he speared another piece of lettuce, "So what's the word from the Mom Mafia?"
Holding up a hand, Mac swallowed and then dabbed her lips with a napkin. Catching the growing interest on Harm's face as he watched, she shook her head and grinned saucily, "Patience is a virtue, Commander. You'll just have to wait until tonight."
"Patience is over-rated," Harm mock-growled in return, keeping his voice down as he leaned forward. He straightened up with a sigh when Mac raised an eyebrow and deliberately gazed around the restaurant at the various families, "Fine." Propping his chin in a hand, he returned to his earlier question, "What's the latest from your Gang of Three?
Mac rolled her eyes a bit. Ever since Harm had learned that Harriet, Emma and his mom were collaborating, he'd been trying out various names for them. 'Gang of Three' so far was better than 'The Axis of Estrogen'. She'd been drinking her coffee the other morning when he came out with that one and damn near choked. "The flowers are ordered, Emma is conferring with Carol and the embassy kitchen staff about the menu and your Mom is flying in tomorrow."
Harm almost spit out his last bite of salad. Wiping his chin, he stared at Mac, "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't she call and let me know? What time is she getting in?"
"I only read the email 32 minutes ago, I didn't know she didn't call you and her flight arrives at Dulles at 1330 tomorrow. She said not to pick her up, the Bacovian Embassy is sending a car."
"Mom and Carol are plotting together now? Hoo-boy," Harm wiped an imaginary bead of sweat from his brow. "Better you than me."
"Stop," Mac scolded him, "Your mother's a godsend. Do you have any idea how much goes into a wedding?"
Harm couldn't quite contain the long-suffering sigh, "I'm learning." He brightened up a bit, "I heard from Keeter. He's gotten the leave time so he can be one of my groomsmen, said he's looking forward to it." Keeter had actually said quite a bit more, ending with a half-jovial, half-serious warning not to screw this up. Harm didn't think he needed to pass that along.
Mac smiled in return. Jack Keeter had had a soft spot in her heart ever since their time together in the Iranian desert. "That's wonderful. It'll be great seeing him again." She popped a last french fry into her mouth and started gathering the remnants of her lunch, "We'd better be getting back."
Twenty minutes later, they walked into the bullpen. Halfway to Mac's office, she slowed down so abruptly that Harm nearly ran into her. Glancing around to see if anyone had noticed, Harm kept his voice low, "Mac?"
"She's here again," Mac resumed walking at a normal pace, her expression troubled.
Harm looked around again as he followed her. "Who?" he asked as they stepped into her office.
"McKlellan's sister. Why does she keep coming here?" Mac lowered herself into her chair, still frowning slightly.
"She's dating Lt. Pinnella. Harriet mentioned it, remember?" Harm tried not to sound worried. Was this another memory lapse? On a scale of importance, this probably rated somewhere around a minus two but he still didn't like it.
Mac gave him an exasperated look, "Yes, I remember, but why would someone like that keep dating a junior lieutenant?"
Harm dropped into a chair and smiled, "Why Mac, am I hearing reverse snobbery? Rich people aren't allowed to fall in love with poor people?"
She raised an irritated eyebrow, "Is that what you think is going on?"
Hearing the ominous undertone to her voice, Harm held up his hands in a placating manner, doing his best to tread lightly, "Well, it's possible. She seemed pretty down to earth the few times I've run into her." He leaned forward a bit, lowering his voice, "According to Harriet, she holds her parents responsible for her brother's death. Said he'd been heading for something like that all his life and neither one of their parents did a damn thing to stop it."
Mac drummed her fingers on the desk while she eyed Harm before finally shaking her head with a sigh, "I guess it's really none of my business." She couldn't help the uneasy feeling that there was more to Edwina McKlellan's frequent appearances than Lt.j.g. Mario Pinnella. Either way, though, it wasn't Harm's fault and she didn't need to take it out on him. Mac leaned back in her chair, intent on changing the subject, "Has Cresswell said anything to you about finding a new home?" This was one part of the marriage to which neither of them was looking forward. Mac still hadn't quite reconciled herself to Harm's filing his intent to retire.
Harm shook his head. They'd been discussing options off and on since California. He was nearly within a year of reaching his twenty and with the Navy's phasing out of the Tomcats, Harm had finally decided on retirement. He was pretty sure his career had had too many bumps to consider ever becoming the JAG. For that matter, he didn't think he'd really enjoy being anchored to a desk and having to deal with all the political machinations either. Taking into consideration the initial situations of Mattie and Chloe, he'd been looking into various law firms with an eye towards child advocacy but he hadn't been quite sure about it. As a lawyer, he'd be more reactive - dealing with the aftermath of whatever trauma had occurred and he preferred a more proactive role. One option he was seriously considering was starting his own firm, one that combined investigative services with lawyering. It was possible he could fill in the gaps for the overworked Child Services division and rescue kids who might ordinarily fall through the cracks. It was an appealing thought. It'd be even nicer if Mac could eventually join him in such a business but he was pretty sure she was on track to reach her first star.
