The Deal Killer

by Dog in the Manger

A case spanning two continents with a glimpse into the criminal underbelly of New York and Moscow. A businessman is shot in his office in Midtown Manhattan. The murder witness is whisked away into WITSEC. The cross-country trek leads our favorite duo to making a few discoveries about their relationship, which develops further once they return to ABQ.

THE DEAL KILLER

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Standard Disclaimer applies to this story.

Spoilers through the end of Season 4. The case starts after Love in time of Colorado. Abigail's absence from is explained in Chapter 12. Eleanor returned to ABQ WITSEC shortly before the start of this story.

I'd like to thank the immensely talented tilleygirl for all her work as a beta on this story and merciki for ensuring that Mary and Marshall kept their canon voices.

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Chapter 1: Reluctant Witness

Stan walked out of his office and looked over at his best team of marshals. The assignment he had for them would surely get on their nerves. Mary was hunched over her desk, clearly preoccupied with something; and Marshall was staring intently at the screen of his computer. Both were oblivious to his agitation. At least Marshall was reinstated to active duty. The thought of having to send Mary out by herself or finding her a temporary partner for this transfer gave him a migraine. He shrugged off the feeling and broke the silence.

"Inspectors, my office. Now." Turning on his heel he walked back to his desk, expecting them to follow.

Mary felt the tension radiating off Stan and looked at Marshall to see if he noticed anything. He had trouble tearing his gaze away from the screen and, as such, saw nothing.

"Damn it, Marshall, you've ignored me all morning. You're going to burn a hole through that damn screen," she said louder than intended.

Her irritation crept up, overpowering the excitement from the prospect of spending time in the field. Lately, she had felt stifled by the routine of witness visits and Brandi's wedding plans. Hiding behind the demands of the job to avoid flower selection and caterer interviews was getting old. Although, food tasting had not been half as bad as she thought it would. Mary needed to get out of the house and away from her family. A road trip with Marshall would be a welcome break.

It took Marshall a while to come up with a reply. He brushed a stray hair out of his face and gave her a blank stare, still lost in his thoughts.

"Let's find out what Stan's got for us, okay, Mare?"

He rose from his chair and headed for the office. Mary had no choice but to follow. She thought it odd not to get a witty comeback from her partner. He was seemed out of sorts this morning and she was uncomfortable not knowing the reason for his behavior.

As soon as they walked into his office, Stan handed Mary a memory stick.

"We have a new witness to transport from New York City. You are flying commercial into Newark with an hour layover in Houston. The touch down at EWR is at 5 P.M. EST. NJ Marshals office will provide you with an SUV when you arrive. Eleanor forwarded you the itineraries. You've been booked with the airline and the hotel as Shepherd and Miller. The flight leaves in less than two hours, so you'll have to get a move on quickly. All relevant files are on this drive. You should have enough time to familiarize yourself with the case and learn about your witness during the flight. Mary, this is a high profile witness. Is that understood, Inspector? Marshall, keep your partner in line."As he finished his speech, he studied his inspectors to see if they grasped the importance of the assignment.

Marshall's mouth curved up in a shadow of a smile in reassurance.

"No one can keep Mary in line. But, not to worry, it's not the first high profile case we've handled."

Mary hesitated only for a second.

"Don't get your panties in a knot, Stan. How bad could it be?"

Stan did not respond, waving them off, but as soon as they were out of earshot, he muttered, "You have no idea, Inspector, but I have a feeling we're about to find out."

The trip to the airport was uneventful: Mary was brooding over the assignment and Marshall's withdrawal, while Marshall was still preoccupied by his thoughts. Upon arrival at the check-in they were surprised to learn they were bumped up to business class. When they were boarding the flight, Mary mused, "So much for keeping a low profile."

Marshall was unfazed by the upgrade.

"Business class makes sense, Mare. The flight is full and we have more than enough miles to qualify. But if you'd rather stay in coach, I am sure they'll be happy to oblige. Stan did give us a ton of paperwork to review. I uploaded the files to our laptops before we left."

Mary gave him a quizzical look.

"So, how do we play it? Which one are you looking at first? The case or the witness?"

Marshall contemplated the question for a moment, then said, "If you don't mind, I want to look at the witness' file first."

"I don't give a rat's ass. Either is fine by me."

Mary shoved her go bag into the overhead bin, slid into the window seat, opened her laptop and engrossed herself in the case.

This was a gruesome homicide. Robert Spencer Stone was found dead in his office at the headquarters of Graham Stone Developers in midtown Manhattan. The fatal wound was a gunshot to the head. The medical examiner estimated the time of death between 9:00 and 9:30 P.M. on March 16th, 2011. The only witness to the murder was Elizabeth Orlov Graham, the other owner of the firm. She placed the 911 call at 9:13 P.M. indicating that she heard a gunshot at her colleague's office and identified Gleb Stolov as the shooter. The suspect was allegedly known as the boss of a Russian crime syndicate operating along the East Coast, involved in every known criminal endeavor from prescription drug trafficking, insurance fraud, prostitution, racketeering, money laundering, to arms dealing.

There were no other witnesses to the murder. Without the witness' testimony, the case was shaky, held together by circumstantial evidence. Ms. Graham had agreed to testify during the trial in the Southern District Court of New York. Since the suspect was a person of interest in a number of federal investigations, witness protection program was recommended. However, there was nothing in the file indicating the witness was briefed to that effect.

Out of curiosity, more than anything else, Mary opened the attachment with photos of the crime scene. She noted that the CSIs were meticulous in capturing the details: the male body was sprawled on the floor in front of the large mahogany desk; the scattered papers on that desk were a bloody mess and the carpet was soaked through around the body. It was nearly impossible to discern the victim's identity, as most of his face was blown off by the impact of the bullet. The man was shot at close range with the bullet going through and through. Mary noted that the forensics dug out a 9mm Beretta slug from the painting hanging on the wall behind the desk. The shooter was packing serious heat.

Looking at the photos brought back the memories from the basement where she was held during her kidnapping. Mary could almost feel the sickening smell of blood. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Mare, what's wrong?"

Marshall looked at her, concern showing in his blue eyes. Mary was pale and agitated. Her excitement from spending time in the field withering with each passing minute.

"I have strange feeling about this case," she said, shrugging it off. "It's nothing."

"Clearly, it is something." Marshall fell silent, waiting.

"It hits too close to home, all right? I still remember the smell of vaporized blood..." Mary shuddered. "Sweet... Metallic."

He gave her a thoughtful look and said, "Take a look her file then, we can talk about the case when we board the plane to Newark."

He needed her to focus on the assignment and stop mulling over her memories. Mary caught onto his deflection tactic, but decided to take his advice. She would not allow herself to identify with the witness. That kind of attachment could compromise her ability to do her job and expose Marshall to unnecessary risk. She sighed and opened the file. Time on the flight went by quickly, and when the pilot announced the descent into Houston, she noticed that Marshall was fast asleep in his seat.

"Hey, jackass, wake up, we have to change planes." She shook Marshall's shoulder. "I can't believe you had the audacity to fall asleep after telling me to read the files."

"One, I am a fast reader. Two, I have followed this case over the last few days. I saw it in the paper and did some research before we left the office. Elizabeth seems like a remarkable woman."

He regretted saying the words as soon as they left his mouth. Mary's sour mood turned outright malicious.

"Well, I haven't followed the case and am not done with her file. Do me a favor, don't gush over this hoity-toity when we're there, okay? We have enough to deal with as it is."

Her words dripped venom and Marshall kept quiet. The last thing he needed was to be ridiculed by his partner for admiring a witness. After the conversation with Stan that morning, Marshall had a feeling this trip would take longer than a few days. Nothing he saw indicated the witness had agreed to enter the program. He decided to keep that bit of information to himself for now. If Mary did not figure it out, the D.A. could handle that can of worms.

They hardly spoke for the rest of the trip. Both knew they would have to talk it out eventually, but neither wanted to start the conversation. They got their lunch to go at Houston airport and arrived at the gate just in time for boarding. Once in their seats, Mary settled and closed her eyes, feigning sleep until they landed. She did not fool Marshall, but silence suited him just fine. He needed time to plan for dealing with two strong-willed women and ensuring they did not kill each other during the transport. Unfortunately, he did not come up with anything useful. There were still too many variables to consider.

At the Newark airport, Mary and Marshall met two NJ marshals, who had a sport utility vehicle ready for them to use.

Mary took the keys from one of the guys and said abruptly, "I'll drive."

Her tone did not allow for argument. Not that Marshall would have objected. Driving in New York City was not a task he enjoyed, while Mary seemed eager to hit the familiar streets. He had also hoped that would help him get back in her good graces before meeting the witness.

Marshall rode shotgun and kept his silence, giving Mary a chance to start the conversation. By the time they made it to the New Jersey Turnpike exit tolls to Lincoln Tunnel, Mary was swearing like a sailor and changing lanes like a maniac. Marshall had started thinking that his plan backfired as Mary seemed more aggravated than she had been when they got off the plane.

As it became apparent that they were stuck in traffic for at least another hour, Mary glanced at him and said, "Okay, numb nuts, enlighten me. What do you know about Elizabeth Graham?"

Marshall shifted in his seat, trying to figure out if Mary was ready for a conversation or was fishing for another reason to fight. She appeared to have made her peace with the traffic so he decided to give it a shot.

"Elizabeth Orlov Graham is a modern day Anastasia, if you will. The Grand Duchess Anastasia was the youngest daughter of the last Russian monarch Nikolas the Second. She was rumored to have escaped the slaughter of the entire royal family by the Bolshevik secret police…"

"Yeah, okay, Wikipedia, skip the history lesson. I've seen the movie. Get to the point."

"Mare, Disney took great liberties with the story. But you are right. I should save my breath. Elizabeth Graham is a naturalized citizen. Born in Moscow, in the former Soviet Union. Her mother, Helen Orlov Katz is now deceased. The identity of her biological father is unknown. I'm not sure if looking into his identity is relevant at this juncture. Martin Katz, who is listed as Elizabeth's father in the file is the stepfather. Before you ask, this is Martin Katz of Levine, Rothstein and Katz." He waited for Mary to acknowledge what he had said.

Mary looked at him like he grew a second head.

"Am I supposed to know who these clowns are?"

Marshall let out an exasperated sigh.

"These clowns, as you called them, are one of the most prominent litigators in the country."

She looked away from the road to glare at him.

"And you assumed I would know that? Never mind..."

Marshall ignored her displeasure and continued.

"Martin was working at the American Embassy in Moscow in the late sixties and early seventies. In 1972, he returned to New York with his wife Helen and a four year old Elizabeth. She was raised on Park Avenue, attended Riverdale Country School, and graduated from Barnard College by the time she was nineteen. A year later she married James Archer Graham, of Graham Media, only a few years after his well publicized divorce. He passed away a few years ago.

Elizabeth has two stepsons from James Sr.'s first marriage to Mitsy Forbes. Cameron is the same age as Elizabeth, and A.J. is five years her junior. The Graham Media empire is now run by Cameron. A.J. prefers polo, golf and women to business pursuits.

In 1995 Elizabeth gave birth to a son, James Archer Jr. He is now sixteen and will be coming into the program with her..."

Marshall paused, appeared to have lost his train of thought.

