*****A/N – If you read chapter 5, please re-read as it was drastically changed to fit how I wanted to end this story. All of the references to different characters came from season one.

Disclaimer - I do not own any of these characters but thank USA Network for allowing me to fanfic them.

Chapter one

He awoke keeping his eyes closed and waited for the inside of his head to clear. As he tried to remember what happened, he laid perfectly still on the floor: listening. He wanted to make sure he was alone.

After a long minute, Marshall heard distant footfalls. He feigned unconsciousness when he heard the door lock being disengaged, followed by two footsteps. A soft click and a flash of light, the door closed and the lock re-engaged. The footsteps faded. What was that all about? What was that flash? He recognized the sound of that click, but couldn't place it. It gnawed at the corner of his memory but he just couldn't pull it forward.

After what seemed an eternity, Marshall pried his eyes open. Only after he reassured himself he was alone did he finally move. He instantly regretted it and let out a soft groan. He ached all over. Last he remembered, he was jumped by 3 or 4 goons just after he tucked his newest witness in for the night at a local motel.

Oh God, my witness! He bolted upright only to flop back down, his hands cuffed tight behind his back. He see-sawed his arms. There was no movement between his skin and the cuffs, no way of slipping his hands out. If they wanted my witness, why take me? Why not just kill me? Or knock me out? What did they do with him? I've got to find him. I've got to get out!

On his back, he lifted his head and took in the details of his surroundings. Basement. Night. Cement floor. Gray brick walls. Metal door, only access. One metal cabinet. One dim light in the ceiling. Two small windows, 8 feet off the ground, large enough for him to squeeze through.

His mind furiously tried to reason out what was going on. If they wanted his witness, why would he be here? Unless his guy escaped while he was fighting off the thugs. Then why no interrogation? Maybe they didn't want his but someone else's and he's the negotiation. There was a plethora of possibilities with that scenario. Maybe a pissed off witness getting even. But who could that be, they're in Witsec to be protected. They'd be pissed at the situation, not the people who helped them get started.

He twitched his face a bit. The right side was swollen. He could feel that easily. Had a split lip as well. His whole body was sore, but he didn't think anything was broken thus hindering his ability to get away. He looked up at the small basement window. He could escape through there if he could get out of the cuffs. A slight smirk crossed his face. He slid his hands up to his belt, slipping a finger into a slit in it. He had heard too many stories from his father and grandfather of cops who were handcuffed with their own bracelets. So, he had created a mini-compartment and slipped a spare key in there for such emergencies. It never occurred to him that he would ever need it.

"Crap! It was supposed to be right there." He'd simply unstitched a small section between the inside and outside of the belt to hide it. Either it fell out or shifted anywhere along the 36" length. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he manipulated the leather strap from behind his back, feeling for the key. God, he hoped that he could find and retrieve it before they came back.

Marshall didn't have time to feign unconsciousness when two beefsteaks barreled through the door. He looked up at them. "I don't suppose we can sit down like gentlemen and discuss whatever it is you need from me?"

A swift kick to the midsection answered his question as it sucked all the wind out of his lungs.

XXXXX

Mary butted through the door, three cups of coffee in her hand. This time I'll surprise him and pay. She slowed as she approached Marshall's desk, placing one coffee there. She turned towards Stan, sitting in the conference room. "Where's Marshall?"

Her boss looked up and over at her. "I thought you would know. You two seem joined at the hip."

"Nope. He must have had a hot date last night." She frowned, looking at his desk. "You know, I don't think I ever remember him being late."

She shrugged it off and sat at her own desk ignoring his ringing phone.

When it was obvious the caller wasn't interested in leaving a message, Stan called out. "Mary, please get his phone!"

"Alight already." She grabbed it. "Hello, Inspector Mann's office... No I'm not his secretary!"

"Yeah."

"Uh, huh." Her brow furrowed.

"Yeah, okay, we'll be right over."

She hung up and yelled to her boss. "Stan, that was Marshall's client. He said Marshall was supposed to pick him up over an hour ago for his court date."

Stan hesitated as the news sunk in. He rose, grabbing his keys, concerned etched on his face. "C'mon, I'm driving."

XXXXX

As they approached the motel Mary pointed. "Hey look. He's here after all. There's his car. I bet he showed up just after the guy called."

Stan pulled next to the huge black SUV. "He's got some explaining to do. If his witness needed to be in court then he should have called to have one of us pick him up. Do you know the room number?"

"322."

As they headed for the stairs, Mary noticed a plain manila envelop taped to the motel support post directly in front of the Yukon. She shrugged and continued up the stairs.

"Where the hell have you been?" A skinny, tired looking young man answered the door.

"Say, where's Inspector Mann? I thought he was taking me to court today?"

Stan peered into the room. "He's not here?"

The witness shook his head.

Mary bolted down the stairs and to the black SUV. "It's his car, his keys are here, but there's no sign of Marshall."

Her attention focused back on the envelope on the pole. She snatched it down and opened it. Inside was a single photograph. Nothing else. Mary pulled it out, studied it for a moment then leaned over and vomited.