Mac sighed a little at Harm's negative response. Not knowing where he might wind up after their marriage was just one more worry. Mac had fought him about retiring when he'd first broached the idea. The last thing she'd wanted was to be the cause of him ending his Naval career - again. Harm had insisted it was different this time. He was walking away on his own terms and he was fine with closing that chapter of his life. She was still a bit skeptical although the more he talked about his plans for combining investigation and child advocacy, the more she could see how much he was looking forward to it. Superman was about to form the Justice League. She could only hope in the interim, that Cresswell could find something halfway close that was short-term.
Surprise had been the main reaction when they told their family and friends of Harm's decision and plans. Frank and Trish, after the initial shock, had been incredibly helpful with both information and experience in the nuts and bolts of starting a business. Mattie was mainly concerned that Harm would be happy. Emma thought it was a fine idea and had offered the use of her many contacts at various government institutions. Even Gunny Walters had offered his assistance, giving Harm a small list of former Marines who might be interested in the investigative end of the firm. As the months went by and word raced along the grapevine of Harm's pending retirement and subsequent plans, a surprising number of well-connected people called to wish him well and to offer their support in getting his firm off the ground. Harm, at least, was surprised. Mac was not. He'd helped a number of people over the years and, had he asked, Mac could have told him that his reputation for integrity and passion for truth and justice were well known.
"Harm? You in there?"
He blinked to find Mac leaning forward and waving a hand in front of his face. Ducking his head, he gave her a half-smile, "Sorry, got lost in the what-ifs. Did you say something earlier?"
She smiled at him, "Get back to work, Commander. We can take this up again tonight."
Harm stood, surreptitiously scanning the bullpen before leaning back down for a quick kiss. Standing back up, he smugly overrode her faint protest about keeping it out of the office, "I don't think so, sweetcheeks. We're going to be otherwise occupied."
Mac raised an eyebrow even as she grinned up at him. Sweetcheeks? She would have to come up with something suitably retaliatory tonight, "Which might not happen if we both don't get back to work." Mac chuckled to herself at his sudden departure and returned to her computer. Six minutes later, movement outside her office caught her eye and she glanced up to see Edwina McKlellan walking past, apparently on her way out. Taking a breath, Mac determinedly returned to her work. Despite what Harm had said and all appearances to the contrary, Mac couldn't help suspecting that the woman's motives for hanging out at JAG HQ were being fueled by a desire for revenge. Mac paused for a moment, considering talking to Gunny Walters about it and then shook her head. There wasn't anything to really discuss. All she had were suspicions and, to be fair, it could be guilt that was making her so uncomfortable around Ms. McKlellan. As obnoxious and dangerous as she'd believed Bradley McKlellan to be, he hadn't deserved to die. The fact that he'd been in her custody ultimately made his death her fault. Don Eppes continued to keep her abreast of the case which was rapidly growing colder. They still hadn't found McKlellan's body.
Mac scrubbed at her forehead and made a conscious effort to relax. The tension would only trigger another headache and she certainly didn't need that. Although he'd tried to hide it, she knew Harm wouldn't be able to stop worrying that this was somehow tied to her concussion. Neither of them had time for the distraction. Ever since they'd returned from California, she and Harm's days had been a whirlwind of activity. The tumult of McKlellan case had lasted far longer than she would have liked although Bradley McKlellan was rarely mentioned any more. The Sec Nav had quashed that part of the investigation, pointing out that there was nothing to be gained in pursuing charges against a dead man. She could see his point. She didn't like the unfinished feeling but orders were orders and she had to follow them.
Cresswell had still been annoyed when they'd finally reported in that Tuesday afternoon. Fortunately, most of his ire was directed at the political maneuverings and what they got was merely collateral irritation. Jen had set up appointments at Bethesda that morning for both Mac and Harm, to check their condition and release them for duty. Not surprisingly, they were restricted from field investigations for a good month. It was just as well because they were both buried in paperwork. After the second week, Harm swore he'd consider a mission with Clay again just to get out from under.
He was a happy man when his restriction had finally been lifted. Harm then picked up an assignment on the Abe Lincoln and although he tried to downplay the whole thing while they were together, Mac had seen that he was ready to turn handsprings. It'd only been for about 3 or 4 days and Mac hadn't begrudged him the time gone. Paperwork was never Harm's forte. For herself, she'd known it would take far longer to get back to some semblance of normal. While Harm was gone, she'd met with Cresswell and they'd worked out an arrangement. She could return to litigating but, for the time being, field investigations were off-limits. The General had then assigned her a junior officer to handle whatever legwork needed doing. Ensign Barton wasn't as bright or intuitive as Lt. Pick Tyler had been but he was enthusiastic. Mac thought he had potential and did her best to make sure he received a good foundation as an investigator.