"Anyhow, at the ripe age of thirty two, Elizabeth had established herself as one of the most successful women in the real estate development community of New York City. She and Robert Stone founded Graham Stone Development about ten years prior and built their success on redevelopment of historic buildings. Basically, the investors threw money at them for the returns and the community loved them for restoring buildings instead of tearing them down. Elizabeth has a reputation of using her uncanny negotiating skills for making impossible happen. She was able to build stellar relationships with the city government and construction unions. Initially, Robert was the one with industry and banking contacts, but in the last few years the balance had shifted somewhat. Long story short, in the last twenty years this pair has managed to make millions and stay below the radar for any funny business. Until recently that is. I don't know how a guy like Robert Stone got mixed up with the Russian mob, but that cost him his life."

Marshall fell silent and turned to Mary. She was looking at the lights of the Tunnel ahead.

"Mare, are you even listening?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Um, no, I usually tune you out when we discuss the case details. I pay attention when you spout mindless drivel."

She paused, as if she wanted to add something, but decided against it.

"You know you love the drivel." He smirked.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, buster." She glanced at the dash. "We should be at her apartment building five minutes after we make it through the tunnel. Parking will be a bitch. Everybody and their mother will be looking for a spot: the city is a zoo on Fridays."

"Elizabeth is expecting us and has arranged for a guest spot in the garage."

Mary flashed him a sinister smile.

"Well then. Hey, watch it, asshole!" she yelled at a yuppie in a red hardtop convertible and swerved to avoid a fender bender. Gripping the wheel tighter, she focused on the traffic up Tenth Avenue. She was out of practice driving in the city; banter with Marshall had to wait. In a few minutes they pulled up to Lincoln Center Towers. The marshals noticed an unmarked car with New York's finest parked across from the building entrance.

"Very subtle. Incompetent Idiots." Mary rolled her eyes.

A security guard at the garage entrance studied Mary's ID, picked up the phone and had a quick conversation before handing her id back and letting them through. Mary pulled into a spot and slipped out of the vehicle. Marshall caught up to her by the elevators. They rode up to the lobby, quietly taking in their surroundings.

When the elevator door opened, a uniformed doorman greeted them cheerfully.

"Good evening! Marshals Shepherd and Miller, I presume?"

The pair nodded. The doorman picked up the phone and waited.

"Evening, Edith. The U.S. Marshals are here for Ms. Graham." He listened for a moment, and then said, turning to the marshals, "Please take the elevator at the end of this hallway to the top floor and have yourself a good evening!"

Marshall thanked him before they walked away.

Once the elevator doors closed, they heard music. The setup rubbed Mary the wrong way: the uniformed doorman, marble lobby with pretentious artwork, mahogany doors, and elevator music. She had little patience for people indulging in excess. Mary could deal with witnesses from all walks of life but this. She felt like a fish tossed out of water, definitely outside of her comfort zone. She needed an angle to deal with this witness, but was coming up empty. It was infuriating.

"Nice choice, Vivaldi, the Four Seasons," Marshall's words hardly reached her consciousness. He attempted to ease her tension, and while she was grateful, she would never show it. Mary flashed him a sinister smile, but kept her silence. She was mulling over a plan. The elevator opened and revealed a foyer lit by two wall sconces. Mary pushed the call button on the intercom. A petite forty something redhead opened the door and gestured them to come in.

Marshall raised his badge.

"Deputy U.S. Marshal Marshall Miller and my partner, Deputy U.S. Marshal Mary Shepherd. We are here to see Ms. Graham."

"Good evening, marshals. I will show you to Ms. Graham's study, she is expecting you."

The woman led them through a large open area and down a long hallway into a room with floor to ceiling windows spanning two walls. Mary recognized the large desk in the corner: it was just like one in the photos of the crime scene. The similarity did not escape Marshall's eyes either, but his gaze was fixed on the blonde who walked over and held out her hand with a smile that did not reach her deep blue eyes.

Marshall had seen many pictures of this woman in the last day and a half. None did her any justice. She was wearing a black sweater and pants that revealed her curvy figure, leaving just enough for the imagination. She was taller than Mary, although he could not tell if that was due to the height of the heels or her stature.

"What can I do for the U.S. Marshals Service?" she asked as she shook Marshall's hand and turned to Mary.

Mary shook her hand and said, "Ms. Graham..." but before she could continue, Elizabeth forcefully interrupted.

"Please, call me Liz."

Mary frowned. Elizabeth had no idea her life was about to change dramatically. As always, the DOJ did not bother explaining what testifying against an organized crime syndicate entailed, leaving her and Marshall with doing the heavy lifting. Marshall noticed Mary's hesitation and intervened.

"Liz, this is not going to be a short conversation."

"Forgive my manners, I've been shaken up a bit. May I offer you a drink? Coffee?"

Mary answered for the both of them, "No, thank you."

"If you don't mind, I'll finish my scotch." Liz's voice was low with a hint of vibration. Behind the seemingly soft-spoken exterior was a character of forged steel. The conversation would not be an easy one to handle.

Liz sat in a leather chair next to the coffee table and motioned for the marshals to the sofa across from her. As they sank into fine leather, Liz took a sip from her double old fashioned.

"Now, please tell me what this is all about."

Marshall cleared his throat, and Mary said, "This is about safety for you and your son. Witnessing the murder of Robert Stone put your life in jeopardy. The Russians will stop at nothing to prevent you from testifying. The Department of Justice is offering you immediate entry into the Federal Witness Protection Program."

Liz looked at Mary as if she sustained a brain injury.

"I presume you have already planned my entire life out in the middle of nowhere."

She took a sip from her glass.

"Of course, I would have to give up everything I love: the city I grew up in, career I worked my entire life to build, and not to mention my friends and family. No wonder Andrew was cryptic about the reason for your hasty arrival." Liz wasn't really talking to them anymore. Her voice was even lower now. She took another sip, and raised her right hand abruptly. The marshals heard two bangles on her wrist click loudly against each other. Her voice was now cold as ice.

"You can forget it. No one, definitely not the Russian mob can intimidate me into running scared. I did nothing wrong. I am not a fugitive and refuse to abandon the life I have worked hard to build. While I appreciate your coming here, my decision is final and this conversation is over." She stood up. "Edith will see you out."

"Thank you for your time," Marshall said. They rose from the couch in silence and headed for the door. Edith was already waiting for them. Marshall lingered to let Mary pass, and then turned back to Elizabeth.

"Liz, before we go. My guess is, you are going to the benefit at the Met Opera tomorrow. Large gathering of people provides a perfect opportunity the Russians are not likely to pass up. The NYPD will not be able to protect you."

Liz saw genuine concern in Marshall's eyes and felt compelled to reassure him.

"You know, I still have Rob's invitation. So if you need to see that I am going to be perfectly safe there, you may accompany me. However, you will need a tuxedo."

Marshall smiled at her and said, "What time do I pick you up?"

"It starts at 6:00 P.M., but you already knew that. I'd like to arrive a quarter after. Rob usually took care of the speeches, but tomorrow night I will have to take his place." Her voice trailed off and she gave the marshal a weak smile. "Meet me in the lobby five after six: it's only a short walk from here."

"What a pigheaded, self-involved bitch." Mary slammed the SUV door after getting in.

"Are you coming?" she asked Marshall acerbically, "Or you want to hang here until it is time to pick up your date?"

Marshall got into the vehicle, and gave her a homicidal look.

"Are you going to drive to the hotel or are we going to sit here all night?"

Now he was pissed. His move of last resort paid off. It just bought them time to convince Liz to join the program. Mary's reaction was completely uncalled for, even if predictable. Marshall was a professional doing his job of protecting the witness.

Mary's face turned red as she turned away from Marshall and floored the gas. The SUV screeched out the garage onto the street.

"Mare, please do not kill us before we finish with this witness. I am sure the Russians would thank you, but I don't think Stan would be very happy."

"Marshall, what witness are you talking about? She just threw us out and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Like hell we can't. It's not over until Stan says it's over! He said this case would not be a cake walk. We had no leverage, so now we have time."

Mary shrugged, she hated when Marshall was right.

"Was that me, or did she refer to the D.A. as Andrew?" She was extending an olive branch, and he took it.

"She sure did. I'll look into it."

Mary thought about Marshall's plan and admitted it was better than nothing, which is what she came up with. She scaled back the contempt of her tone, but could not help the last wisecrack.

"I don't suppose you packed a tux in your go bag."

Marshall felt the tension easing and quipped, "Do you think there is a place to rent one of those around here?"

Mary snorted and the peace was restored.

After the marshals left, Liz sat in her study looking at planes landing and taking off at Newark. She could see LaGuardia and JFK Airports as well, but preferred to stare out the southwest window. She knew even before the marshals arrived, that Andrew had something up his sleeve. In the last conversation earlier that afternoon he was trying to pacify her and it always meant he was holding back information. Andrew didn't argue when she refused a security detail in her home. She insisted that the building's security was more than capable of handling her safety and he agreed on the condition of NYPD surveillance of her building and family when they were outside of the apartment. She had told Edith about it, but not James. Her thoughts shifted to her son. The teenage hormones had interfered with his judgment lately. Jimmy, once a bright and sweet kid was becoming an insolent, self-destructing elitist. Rob used to have some influence on him, but so did Cam and A.J. She never interfered in any of those relationships, especially after Jay died. Not that it helped much anymore.

Liz let out a mirthless chuckle and refilled her glass. All important men in her life had a ridiculous habit of dying and leaving her to deal with everything on her own. Jay was the first to leave her to pick up the pieces and now Rob. She blinked back traitorous tears. Martin was still there for her, she thought bitterly, but the relationship was strained lately. Liz wondered if she asked too many questions after Helen died and if she had hurt him. It was ancient history; perhaps it was time to put the past to rest. She looked at her glass and slammed it on the desk. Now was not the time for reflection. She picked up the phone and dialed the D.A.'s cell phone.

"Evening, Andrew."

"Liz, is everything all right?" the man on the phone was genuinely concerned.

"Fine, Andrew. I just threw the marshals out. I thought it best you heard from me."

"Why are you acting as if you don't care what happens to you or James?"

"Witness Protection, Andrew, really? How long have you known me? What in our history together led you to believe I would agree to this?"

"Liz, I am concerned for your safety. There is a contract on your head. This is not a situation you can control."

"Andrew, I can control just about any situation, and this one is no exception. Just to appease you, though, I will take the tall marshal with me to the benefit tomorrow."

"Unbelievable. You are going?"

"Of course I am going. Your marshal knew that after a five minute conversation, and you had to ask after knowing me a lifetime."

"Liz, you are being stubborn."

"In short, I am being me."

"Don't do anything reckless before I see you tomorrow."

"Good night." Liz hung up and smiled. She thought of a plan.

The following morning passed without incident. The marshals continued gathering intel and had a conference call with Stan. Elizabeth and her family remained at home all morning, so the marshals had time to fill Stan in on the debacle from the night before and devise a strategy for the evening. Stan agreed with Marshall that until DOJ pulled the plug, Elizabeth was their witness. He suggested Mary look after James Graham Jr. while Marshall escorted Liz to the Met. Stan had no doubt that the son was in danger and felt the local constabulary was ill equipped to protect him.

The NYPD detail reported James Jr. entering the Sutton Place bar with A.J. and Cameron Graham around 4 P.M. that afternoon. Mary was not particularly psyched about dealing with all three of the Graham brothers, but she had no choice. Stan reminded her that she could not rough either of them up no matter what buttons they managed to push. She was there to look after the youngest one.

Mary tried to protest as she felt indignant at her inability to drag these entitled bastards out of the bar by the hair on their gonads for corrupting a kid. While she walked from the hotel across town, she was huffing that any cop who reported on a sixteen year old entering a bar and did nothing about it, should look for different line of work, but the walk settled her nerves. By the time she made it to the bar she regained her composure.

Marshall picked out the tux, making sure his holstered Glock was inconspicuous. He did not want to draw too much attention to himself at the benefit. Mary warned that his boots would do just that, but nothing she said convinced him to change into a pair of shoes. When he arrived at Lincoln Center Towers, Liz was waiting for him, chatting with the doorman. She looked stunning with her blonde hair pulled back, in a navy blue gown that highlighted the color of her eyes.

"Good evening, Liz. You look beautiful tonight." Marshall said as he offered her his arm.

"Evening, Marshal Miller. You don't look too bad either."

"Liz, please call me Marshall."

"So, what's the story with the boots?"

He chuckled.

"There's no story. Just boots."

Liz smiled and led him across the plaza and into the Met. When they arrived, she greeted the usher by name, and he glanced at the invitations letting them pass. Liz assumed Marshall had never been to the Met and decided to give him a tour. They took a leisurely stroll on the balcony where the murals by Marc Chagall used to hang and Marshall told Liz he regretted not getting a chance to admire them. He had seen photos of course, but it would have been nice to see the real thing. She was surprised to learn that Marshall knew the Met put the paintings up as collateral on a loan when it suffered harsh financial woes. Liz admired that the marshal was better educated and well read than most law enforcement types she had encountered before.

During the reception Liz was approached by a few who wished to share their condolences for the death of her partner. On a number of occasions she was able to graciously dodge the question on Marshall's identity. They ran into Andrew Schwartzman, the D.A., but Liz ushered him off with a promise to meet during the intermission. The first bell rang calling the patrons inside. Liz suggested they go to her box. She sat her champagne flute down on the bar and accepted Marshall's arm. To any casual observer he fit the bill for an ordinary date.

When they got to the box Marshall assessed their surroundings for a potential threat. He could not shake a strange feeling of anticipation. When the chandeliers dimmed and started going up into the ceiling he was startled and Liz chuckled to herself. The brainy marshal was not immune to amusement.

The first act was uneventful, and Marshall allowed himself to enjoy the opera. Not for nothing, this witness transport had proven to come with a perk or two. Liz marveled at how much Marshall seemed to take to the performance. La Bohème was her favorite and she made sure she heard it at least once every season. Admittedly, tonight's performance was exceptionally good. Marshall noticed that he was being observed, but chose not to say anything. On a different occasion he might have entertained the possibility, even if only as a distraction from Mary, but not this time, he was acutely aware of being on assignment and to a Mann the job came first. In a fleeting moment, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glimmer and reacted instinctively. He pulled Liz down from her seat and covered her with his body. The music was particularly engaging and no one paid much attention to the commotion in the box. The two puffs of air exploding through the upholstery of the chair in which Liz sat only seconds before two bullets went through its back went unnoticed as well.

"Liz, stay down," Marshall breathed out and reached for his phone.

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Chapter 2: Wasp's Nest

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Mary pushed past the bouncer with a smirk. Some things never change, she thought, noticing his appreciative glance down her shirt. On a different occasion she would have enjoyed beating some manners into him, but tonight his reaction suited her purpose. It meant she blended in with the martini drinking, fancy shoe wearing cougars on a prowl at this notorious East Side frat hangout. Mary made her way to the bar, ordered a dirty gin martini with three olives and settled up. She had no intention of drinking her cocktail, choosing it only to support her cover. She would feel bad wasting good scotch, but gin, not so much: how someone could enjoy that rancid potion was beyond her comprehension. Mary looked around, searching for the Graham brothers, but they were nowhere in sight. As she started wondering about the quality of the intel provided by NYPD, she noticed a staircase in the back. Walking up the steps, she carefully poured out about half of her drink.

When Mary entered the terrace, she knew her instinct had led her to the right place: the Graham brothers took over the largest table and were surrounded by a flock of coeds in skimpy outfits drinking champagne. Mary was not that surprised at the sight; the files were fairly explicit in describing the Grahams' penchant for women under twenty five. The most eligible bachelors in New York had quite the reputation. She shrugged off the thought of the indiscretions the D.A. must have swept under the rug for these two. It stood to reason they were taking junior along for the ride as a rite of passage. It grated on her nerves, the kid was only sixteen.

The thoughts about the D.A. and the brothers Graham brought back the conversation she had had with Marshall earlier that day. Ever so reliable, her partner delivered on the promise to research the connection between Liz Graham and Andrew Schwartzman. It turned out to be a double whammy: the D.A. was a college buddy to James Sr. and started his legal career as an associate at the firm of Martin Katz. This made the marshals' job considerably more difficult. Elizabeth's unwillingness to accept the reality of her situation put the marshals in a peculiar position: they had to ensure her safety before she was formally entered into the program. The woman was not used to taking orders from anyone and demonstrated it all too eagerly the night before. Mary frowned. As a result of Liz' decision, tonight Mary had to put up with the advances of inebriated frat boys.

Briefly Mary considered her partner's duty: most likely Marshall had met up with Liz by now and was all too happily entertaining a conversation with her about the arts, showing off his inner geek. Mary felt something stir inside, something she did not like. She tried to ignore the feeling, but if she was honest with herself, Marshall's taking Liz to the benefit aggravated her. Mary chastised herself for thinking that her partner would overstep professional boundaries. Marshall's quick thinking bought them time to convince the witness to enter the program. As Mary mulled over the conversation from the night before she got more and more annoyed with Liz. The woman was no idiot: perhaps a self-righteous bitch accustomed to pushing people around, but not an idiot. Mary could easily relate to Liz' considering herself invincible, she felt the same way two years ago. That feeling got her shot. She hoped that it would not come to that with Liz. Marshall's plan had to work. With that she focused her attention on James and his brothers.

Stepping over the threshold to the bar and setting down her drink, Mary took in her surroundings. The layout complicated her task, there was nowhere to just sit and observe. The terrace was completely open and it was the shortest building on the block. There was only one exit, down the narrow staircase, where she had just emerged from. The space was fair game to any amateur with decent optics. Mary did not want to attract much attention, so she leaned on the bar and watched them through the mirror hung over the back, running a finger over the rim of her half empty martini glass.

"Cam, check out the blonde. Four o'clock." A.J. Graham rumbled to his brother.

"What?" Cameron had trouble making out A.J.'s words. The music was loud, and Cameron could tell that A.J. did not feel like yelling over it.

"The blonde by the bar." A.J.'s tone was somewhat strained, as he leaned in to talk to his older brother.

Cameron stole a glance at the woman A.J. pointed to and gave him a tight smile. The blonde was hot, but would be more trouble than her worth. He could tell from her pose that she was not here for casual entertainment. Plus, Cameron liked his women younger. Women his age either wanted a relationship or, God forbid, marriage, and he was not in the market for either.

"Knock yourself out."

"Like I needed your approval", A.J barked and walked over to the bar.

Mary was still contemplating routes of egress, when a deep voice brought her back to reality.

"Would the lady care for refill?"

Mary intended to chase away an unwelcome distraction with a scowl, but saw that the voice belonged to A.J. Graham. Change of plans, she thought to herself. "Why watch from the sidelines, when I can crash the party."

"Only if you can handle it," she said with a crooked smile.

"Is that a challenge?" A.J. asked, crooking up his eyebrow. He was used to women falling over him.

"Sure is," she looked at him expectantly.

"Well, let me get that drink for you."

Mary finished pouring the last of her third martini into the palm tree planter next to the couch where she settled after accepting A.J.'s invitation to join them. She found that A.J. was pleasant enough, entertaining her with stories. She tuned out most of his chatter and smiled often enough for him not to notice while she watched James out of the corner of her eye. However, her interest in the youngest Graham did not go unnoticed by Cameron. He observed her quietly for a while, then smiled to his thoughts and turned away.

Mary was sitting close enough to James to see he was not being served any alcohol. It became clear to her, that had not been due to his own volition. The eldest Graham must have made that point clear to the waitress. Cameron kept close tabs on both his brothers, but Mary did not get much time to ponder the issue. Her IPhone vibrated just as A.J. was getting ready to order her a fourth round. She glanced at the caller ID and frowned: her partner's name was prominently displayed on the screen. Her heart sank; the call came before the intermission. She hissed into the phone "Shepherd," and let the background noise of the bar fade into the background as she strained to hear Marshall's voice.

"Mare, there was a sniper at the opera. I've secured Liz at the Belmont Room until the uniforms clear the place. Take James to the penthouse immediately and I will meet you there as soon as I can. Start packing."

Mary considered Marshall's words for a few seconds after he hung up and knew it was time to break up the party.

"A.J., this was a ton of fun, but James and I must now be going."

"Say what?" A.J. gave Mary a puzzled look. "What the hell you want with my brother?"

Cameron turned to them with a sly smile and said "So, did you find out which branch of law enforcement is your date with, A.J.?"

Mary furrowed her eyebrows, wondering how he managed to make her.

"U.S. Marshals. Deputy Marshal Mary Shepherd. James and I will be leaving now." She flashed her badge.

Cameron paused, smirking again.

"A marshal, huh? I figured you for a Fed… Andrew, that sneaky bastard. I am impressed with your plant watering skills, marshal Shepherd. If you give me a minute, you shall have a driver at your disposal. I am assuming Jimmy here needs to pack."

Cameron's icy blue gaze pierced Mary like a laser. It took her a second to regain composure. He was sharp and more sober than she had anticipated. He took out his cell, spoke a few terse words that Mary was unable to discern, and turned to her one more time.

"On a second thought, we shall come along." Turning to A.J. he said, "Escort Jim and Marshal Shepherd to the car. I will settle up and join you shortly." He was waiving the waitress over before he finished talking.

Mary was never one to surrender control of the situation, but recognized an advantage when she saw one. Cameron saved her the trouble of dealing with the NYPD and circumvented any objections from James. A large SUV with tinted windows was waiting for them at the curb. Before she knew it, everyone was inside on the way across town.

Cameron gave her a nod and said, "As soon as the threat is cleared Liz will return to the penthouse." The phrase was statement, rather than a question.

"Your partner will bring her there. My guess would be, Jimmy, we will not see each other for a while after tonight."

Mary saw a hint of sad resolve in Cameron's eyes and realized they had an unlikely ally in getting Liz into the program. She did not understand this family, but did not have much time to ponder the situation, as the SUV pulled up to Lincoln Center Towers. Mary saw Cameron gear up for another set of instructions, and interfered.

"Mr. Graham, I will take it from here. While I appreciate your help, James is in danger and it's my job to ensure his safety."

Cameron raised his hands.

"Marshal Shepherd, I assure you my brother's safety is my only concern. We will stay out of your way. But, trust me when I say this, don't push the helping hand away, you may need it with Liz."