Seven Angels Restaurant
Los Angeles, CA
Margery Threetrails handed her keys to the valet and walked into the restaurant. Stepping up to the maitre'd, she gave him her name and then nodded her thanks as he directed her towards the private rooms in the back. She hesitated for a brief moment at the sight of a large, imposing man standing in front of the door. Straightening slightly, Margery resumed her pace. No way would she let herself be intimidated. As she reached the doorway, the man silently opened the door and stepped aside. Margery stiffened and then chastised herself for being rattled. This was a business meeting, dammit, there was nothing ominous about it.
Stepping through the doorway, she nodded cordially to the man sitting at the table. He smiled pleasantly, "Ms. Threetrails, thank you for coming." He pushed away from the table and Margery noted with surprise that he was in a wheelchair. He waved a disparaging hand, "I hope you'll forgive me for not rising. As you can see, it would be rather difficult."
Margery shook her head as she extended a hand, "Please don't apologize. You're Mr. Ezekiel?" Even in a wheelchair, he was an imposing figure. Lean and dark with a soft Southern accent, he had a forceful charisma about him that reminded her of The Bear. Her breath hitched ever so slightly at the memory of her fallen mentor and hardened her resolve on what she was about to do.
"Michael Ezekiel, ma'am, at your service," he shook her hand and then gestured towards the table, "Please, have a seat. Would you like something to eat?" He snapped his fingers and the huge man stepped into the room and waited.
Margery shook her head, "No thank you, I'm afraid my time is somewhat limited." She sat down and opened up her briefcase, pulling out a couple of file folders. Placing them on the table, she eyed the man opposite of her, "Your firm has a reputation for getting results, Mr. Ezekiel." She didn't say that it also had the reputation of being more than a little ruthless in getting those results. Margery didn't have a problem with that.
Ezekiel smiled easily, "We pride ourselves on making our clients happy." He leaned an elbow on the table and rubbed his chin speculatively, "And what is it we can do for Liwanu Enterprises?"
"Nothing," Margery snapped, stiffening in her seat. She forced herself to relax, "This is for me, personally. It has nothing to do with Liwanu." She pulled several papers out of the top file folder and slid them across the table, "This is a confidentiality agreement. No one is to know you're working for me, under any circumstances. In return," she pulled out a check and slid that across as well, "you'll be well compensated."
Taking the check first, Ezekiel's eyebrows rose briefly before he directed another smile at Margery, "I believe we can accommodate your wishes." He pulled a pen out of the inside pocket of his suit coat and signed the papers with a flourish. Placing the pen on the table, he handed the papers back and leaned forward expectantly, "And what exactly would you like us to do?"
"Two things," Margery replied, retrieving the papers and putting them back in the folder. "First, I need to have an area of the LA sewer system thoroughly searched. I believe that somewhere down there is a package that belongs to me and I want it back." She handed him a folder, "This is the location. No one can know that you're looking and should you find it, it is to be delivered to me unopened. Is that clear?" He nodded without a word and she pulled out a second folder and held it up, "This contains the names of three people I want under surveillance. I want to know their daily habits, schedules and routines, who their friends are, where their favorite places are. I want to be able to find them on a moment's notice and I want weekly reports emailed to the account indicated. They cannot know they're being watched." Margery leaned forward, her manner intense, "Do not underestimate these people. If you get caught, I don't know you. Agreed?"
Ezekiel leaned back, steepling his fingers, "That sort of surveillance is expensive, requiring a number of teams to be done correctly. While we're not a small firm, I will have to vet and hire outside sources and it will take time - possibly four to six weeks to get everything set up." He moved forward again, picking up the pen and scribbling a number on the back of one of his business cards. He slid it across the table, "Will this be acceptable?"
Margery inhaled a bit at the number and then firmly nodded her head. She'd really had no idea how much something like this would cost but if it gave her what she needed, it would be worth every penny. "We have a deal," Margery handed him the folder and stood up, "I understand the prep time necessary but I want to be kept in the loop. I will expect progress reports."
"You'll get them," Ezekiel smiled confidently, tapping the folder on the table as he watched her leave. This had to be one of the sweetest deals he'd managed to snare for himself. Humming lightly to himself, he opened the folder and looked at the first page. The humming stopped abruptly. By all that was holy... a FBI agent? And not just an agent but one of the best snipers and trackers in the world. Ezekiel had been in this business long enough to know a few things and one was that Ian Edgerton was incredibly dangerous. Damnation, he should have tripled that ridiculously high figure he gave Threetrails. Grumbling now, he pulled out the next page and froze. Trembling slightly, he pulled out the third sheet and laid it next to the other two. Former self-proclaimed Reverend and militia leader, Michael Ezekiel - aka John Phillip Trask, stared at the photos of Harmon Rabb, Jr. and Sarah MacKenzie. After all these years... this most certainly was a sign from God. The time for vengeance had finally arrived.