Mary decided against arguing with Cameron on his turf.

"Fine. Get him upstairs and pack enough clothes for a seven day trip. Nothing personal that can be traced back: no keepsakes, no gadgets or anything else that can identify him as James Graham. U.S. Marshals Service will take care of packing the rest at a later date. I need to make a call."

As soon as they were through the door of the penthouse, Mary dialed Marshall.

Liz paced the Belmont Room like a caged panther. Marshall was not letting her out of his sight until the Opera House was cleared by the NYPD. The uniforms were methodically sweeping the perimeter. Liz overheard Marshall take the call from Mary and learned that her son was brought back to the penthouse safely. It took a load off her shoulders to know that her stepsons were there as well. Adrenalin from the attack faded, leaving her feeling exhausted and vulnerable. She did not care for the feeling at all. She really wanted to go home and climb into her bed, but knew it was not an option. She wished it were a nightmare and all she needed was to wake up. Unfortunately, wishing the problem away never worked. She got angry at herself for allowing a moment of weakness and quickened her pace.

The lead detective she had met after the shooting, walked into the Belmont Room. She heard him exchange a few words with the tall marshal. Turning away from them, she took out her phone and made a call.

"Papa?" Marshall heard hesitation in Liz's voice.

"Papa, ya seychas priedu."

He heard Liz speak Russian, understanding she intended to see her father.

Liz hung up without saying another word, and then made another call.

"Henry, bring the car to the Met. Thank you." She hung up again, turned to Marshall and said, "I will not be going to the penthouse right away. I need to take care of something first. You are welcome to come along if you must."

The detective interjected, "Ma'am, with all due respect, where are you going?"

Liz glared at the detective and spoke in an even tone, not hiding her disdain, "I fail to see how this is any of your concern." She did not remember the cop's name, but could not bring herself to care.

"Ma'am, whether you like it or not, you must stay here for the sake of your safety."

"We'll see about that," she picked up her phone and made another call.

"Andrew, I have a problem." Marshall heard her say before she walked away.

A moment later Liz returned, handed her phone to the detective and said, "This is for you."

The detective listened to the D.A. on the line, and then responded, "Fine. It's your call to make. I refuse to be held responsible for whatever happens to her from this point forward." He handed the phone back and left.

Marshall felt his anger rising. The woman had complete disregard for her own safety. For the second time that night she was putting their lives on the line. Her desire to speak to her father before leaving town was irrational and unnecessarily risky. Marshall hit one on the speed dial. Mary picked up on the first ring.

"Mare, we are cleared to leave, but will be making a stop before returning to the penthouse. Not sure how long this is going to take." He tried to keep his cool, not to further aggravate his short fused partner.

"What has gotten into you, Marshall? Are you insane? We need to hit the road. Now!"

"I know, Mare, don't take my head off. She's running the show; I am coming along on the ride."

"Marshall, for your sake, you better come back in one piece, or I'll shoot you myself. This is turning into a royal cluster fuck." Mary was tired and pissed. "And I will kick your scrawny ass for indulging her."

Marshall let anger get the better of him. "Promises, promises. Unless you want to trade places, let me do my job."

Mary fell silent. He was right.

"I will tuck junior in for the night then and wait for you."

"That's my girl," Marshall said as the line went dead.

When Liz and Marshall left the Met, the car was waiting for them at the curb by the stage door. Walking out of the building, Marshall was hovering over Liz, hoping the Russians had retreated for the night. He could not cover Liz completely without his partner. They got into the car and as soon as the door closed behind him, it took off. Liz managed to command a sense of urgency in her people without having to speak much. The marshal did not say a word to Liz during the entire trip. He did not want her to figure out he knew where they were going. When the car stopped, she was out before Marshall could stop her.

"Liz, you really need me clear the premises before you charge ahead." She ignored him and walked under the green awning of a posh high rise Park Avenue building.

Marshall followed her in, fighting back the urge to shake the stubborn woman. She was running on pure adrenalin, he realized, she was not thinking clearly. Liz exchanged pleasantries with the doorman without slowing her pace as she cut through a well lit white marble lobby. Marshall caught up with her by the elevator, noting the intricate iron scroll-work of its doors.

Liz gave him an apologetic look and said, "Marshall, I haven't thanked you properly for saving my life. I am truly sorry. I cannot begin to describe how much I appreciate what you have done for me tonight, which makes what I need to ask you all the more difficult." She hesitated only for a second. "You probably know that this is my father's building. I'll need to speak to him alone and can't promise we will be done quickly, but I'll try my best."

Marshall anticipated she would exclude him from the conversation with her father, but could not help being angry at the dismissal. He was not hired help, but a U.S. Marshal, whose job she had compromised every step of the way since their arrival in New York City. He suddenly realized he had lost the taste for elevator music. Now he agreed with Mary, it was outright annoying. Since he didn't think he could contain his frustration, he kept to himself. As they exited from the elevator, Marshall cleared the hall and said, "Liz, I must insist you mind the time. It would be best to leave New York tonight."

She nodded in response and walked through the open door to the left of the elevator lobby. He had no choice but to follow.

Edith led Mary into the kitchen and poured her a cup of coffee. Both women were tired and sat at the table in silence. Cameron offered to get James ready for the road and Mary reluctantly accepted his help, knowing she needed time to regroup. If Marshall was right, there was still a chance they would leave the city before the night was over. Mary needed Marshall to be right this time: she had enough of New York. This trip was getting on her last nerve. She wondered what Shelley would say if she knew Mary was missing routine witness visits with Marshall while on a field assignment.

Thinking of Shelley made Mary consider the psyche evaluation Stan forced on Marshall after the training incident with Scalavino. The guy was a perverted bastard, there was no surprise there. He groped women at the academy, and the field training was another opportunity for action he would never pass up. Why did Marshall lose it? What caused him to go all Neanderthal on Scalavino's ass? She remembered the look in Marshall's eyes when she was struggling out of the chokehold, as the ass wipe was groping her. She saw in her mind's eye her partner, the king of cool, succumbing to uncontrollable rage and ramming the creep down. If Stan hadn't interfered, Marshall would have maimed Scalavino and her partner's career would have been finished. He had to know that, but clearly, he didn't care. What was he thinking? It dawned on her that he wasn't.

Marshall was always in her corner, protecting her from the world and herself. He made himself her keeper and as time went by she not only accepted, but expected that. She succeeded in pushing everyone away, except him, not for the lack of trying though. Marshall always prevailed, broke through her every defense mechanism, as if he was immune to sarcasm and insults. When did she stop pushing and start expecting him to just be there?

Mary contemplated Marshall's reinstatement to active duty. Shelley sure did not take long to clear him. There was something different about Marshall after his last round of sessions though. She recalled his withdrawal in the morning when they were assigned this case. He was working through something and he was not talking to her. This case was adding to the strain in their partnership and friendship. What a gigantic mess. Mary exhaled and looked at her phone. No missed calls. It was almost midnight. Where the hell was he? What did Elizabeth need to do in the middle of the night? Mary's thoughts were interrupted by Edith offering her more coffee.

Mary was struggling to shake off an uneasy feeling. Something was amiss. She kept seeing images of Marshall and Liz at the Opera: Liz flirting and Marshall being his gentleman self, responding to her smiles and getting smitten. Mary hated herself for thinking it, but her mind just would not stop, it was tossing images at her that made her palms sweat and pulse race.

"Marshall is my partner and my best friend. What was he doing with this woman in the middle of the night? She should be packing, not running my partner all over the city…" Mary was pissed off at her partner for doing his job.

"I must have gone certifiably insane." She made a mental note to talk to Shelley about it. "Wait," Mary caught herself.

"There is no way I would volunteer any information to Shelley… or would I? Maybe I could weasel something out from her conversations with Marshall if I shared something with the devil woman? There was surely something to be said for women's camaraderie, right? Or, maybe Eleanor can dig up some dirt on Shelley for me to sink my claws in. Great, now I am plotting for ways to get information on my partner from the shrink and the office spook."

Martin met Liz and Marshall in the hall of his apartment. An older gentleman, tall and wiry, he was built a lot like the younger man. The years had been kind to him, with a full head of gray hair and deep brown eyes that retained their sharpness, Martin commanded a strong presence. The men shook hands.

Before Liz could say anything, Martin beckoned his housekeeper, "Doris, would you take care of our guest, please?" then turned to Marshall.

"I must apologize, marshal Miller, I need to speak with my daughter in private. I won't keep her longer than absolutely necessary."

Doris offered Marshall a cup of coffee, took him to the living room, and left. Marshall glanced around the room. It was large and had a lot of windows. From what he saw, the apartment was decorated with a few antique pieces: nothing kitschy or ostentatious, everything meticulously cared for, clean lines, understated elegance. He settled in an easy chair next to the fireplace and closed his yes. For once grateful for peace and quiet; he sipped his coffee and focused on breathing exercises to cool off before dealing with Liz again.

Martin pulled his daughter into a tight embrace. She leaned her head on his shoulder fighting back tears.

"Ah, Bubeleh, it is going to be all right." He stroked her hair and Liz relaxed. She looked into her father's eyes and saw unspoken concern.

"Liza, why don't we go to the study? You've always loved that room."

As soon as Liz walked into the familiar room, the memories flooded her. She took in the books arranged neatly on the shelves, and the smell of tobacco. Martin quit smoking years ago, but refused to refinish the wood, claiming the smell of cigar tobacco calmed his nerves. That night Liz realized the truth of that statement. Before she sat in her favorite leather chair, Martin handed her a crystal glass with two fingers of scotch.

"Tell me, daughter of mine, do you still prefer Macallan?" He sank into the leather chaise with a glass of his own.

"You know, Papa, your habits are my habits." She leaned back in the chair, resisting the urge to pull up her feet, crossing them at the ankles instead, and took a swig of scotch.

They fell silent for a while, Liz gathering her thoughts and Martin waiting for her to start. He spoke to the D.A. earlier in the night and expected to hear from his daughter. He was unsurprised that she wanted to see him. They saw each other often enough, especially after the loss of her husband, repairing the gap that appeared after the death of Liz's mother. He always understood his little girl better than anyone else, and knew better than to push her. She came to him with her problems in her own time.

At Robert's funeral, she leaned on him but did not talk. Martin wanted to ease her pain and guilt, so he waited. He knew his daughter did not allow many people to get close, Rob was an exception. Martin was aware of the troubles that fell on her head in the last few days, saw her hanging on by a thread. The father wished he could have sheltered his daughter, as any father would. But he knew better than to interfere, although after the attempt on her life, he considered having made a mistake.

The Windsor floor clock chimed eleven, bringing Liz out of her thoughts. She looked up from her glass.

"Papa, I need your advice. For the first time in years I am not certain I know what to do. As much as it pains me to talk to you about this, I don't think I can avoid it any longer…" Liz sighed.

"Remember, after Mama passed away, you and I, we were so alone then and I was so lost… I went to see her on the fortieth day. On the way to the cemetery, I stopped at St. Nicholas on 97th and lit a candle. I cried so hard, I don't remember how I made it up there. I stood by her grave in the pouring rain, and did not feel the wet or the cold. An older gentleman offered me an umbrella, and I thought, how odd, that he'd be standing next to me, next to Mama. He told me his name was Cyrill and gave me a phone number to call when I was ready to get answers. I didn't know what I needed to be ready for, so I came to you to ask what he meant. But you were grieving and I didn't want to burden you. I had to know what he meant, I am sorry."

Martin swirled whiskey in his glass and took a drink, "Liza, I didn't know what to tell you, I had no answers you were seeking then."

Liz sighed, "I know that now. I saw my questions hurting you, and you were my whole world, all I had left, so I stopped asking. I called him for answers. We met in Central Park and talked for a few hours. I told him that I already had a father, you. I think he understood and didn't push for a relationship. I'd hear from him once or twice a year when he was in town. We'd have dinner, and he'd disappear again. About ten years ago, I got a letter. He had gotten seriously ill and was no longer able to travel, but wanted to see me. It wasn't an easy decision to make, but I flew out to meet him for the last time. I think he was looking for absolution. I had none to give, it was not my place. Sometimes, he said, you have to give up on those you love, so they can be happy. He was a 'vor v zakone', a thief with no right to a family." She paused, studying her father.

"I can see you've heard of them. He was one of the higher ranking ones, the keeper of "obschak" the criminal treasury. He told me that he couldn't tell me much without putting me in danger, but gave me names of people to be leery of. He thought they may seek us out. I didn't remember much from that conversation until Rob gave me the paperwork for this deal.

Rob started a fund that would be an equity partner, and it would be open for contributions from high net worth investors. He needed my approval on all contributions. When I reviewed the term sheets, one name of the investors caught my eye. Gleb Stolov was one of the men, Cyrill had warned me to remember. He called him Amerikanec.

From the paperwork I saw, Rob got in deep with these thugs. I don't think he knew who he was dealing with though: he was indignant when I told him. He said he was not going to be played, but I don't think he expected Gleb to show up that night. We were going over the numbers pretty late; I went back to my office to grab a few projections and had to revise a few analyses. There had to be a way out of that mess. I was gone maybe fifteen minutes, and on my way back to Rob's office when I heard him yelling at someone. Last thing I expected was to see a guy pull a gun. I saw him shoot Rob through the glass partition. I don't remember how I made it back to call 911.

So now I am stuck with this mess. I don't know how to make it go away. I am bad at running and hiding. I want to confront them, but it doesn't look like they want to talk. From what I saw, the chair took it bad tonight."

She looked to her father for reassurance and saw it all in his chocolate brown eyes. His gaze held comfort of acceptance she had known all her childhood, comfort she came seeking here tonight.

"Liza, you made up your mind before we had this conversation. Go with it. Start fresh and sit tight until the trial, who knows, this situation just might resolve itself. I'll call in a favor to rattle a cage or two in the old country and we'll see what shakes out. And don't you worry about Jimmy not enrolling at his father's Alma matter just yet."

"Papa, I've never known any other life but this, leaving it will drive me insane."

"Liza, insane and alive is much better than the alternative. Take it as an opportunity to learn, grow and rest. You haven't skipped a beat for the last twenty years, you deserve a break."

Martin rose from the chaise, held out his hand to Liz helping her up from the chair and pulled her into another hug.

"Self-pity has never been your forte, Bubeleh, and now is not the time to hone it. Do not stay here longer than absolutely necessary. Do not worry about the firm; I will take care of it. Should I need help, Cameron has grown up to be quite the businessman. James would be proud."

Liz went from the study directly into the hall, while Martin walked into the living room. He found Marshall by the window.

"There is something to be said for the sight of New York City at night. This city is an addiction like no other and withdrawal can be difficult." He sighed. "I trust you will find the hour I took for a conversation with my daughter to be time well spent. Please keep her safe."

Martin extended his hand to Marshall. The older man had a firm handshake.

"Go on, Henry is waiting with the car downstairs."

---

A few translations:

Papa, ya seychas priedu. - Dad, I am on my way over.

Bubeleh – Yiddish term of endearment, usually for a son or a daughter, similar to sweetheart.

Amerikanec – American

Vor v zakone – literally Thief in Law.

In Russian organized crime, the top of the thief's hierarchy. (from Wikipedia) The "thieves in law" formed as a society for ruling the criminal underworld. They adopted a system of collective responsibility, and swore to a code of "complete submission to the laws of criminal life, including obligations to support the criminal ideal, rejection of legitimate employment (must support oneself through criminal enterprises) and refusal to participate in all political activities.

As an example, while incarcerated, a thief must refuse all work, and is not allowed to assist the warden/correction officers in any way, as the thieves' code states that: "Your own prison you shall not make." The thieves organized their own courts and have trials governed by the code of 'thieves honor and tradition'. Acceptance into the group is often marked by specific tattoos, allowing all members of the criminal world to instantly recognize a "thief in law". Most prison inmates are tattooed (by other inmates) to indicate their rank within the criminal world, noteworthy criminal accomplishments and places of former incarceration.

Obschak – literally the Treasury. A fund to which all levels of criminal hierarchy are expected to contribute. Typically, has one or several thieves overseeing the fund, contributions/distributions.

---

Chapter 3: Joker up her Sleeve

---

Liz and Marshall rode the elevator down in silence. Marshall had regained his composure during the hour that Liz spent talking to her father, and had time to think. He decided it was best to let her start the conversation: she was easier to deal with when she felt in control of the situation. But Liz kept quiet. Marshall ushered her into the car and Henry drove off without asking for the destination.

"Martin must have given him instructions. Giving orders seems to be innate for every member of this family. How much trouble is Jimmy going to be?"

Marshall's thoughts drifted back to Mary. He knew she was upset with him, probably pacing and getting worked up right now.

"Mary works well under pressure, but has a low tolerance for uncertainty. The last 24 hours must have gotten to her. Mary had to be unhappy about having to babysit junior and getting saddled with the Graham brothers."

Marshall was willing to bet that A.J. made a move on her and hoped that the guy still had all his limbs intact.

Liz's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Say that again, I am sorry, I didn't get that." He turned to her suddenly aware of her dark violet eyes studying him.

"Marshall, I am inclined to enter the witness protection program. I realized that I need to leave New York tonight if possible. There are things that still have to be done here, but I will figure them out from wherever you place me." She enunciated every word. He saw a change in her demeanor: she was determined to leave New York immediately.

Marshall nodded and said, "You will need to pack enough clothing for a seven day trip. Please make sure nothing you bring along can be traced back to your life here. Do not pack any pictures or knickknacks, gadgets or other traceable items including your heirloom jewelry."

Then he turned away, pulled out his phone and hit one on the speed dial. Mary answered on the first ring.

"Okay, numb nuts, took you long enough to call me," she said, keeping her tone purposely light, not wanting to give away her frustration.

"Mare, call Stan, we're getting this show on the road."

Marshall pretended not to notice her forced tone. He knew she'd lash out at him later, but hoped she'd wait until they were alone.

"One of us has to swing by the hotel, pack up and check-out."

"I'll take care of it as soon as I secure Liz at the penthouse."

"See you in a few."

Marshall closed his cell. Liz was looking out from the car window. Henry made a sharp left onto 57th Street from Park Avenue. The storefronts were glistening with a myriad of lights even at night. Liz noticed that Marshall finished his conversation, but did not turn his way. There were a lot of things that she needed to sort out. The timing of this relocation could not have been worse: she was being hounded by two major developers to sell her firm. She felt like she was turning a threshold that would define the rest of her life and wondered if her father would be able to help her or she would have to fight on her own. She was determined to make her stay in WITSEC as brief as possible.

"An opportunity to learn and grow… riiight, more like a chance to get even. Time to break out the files from Cyrill. I've put it off long enough. Wonder if I can travel internationally with the new identity they create for me. I really ought to take a trip out to Lake Leman. I haven't had the time to visit in a while. I could stay at the cabin in Lausanne and pick up a few things he left there for me. I should take the keys when I pack tonight."

Liz suddenly remembered that Andrew let it slip that the Feds were anxious to flip Gleb 'the dirt bag' Stolov for information on the organization. There was a possibility her testimony would not be required if the case was taken out of New York jurisdiction. She felt a pang of guilt over these thoughts. Robert deserved better from her. The scumbag had to answer for taking her best friend's life. She pondered a few other ways to get out of this mess and felt her fists clench, but became acutely aware that Marshall was still watching her. The woman forced herself into a relaxed pose and feigned a complacent facial expression. Henry pulled the car into the garage. Now was not the time to reflect, she decided.

"Focus on the present, figure out the rest later. There is still time to come up with a plan if Spence delivers the hardware."

They walked into the apartment together. Edith was waiting at the door. Liz recognized a solemn look in Edith's eyes: she had been crying. Her cousin pulled Liz aside, quickly recapping the night: her stepsons were waiting in the study, the female marshal - in the kitchen and Cameron was helping James pack his things. Before walking towards the study, Liz shot a glance over to Marshall. The other woman caught it and gestured to the man to follow her.

As soon as Mary hung up with Marshall, she called Stan. Unfortunately, he had nothing but bad news. Gleb Stolov was arraigned on Friday and posted bail of ten million within two hours. The Feds were circling like vultures involved in the intra-jurisdictional pissing contest between the New York District attorney's office and AUSA. The DOJ was anxious to pull the rug from under Stolov and offer him a downgrade of the indictment of murder in the first degree to the second, in exchange for full disclosure of his operations and accomplices. They were angling for multiple indictments for racketeering, human trafficking, money laundering, and fraud. Stolov's lawyers refused a deal, but were fishing for information on the witness. Elizabeth's position was becoming more precarious. The threat assessment file was getting thicker by the minute and was far from ideal for a long distance transport.

The extraction of the family had to happen immediately. During the search after the shooting at the Met, NYPD located a sniper rifle M40A1 tossed into the nosebleeds. There were no prints or any other forensic evidence at the crime scene: no one had heard or seen anything. The security footage pulled from closed circuit cameras caught a guy in a stagehands uniform bringing the case with the rifle into the building. The man knew exactly where the cameras were and was careful to keep his face hidden. All personnel were questioned, but no identification was made. The detectives were still looking for leads, but as time went on, the chances of finding the shooter dwindled. Before Stan could continue, Mary summed it up.

"This was a professional hit, Stan. There has to be a contract on the witness. We will have to move under the radar."

Stan agreed that all three major Tristate airports posed too much risk for the transport. The mob had enough people on the payroll to track their movement. After deliberating for a while, they settled on Teterboro in Bergen County, NJ, a small airport without commercial traffic and personnel accustomed to private air planes taking off and landing at odd hours. A U.S.M.S. flight would take them to Dallas, TX. They would drive up the rest of the way to Albuquerque. Stan suggested he alert the NJ office to pick up the SUV from the airport after they would have landed in Dallas.

After Mary hung up with Stan, she felt exhausted. The events of the day and a partnership out of balance were taking their toll on her. She wanted to scream and punch something to stop thinking about her relationship with Marshall. Too often she caught herself day dreaming about him like a partner shouldn't. Marshall was her best friend, her only friend. In her experience, mixing friendship with sex destroyed everything. She was unwilling to use her relationship with Marshall as a test case. If it blew up in their faces, like her relationship with Raph, she might not have the strength to go on. She was a fighter, but even her drive had its limits. Marshall was her anchor. Life without him would not be much of a life, she realized in shock. Before Mary could beat herself up over not being able to focus on the impending trip, she heard the familiar footfalls of cowboy boots on hardwood floors. Looking away from the window, she saw Marshall follow Edith into the kitchen.

Liz walked into her study and found her two stepsons sitting at opposite ends of the couch, drinking coffee in silence. Before she could say anything, Cameron was smothering her in a bear hug.

"Iz, thank God, you're okay." The words were no more than a whisper. Then he drew back, overcome with emotion. She placed a kiss on his temple, surprised at the display, which was rare in this family.

"Yes, Cam, I'm fine, just shaken up a bit. Where's Jim?"

A.J. rose from the couch and walked over to them.

"Cam had him packed and tucked before Edie finished brewing his first coffee."

"How much coffee have you guys had?" Liz chuckled. Everyone loved coffee Edith made. In truth, everyone loved anything Edith made. Liz sighed. What would she do without her Edith, she didn't know. Edith had to stay to take care of Martin, if God forbid, something went amiss.

Edith was Martin's niece. She moved in with them a few years before Helen passed away. With Helen being sick, Edith filled the shoes of a caretaker and a friend Liz so desperately needed then. As far as Liz could remember, her cousin was always there for her. Edith remained with Martin after Liz got married, but when Liz had James Jr. Edith came to stay to help with the baby. Liz tried to remember what it was like to live without Edith and couldn't. Now she would have to learn.

Both brothers saw Liz's mood darken. Cameron tried to diffuse her apprehension.

"Edie makes damn good coffee, Iz. We had a few mugs. We might bounce off your walls for a while." He grinned and Liz smiled back.

A.J. interjected. "Iz, can either of us do anything for you?" His tone was laced with concern.

This woman could handle anything life would hand her, but A.J. wanted to ease her burden. She raised her right hand to his forearm and gave it a light squeeze.

"No, A.J., I don't think there is anything, really. I need to pack and think. I hate that I have to sit this one out, but I just don't see any other way.

Although," she hesitated, looking from one man to another.

"I am leaving the fiasco at the firm to Martin to sort out, but he may need your help. I hate to ask, I know how busy you both are, but there is no one else," her voice trailed off.

"Iz, you will drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking like this, you have to stop. You need a break to grieve. A.J. and I will give Martin all the support he needs."

Cameron paused, exchanged a glance with A.J., and continued.

"Have you thought about going into the program without James? You know Edie will take care of him, and I will make sure he stays out of trouble. Think about his education, his future."

Liz shrugged. "I've thought about it, but I am afraid they will come after him to use as leverage against me. I don't want to subject him to twenty four hour surveillance or body guards. He's still a child. Maybe he can return after the trial. I know you will look after him."

"What about you, Iz?"

A.J. was staring at her in disbelief. He didn't recognize this woman he thought he knew well. Sometime after the passing of his father she stopped being a stepmother and became a dear friend. He hated seeing her grief stricken in defeat like this.

"I will play it by ear. Not sure what else I can do." The sad resolve of her posture and tone was disquieting. A.J. silently urged his brother to interfere, say something, but realized that he too was shocked by her words.

"Iz, please remember, you are not alone. You don't have to solve every problem yourself. You have people who care about you and James."

She gave him a weak smile. "I know, Archie." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

She was fighting back tears as Cameron gave her another hug.

"Just remember, we're family. You have a family that loves you and Jimmy. We will do whatever it takes…"

Emotional control was becoming elusive. They didn't believe in hugs or talk about feelings. She could keep it together if they all just stayed the way they usually were, detached. For the second time this evening, she was grasping at straws, wanting to be alone, so she could keep herself from falling apart. Her stepsons knew her far better than she had thought. They left quietly before she had the chance to ask.

Edith walked Graham brothers out and returned to the study with a coffee mug and a package.

"Pat came by earlier. She left this for you."

"Rob's sister, why?" Liz tried to feign surprise, but saw there was no fooling Edith.

"Never mind. Did the blonde marshal see her?"

"No, Pat left before the party returned home." Edith smiled, as Liz let out a sigh of relief.

"Edie, please start packing my clothes. Nothing fancy, just the basics. Use the old black roller board."

Edith gave her a weak smile.

"I know, Izzy, I registered your luggage with tags and tracking devises with the makers myself, remember? You will have to leave the fancy handbags here, I registered those too."

Liz returned her smile. Hearing her childhood nickname eased her tension somewhat. Her cousin always knew what to tell her in the most trying of times.

"Thanks, Edie. I'll grab the vintage leather: it's big enough to hold everything. I will come help you pack once I am done here."

As soon as Edith left the room, Liz ripped open the package. She pulled out a laptop, a wireless card and a phone from the clear plastic case. She powered up the smartphone and saw a question pop up on the screen: "Who's the fairest of them all?"

Liz chuckled and typed, "Suspense".

Pat's middle name was Spencer. When she was a toddler she could not pronounce it properly and introduced herself as Patricia Suspense Stone. The nickname stuck. The phone beeped and dialed one on the speed dial.

The line was picked up on the first ring.

"Morning Iz."

"Morning Spence."

"I'm glad you're alive and still have your marbles."

"Just barely. Thanks for the nudge, I needed that."

"I figured you would. Remember the good old times to get you through this mess. Forget the life, lemons, lemonade bullshit. Get even and move on."

"How did I miss your getting so smart?" Liz wanted to indulge in the playful banter with Rob's sister. She had his dry sense of humor and Liz missed it terribly now.

Spence grew up before her eyes. She was fifteen years younger than Robert and his polar opposite, a rebel by all accounts. She had little patience for anyone other than her brother or Liz, and nothing but disdain for social conventions. The girl attended all the right schools and participated in the appropriate extracurricular activities, but really was only interested in computers. By the time she went to college, her parents resigned themselves to having a quirky daughter and indulged her tech hobby. Spence never wanted a steady job, so when Liz offered her to run the firm's information technology department, she refused. Liz convinced her to do a consulting gig for the firm to analyze network security, and Patricia poked through so many holes in the system, the guy in charge was terminated on the spot. That was more than ten years ago. Now Spence ran a tight ship practically with her eyes closed and had time for a few special projects. Liz never thought one those would prove so useful, but was glad that she had the foresight to support Pat's endeavors.

"I was always exceptionally smart. You just didn't pay attention."

Pat's laugh brought Liz out of her reverie. She carefully listened to the instructions given by the younger woman.

"The laptop is clean, encrypted and password protected. I've uploaded all the files from your office hard drive and private network drive. The cell is unregistered and untraceable for now. If you only call me it will stay that way. The wireless card is unregistered, but will get you online at a decent speed. Not that you'd stream any movies. I configured the VPN to hook you into the office network, but don't use it unless you absolutely have to. That connection will be logged, and although I will be monitoring those, you just never know. Even the best security protocols can be breached if someone is eager enough. Your email is configured through a remote proxy, but don't overuse it. Remember, email can be intercepted, so run it through the encryption software. On the desktop you will see a file folder called Letters from Spencer. If you need to reach me save a document there and leave the laptop on, the software I loaded on will pick it up. Check the folder regularly. I may have news and what not. Got it?"

"I think so…" Liz paused, "and Spence, thank you."

"I will see you soon then, boss."

"I wish I didn't have to leave. Having to drop everything like this is killing me."

"Iz, do not do anything stupid, all right?" Pat's voice grew wary. "It will not bring Rob back. You have to take care of yourself and move on. Give Jimmy a kiss for me."

Pat disconnected the call before Liz could respond. Liz turned off the phone, forbidding herself to cry. If Pat was able to do it, she certainly could. She packed the new gadgets into a small neoprene sleeve. Then she opened up the safe behind her desk. She removed her 60LS Magnum from the case, took out three cartridges and put everything into her handbag. The tote got heavy, but she didn't pay it any mind. After lugging construction documents and financial brochures all over the city, heavy bags were an everyday staple. She made a mental note to remind Andrew that she needed a gun license wherever they relocated her: the New York City one would not be valid out of state and she had no intention of going into hiding unarmed.

When Marshall walked into the kitchen after Edith, the lights were dim. Mary's silhouette was a mere outline against a large window. She perched up on a leather chair at the corner of a gigantic white marble table and stared at the city, just like he was while waiting at Martin's. He couldn't help but notice the contrast in the décor. The Park Avenue apartment was warm, if a little old fashioned. He remembered Liz's study looked similar, but this side of the penthouse was modern and sparsely furnished, almost ascetic. The open space was daunting. As he closed the distance to the table, Marshall caught a glimpse of unguarded Mary, noticed the slump in her shoulders and fidgeting fingers over the coffee mug handle. She turned to them, looking tired and lost in her thoughts. He had to restrain the urge to hug her, wanting to provide relief from the pressure of the day. Edith offered him coffee, and he was grateful that she left as soon as she poured it. He leaned back against the breakfast bar and took a sip.

Mary was preoccupied by her thoughts: it took her a while to notice that Marshall was still wearing the tux. It made sense that he did not have the time to change. She filed away the thought that he still had to go back to the hotel and caught herself staring at his matching silver blue cummerbund and tie. The man looked sharp. Mary wondered what it would feel like to peel him out of that tuxedo, then tried to stop that train of thought. It would only lead them into trouble. A little voice in her head chimed in, he may not even want to get on that train with you anymore. He gave you a chance and you blew it.

Marshall was drinking coffee, watching Mary go through one of her internal battles. He saw the mental gears shifting and wanted to steer her away from her thoughts. She saw a spark of mischief flicker in his eyes, when he caught her admiring his form. "See anything you like, partner?"

Any other time, this remark would cost him a punch to a shoulder, but not tonight. Mary flashed him a feral smile and said, "If I did, would you do something about it?"

"This table looks solid enough. The marble might be a bit cold, though."

"Think you can keep me warm, cowboy?"

"Is that a challenge, Mare?" Marshall asked with a leer. "I'll be happy to take you back to the hotel…" he let the phrase linger. When she sat, staring at him, slack-jawed, he decided to drop it for now and focus on the assignment.

"Any word from Stan?" he asked, raking his hand through his hair.

"The shit hit the fan. The hit on Elizabeth was done by a pro, so we'll have to move under the radar. Stan is working out the details."

Mary relayed the rest of the conversation with Stan with precision that was usually attributable to Marshall. He was impressed, but concerned at the absence of her usual sarcasm.

Stan called again and told Mary they had an hour and a half to get to the airport. Marshall took off right after Mary yelled that he had forty minutes to get back or she would leave without him. While he was gone, Mary got in Liz's face for taking too long to pack, yanked James out of bed and had them ready by the time Marshall returned. He noticed the belligerent expression of their witness and smoothed everything over just as he always did. The marshals watched Edith sob as she hugged Liz and kissed James. They hated the sight, but had to rush their good-byes.

Once in the garage, Marshall ushered everyone into the SUV before Mary could aggravate the situation any further. Both marshals noticed Liz did not put her large handbag in the back with the rest of the luggage, but sat it next to her feet in the back seat of the Tahoe. They decided against mentioning anything to her without talking to each other, two minds working in sync. When Mary pulled out of the garage, Marshall pointed out the unmarked police cruiser was gone from the side street across from the building, noting it was worth bringing to Stan's attention.

They hit a green wave up the West Side Highway and were on the George Washington Bridge before two o'clock in the morning. There were no accidents on the road or traffic by the tolls. It had started to rain earlier, which now turned into sleet. They passed an eighteen wheeler idling on the shoulder by Fort Lee, but before Marshall could voice his suspicions, a state trooper pulled up to the truck. Mary was pushing ninety by the time she saw the sign to merge onto Interstate 80. Everyone in the vehicle was quiet: Mary drove, Marshall tracked the road out of the corner of his eye while shooting off emails to Stan from the blackberry, James started dosing off on his mother's shoulder, while she stared at the street lights outside, absorbed in her thoughts.

At this early hour and with the lousy weather, there were few cars on the highway. Mary flinched at the memory of the rush hour traffic on this particular stretch of the road in the Garden State. She laid off the gas, reducing the speed to ten over the limit: last thing they needed was to explain their speed to the local traffic enforcement.

When Mary glanced into the rear-view mirror a few seconds later she saw a black SUV without plates and over-tinted windows quickly closing the distance between them.

"Marshall," she said, lowering her voice to avoid alerting their passengers, "we've got company."

He turned back and saw the headlights of a Lincoln Navigator catching up to them. Mary floored the gas pedal to pick up the speed.

Marshall saw the front and rear windows of the Navigator start sliding down.

"Mare, get into the left lane, now!" he ordered. She swerved into the left lane just as the thugs opened fire.

"MP5, really? You've got to be kidding me!" Mary pushed the accelerator as far down as it would go and changed lanes again.

"Mare, stay in the left lane! Liz, Jim, hit the floorboards!" Marshall roared and they obeyed immediately.

He had his window down and both Glocks drawn in a matter of seconds. His first four rounds missed, but the Navigator fell back to regroup. The left rear window slid down just as the next two rounds hit the front tire and the windshield. The tire exploded, the Navigator veered off its course, hit the concrete wall on the side of I-80, flipped on the roof and crashed into the divider. The automatic weapons went off in the crash and the SUV was ablaze in a matter of seconds.

"Change of plans, Stan." Mary heard Marshall speak. In the adrenalin haze, Mary didn't notice Marshall holster his guns and dial the Chief. She was still doing a hundred twenty miles per hour and had no intention to slow down, all the state troopers be damned.

"Cancel the flight. I-80 requires major clean-up. It got dirty." Marshall was silent for a second. "We're passing through Paterson. We need a new vehicle. I don't think we were hit, but they have the make, model and the plates." He fell silent again.

"Okay, call me back."

Marshall turned back to face Liz and James.

"You can come up now. Buckle up: the ride may get bumpy."

---

Chapter 4: On the Road

---

Liz eased back onto the seat, as soon as Marshall's permission to get off the floorboards of the vehicle sunk in, then pulled her son up and curtly ordered him to buckle in. James knew better than to mouth off, doing as he was told.

Everyone was still rattled by the shootout and the fiery crash of the other vehicle. Marshall's blackberry went off in a complete silence. He looked at the screen, skimmed the email quickly and punched a few keys on the GPS.

"Mare, get off the I-80. Now."

Mary was incredulous, taking note of the destination.

"Will you fill me in? Or do I have to guess? Teterboro is no longer an option, but why that armpit of all places?"

"The Philly marshals will meet us at the rest stop. We need a new ride."

"Okay, then. I-287 it is. No traffic at this hour."

Mary reduced the speed to get onto the ramp.

Liz cleared her throat.

"Marshall, what's the plan, where to now?"

Turning to face their witness, Marshall said in a even tone, "We are heading southwest. That's all I can tell you right now. I would rather not discuss our destination inside the vehicle."

Liz nodded in understanding. Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but again said nothing. In the beginning, he didn't think much of the tall marshal, but seeing him in action won the boy's respect. Jim had gone to the range with his mother a few times: she was a decent shot, but definitely no match for the marshal. Jim was terrified and excited at the same time. Bopping a little to the music in his headphones, he wondered if the blonde marshal was just as good, before nodding off against his mothers shoulder once again.

The remainder of the trip to the rendezvous point was uneventful. They had no trouble locating the rest area outside of Norristown, PA, where the marshals from Philly helped them move their sluggish witnesses from the Tahoe into the back of a Yukon. During the transfer, Mary noticed Liz refused any help with her handbag, even though it appeared heavy. Mary drove away from the rest area, thinking she needed to figure out what Liz was holding back.

The car was quiet. Marshall was reviewing their trip plan and their charges were asleep in the back. After the adrenalin rush subsided, the marshals wouldn't have minded catching a few hours of shut-eye, but both knew that looking for a motel at four in the morning this close to New York City would draw unwelcome attention and they had enough excitement for one night.

Mary took one look at Marshall and offered, "Look, we're both tired, but have to stay on the road. I'll drive a few more hours so you can get some sleep, and then we switch?"

Marshall wanted to object, but realized he had no more energy left after the gunfight. He didn't feel any remorse for his earlier actions, but knew it was only due to stress. It would come to haunt him later. Marshall shot his partner a grateful look, reclined in the seat and closed his eyes.

Mary took a sip of coffee from a large cup that she picked up at the rest stop and hit the PA Turnpike West. She always liked driving at night; it reminded her of the drives she took with her father as a little girl. Tonight was no different: with everyone asleep all she could hear was the sound of the engine and the tires hitting the pavement. The freezing rain finally stopped. If it wasn't a Sunday, the trucks would have started showing up soon, but now the turnpike was practically empty. Pushing the accelerator, she felt whole and somehow at peace for the first time since the beginning of this assignment.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw her partner stir in his sleep. He scrunched up his forehead, but didn't wake. His lanky form was folded into the front seat: the top pushed up to support his head and the back reclined just enough not to disturb Liz.

"He always accommodates of the needs of others before his own. He cannot possibly be comfortable like this, but he didn't want to chance inconveniencing the witness. God forbid, the Liz does not get her beauty sleep."

Mary was certain there was more than enough room in the back to allow Marshall to stretch out in the front. She felt the irritation with Liz growing. The woman had caused complications for them already, and Mary felt it wasn't the end of it. Mary knew she could handle whatever the witness dished. It seemed Liz was getting the message about the mob's intent to kill her, but Mary felt Liz was plotting something.

Mary was worried about her partner. Marshall hasn't been his usual level self lately and this assignment was proving to be more taxing by the thoughts drifted back to the incident with Scalavino again, and she couldn't help concern raising its ugly head.

"Marshall has been more protective of me, more so than just putting my needs ahead of his for all these years. Why did I never think of it before? When I asked him not to leave me he acquiesced and never once mentioned the incident again."

Mary contemplated if Marshall still thought he was a keeper of an exotic animal. Then she forced her thoughts away from the nightfall at the dilapidated gas station to the first witness transport they were assigned to together. They had spent the night on the road then as well. Only it was Marshall driving and entertaining her with stories of his childhood. She looked at him again, curious how he managed to win her trust enough for her to share her own memories in a matter of hours.

"From the first day he started breaking into my personal space and I didn't mind. Why has it never bothered me? Why is Marshall the only one with whom I feel safeand happy?"

Mary shifted in her seat, trying to push the thoughts about her partner out of her head.

Mary saw the sun coming up in the rear view mirror. She was finally feeling the toll of the sleepless night, but wanted to put as many miles between them and New York City as possible before turning the drive over to Marshall. She stole a glance over his sleeping form and the corners of her mouth edged up involuntarily; the man looked so peaceful.

"You wouldn't know this geek singlehandedly obliterated a gang with semiautomatics a few hours ago… My partner is one bad ass lawman". Mary let out a small sigh and felt color rising to her cheeks. Watching him in combat always turned her on, not that she would ever admit that to him...

They passed Bedford, PA, when she suddenly felt watched. Looking in the rear-view mirror she met the piercing blue gaze of the other woman. Liz was wide awake, silently studying her. Mary had no idea how long she was the subject of scrutiny.

"How much did I give away to Liz while I was absorbed by my thoughts?"

Deciding that now would be a good time to get some breakfast, and put more gas into the SUV, Mary pulled off the highway. As soon as they were in the parking lot of a diner, Marshall's eyes shot open.

"You guys awake? how about some coffee?" Mary sing-songed with a smirk. "Marshall, you're buying."

She popped out of the vehicle, tossing the keys to her partner and was half way to the door of the diner when he turned to open the door for Liz.

"Gas her up, after we're done with breakfast." Mary said, pulling open the door.

"As you wish, m'lady."

Marshall mocked a bow before offering a hand to Liz to help her get out of the Yukon.

Liz overheard the exchange and smiled. Then she gracefully accepted Marshall's hand leaving the vehicle, held on a little and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. The gesture wasn't lost on the blonde marshal. Liz noted the frown that followed and smiled inwardly. She didn't have time or privacy to figure out a plan so her agile mind needed a distraction. Observing her marshals would do the trick. She laughed to herself, at the habit of thinking people 'hers' the moment she took to them. Her ability to read people rarely failed her. Although she initially was unwilling to admit liking the two, she now had little reason to resist. Liz saw the turmoil on the face of the blonde during the drive and the frown at the display of a superficial contact with her partner. The dynamics between the two had a familiar feel, one she didn't care to examine too closely. Liz fought the onset of pain and regret shooting through her entire being. She shook it off, and followed Mary inside, determined to figure out if her gut was right about the partners.

Marshall let James pass ahead and closed the door of the diner behind them. The redhead behind the counter gestured to the open area.

"Please sit where ever you like. Coffee?"

As all patrons nodded, she brought over a large carafe, four mugs and menus.

"I'll give you a few minutes."

Liz drained half a cup in one drink and sighed. The coffee was hot and surprisingly decent. The marshals appeared to share her content with the beverage.

James, however, took one sip and reached for the cream.

"Okay, this mud doesn't taste like coffee."

Marshall raised an eyebrow in surprise, realizing this was the first time he heard James speak. The kid's demeanor left little doubt that he was ready to pick a fight.

"The coffee is fine."

Liz kept her tone flat and her voice low, but her aggravation was clear to everyone at the table.

"You need to filter, James. Did you decide on what you are having?"

Jimmy mumbled something inaudible and made a move to get up, but his mother's hand locked around his forearm.

"Where are your manners, James?"

Jim stiffened.

"Mother, I would like to use the restroom. If you don't mind." He shrugged her hand off.

Before Liz could respond, Marshall rose from his chair.

"I will take you."

"I can manage on my own." Jim stared up at the older man defiantly.

"I am sure you can. But as I'm responsible for your safety, I will take you."

Marshall shot him a steely look that made most criminals sweat, but the teenager was unfazed.

"Whatever."

James knew he was behaving like a petulant child, but could not help himself. He wanted to stay in New York with his aunt and brothers, not hide out in the middle of nowhere with his mother. Come Monday, all his friends would be back at Riverdale, while he would be stuck in some city of their choosing.

James stumbled over to the tiny restroom in the back of the diner. Marshall followed a pace behind, carefully observing. He knew the boy was upset with his mother for uprooting him and scared of the changes that waited in a new city. Leaving in a rush always had a detrimental effect on families, bringing otherwise buried issues to the surface. While waiting, Marshall decided to watch the relationship between Liz and her son a little more closely. She appeared to be a doting if somewhat aloof mother, but teenagers had more trouble adjusting to the program than adults, and Jim would be no exception.

James walked out of the stall with a frown. He knew he had pissed off the tall marshal, and was at first apprehensive about the fallout, then shocked when none came. Marshall leaned back against the door frame and calmly watched him wash and dry his hands. The teenager was no longer looking for a fight; he was retreating, ready to clam up in his distress and, possibly, run. The older man could not let that happen, chasing after a child all over town, or God forbid across state lines, would draw too much unwelcome attention.

"Jim, life threw you a curve ball."

Marshall kept his tone light, but made sure the words sunk in.

"Denial and anger are coping mechanisms that will fail you in this ordeal. Psychologically, both are necessary, but in your situation can cause an infinite number of complications for everyone involved. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?"

James nodded, albeit hesitantly. Marshall continued.

"I can help you learn to channel your anger after we get you settled. In the interim, you would make our job much easier, if you follow directions and avoid lashing out in public. Dangerous people are looking for you and your mother. Every scene you cause is like leaving a bread crumb on a trail for them to find."

"Fine, I get it, I will stop." Jim responded with irritation. "Can you tell me where are you taking us?"

"As I said before, it is premature to discuss the place of your relocation. You will find out soon enough. The trip should not take longer than another two days, assuming we do not encounter any obstacles on the way."

Marshall was satisfied with the response from James, and decided to continue the conversation in the evening. He didn't want to push the boy too hard.

"We should return to the table, lest our food gets cold."

"But we didn't order yet," protested James.

"Trust me, the food is there. C'mon, I'm starving." Marshall turned around and pushed the door open.

The women drank their coffee quietly. Mary found that she was oddly pleased with Liz for setting junior straight. Maybe she had underestimated the other woman. Mary had some time to observe James at the bar with his brothers and then in the car: he was a passive aggressive type. She expected him to get into trouble after the dust of the relocation settled and made a mental note to check on him frequently. The question Liz asked her almost didn't register.

"Mary?" Liz offered to top off Mary's mug and waived the waitress over for a new carafe.

"Thanks. Are you ready to order, or would you like to wait? If Marshall is giving James a piece of his mind, they might be a while."

Liz shook her head, "I will order for James, so if you know what Marshall would like we don't have to," then gave Mary a piercing stare. "Do you always take a personal interest in your witnesses?"

"Your safety, as well as ours, depends on your actions. You want us to take a personal interest." Mary stressed her last phrase.

"Do you miss New Jersey?" Liz changed the subject abruptly, so Mary had little time to check herself and almost blurted out their destination.

"No, I don't. New… wait, what?" She stopped herself midsentence and looked at Liz perplexed.

"How did I know you are from the Garden State? Mary, I did not do a background check on you or your partner, if that's what you are thinking. Not that I haven't thought about it, but under the circumstances it seemed unwise." Liz was watching the marshal's reaction to her words carefully.

"The real estate development is first and foremost a people business. Between the mayor's office and city council, community, unions, contractors and investors, there is a lot of potential to step on toes. I became good at what I do because I pay attention to details and can read people well."

When Mary kept silent, Liz continued her explanation.

"Marshall's penchant for cowboy boots and his chivalrous ways lead me to believe he is originally from the southwest. If I had to guess, I would say Texas. You, on the other hand, are from the northeast. You don't mince words and keep your cool under pressure. Looks like my assumptions were correct. As they say, you can take the girl out of Jersey..."

"But you can't take Jersey out of the girl." Mary finished with a strained laugh, wondering what else Liz noticed, but did not to mention.

"I don't miss New Jersey at all. I thought I would, but don't. You too may find you don't miss New York as much as you thought you would, once you are situated."

Liz lifted her mug to her lips once again, drank, and then said, "Maybe you are right. I needed to leave New York for a while, for other reasons than safety."

She let the last phrase hang.

"You mean for sanity?"

"You could say that. But if the threat wasn't there I could not fathom taking off like this. There is too much at stake. But now that I was forced out, I have no excuse but to get all my ducks in a row."

Before Liz could get any more engrossed in a state of disarray, Mary stopped her.

"Sometimes you have to just leave. Put your trust in people to handle their problems and let those willing to help you with yours step in."

"Mary, I am not certain I know how, but it sure looks like I am about to try. After all, I don't have much choice in the matter."

"They say when one door closes another opens."

"Or, from attrition comes opportunity. Both are nothing more than a cliché from a self-help book for losers. I am sure you don't buy any of it."

"I don't. But, Liz, I pegged you for a fighter."

"I am... but I am only human. Everyone has a limit. Speaking of limits, how long are you thinking of being on the road today? You must be exhausted from driving all night."

Mary looked at Liz, amazed. She definitely misjudged the other woman. Last thing she expected from her was concern.

"Marshall will drive the next three hundred miles. Then we will stop for lunch and probably find a motel in another two hundred miles or so."

Liz raised an eyebrow.

"A motel?" her voice lowered, "Absolutely not. All of us need decent sleep, which I for one will not be able to get at a motel. I assume you are on a budget, but it would behoove me to take care of people who are so vigilant about my safety. So, I will cover the difference between whatever your budget allows for overnight accommodations and a hotel that has decent beds and room service. If we plan ahead and get into a city that is large enough we will all be happier with this trip."

"Liz, number one, that's against the rules. Number two, we have to keep a low profile. Number three, you cannot use any of your cards." Mary emphasized her last words.

Liz smirked.

"Mary, number one, I wouldn't believe for a second, that you've never bent the rules. Number two, my name does not have to be on a reservation. Number three, I have no intention of using credit cards. If you consider my response to your concern number three, concern number two becomes irrelevant. Any reception clerk will book us as Sharon Stone et all or whoever you like, given the right incentive."

Mary's first instinct was to frown, but she couldn't help but laugh. The prospect of staying in a decent hotel instead of the usual dive off the interstate was enticing. She couldn't find fault with how Liz was able to mildly rebuff her objections. She wanted to feel irritated, but couldn't and had to acknowledge her witness' gift of persuasion.

"Who am I to stop you from spending your money? I am game if you can convince Marshall."

"Oh, I don't think that will be a problem." Liz retorted with a chuckle. "Look, the food is here."

The waitress came out of the kitchen with a tray and set up the plates.

"I hope you ladies are hungry."

"Just famished, dear. Thank you."

Liz gave the woman her most charming smile.

Her patronizing tone did not escape Mary, but the waitress appeared oblivious to it.

"I hope Marshall wraps up the man-to-man conversation pronto or the food will get cold." Mary saw James appear from around the corner. "The point is moot, here they are."

Mary was still cracking up when Marshall led James back to their table.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Marshall turned to James and winked.

"Marshall, how did you know?" Jim had trouble containing his surprise.

Mary gave the kid a look and said, "Better get used to it, buster. Marshall is often right."

It was Marshall's turn to stare at Mary in amazement. She just shrugged it off with a smile.

"Don't let it go to your head, partner. You won't hear that again."

"Uh-huh, okay, let's eat." Marshall sat down and reached for the ketchup.

James could not believe what he saw on his plate.

"Corned beef hash and eggs, really, Ma?" He knew how health conscious his mother was, and the dish in front of him was completely out of left field.

Liz looked at her son, earlier altercation forgiven. "Live a little, Jimmy. Have some French toast."

The rest of the meal was pleasant. To a casual observer, the group looked like a family having breakfast on a road trip.

Marshall put the truck in park and turned off the ignition at a gas station outside of Columbus. It was a sunny early afternoon, and the drive had so far had little cause for concern. They hit a little traffic, but he was confident after Mary got behind the wheel, they would catch up in no time. Mary was groggy, and headed into the strip mall to get coffee and sandwiches for lunch. He was shocked she offered to pick up food, but decided against bringing attention to the matter. She was acting less Mary-like, but who was he to stare a gift horse in the mouth.

Mary was able to get some rest on the way and planned to drive the rest of the way to Indianapolis because she wanted to be off the road by five P.M. Marshall caved and told Liz their interim stop for the night, she in turn convinced him to stay at a hotel instead of a motel once they got to Indie. Liz made a few suggestions about the hotels she preferred to stay at and Marshall sent the information to Eleanor to procure a reservation. Turned out, the DOJ was more than willing to accommodate Liz's every whim, and their reservations were approved in minutes. Mary was now certain Liz was the devil. She meant it as a compliment, realizing that all the resentment she felt for her over the last few days subsided quite a bit after their breakfast conversation.

Mary was walking back to the Yukon humming a tune, with a tray of coffees and a bag of food. She saw Marshall standing next to the pump talking to James. From the boy's body language she could see a hint of admiration for Marshall. "Hell, he could use a normal role model", Mary thought. "Life wasn't just about business deals, golf and women." From meeting the older Grahams, she knew they would instill ambition and desire for achievement into their youngest sibling, but doubted they had taken the trouble to explain that there was more to life than that. She approached the vehicle from the passenger side and opened the door to hand Liz her coffee, when loud Paul Oakenfold's trance music pierced the air. Looking for the offensive sound, she saw a flame red BMW X6 pulling up next to the pump behind them. The windows were heavily tinted and the sunroof open. The music kept blasting as the front passenger door swung open. Mary heard a high pitched voice over the music.

"Be a doll, put the gas in the car. I want a macchiato."

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jim's reaction to the voice that startled her. Instead of climbing into the Yukon, he edged closer to the other vehicle. Before he was too far out of Marshall's reach, the tall man was able to stop him, but not fast enough to prevent the girl whose voice they had heard from missing them.

The petite brunette clad in a denim jumpsuit and a chinchilla bolero, practically ran over to James and climbed him like a tree. Mary was close enough to Liz to hear a restrained sigh and a mutter that sounded suspiciously like "oh, look, the euro trash is on the prowl." Mary's eyebrows shot up in curiosity at the apparent lack of restraint she had come to expect from the socialite.

"Jimmik," the girl squealed, "What are you doing here?"

James' face turned the color of beets.

"I am on a road trip with my um… aunt and uncle. You know, checking out colleges and such."

He looked embarrassed and awkwardly tried to peel her off.

"Jimmik, aren't you like the poster boy for Wellesley? Or was it Yale that everyone in your family went to?"

"It's Wellesley for undergrad. But I figured I'd keep my options open. See what else is out there."

"Oh, there's nothing out here: cornfields and… more cornfields. Trust me on this one. Since my Dad shipped me out here I haven't had any fun. Elena and I are really bored out of our minds here." She pointed to a tall willowy blonde filling the tank of the BMW. "I wish I'd known you were in town, I could have shown you our new digs."

Marshall cleared his throat.

James took a hint. "Kat, I should really be going."

He set her down onto the blacktop. "It was good to see you."

The girl pouted in response.

"Jimmik, you're no fun. I'll be back to the city in June. We'll have a ton of catching up to do." She winked at him, turned on her four inch heels and swaggered in the direction of the building.

"Uh-huh, sure."

Jim climbed into the back of the truck. Marshall slammed the door behind him a little harder than Mary expected from him, and started for the driver's seat.

"No, Marshall, you need a break. I'll drive to the next stop."

He did not argue, and handed her the keys before circling around the car and glancing at the BMW again, committing its plates to memory.

The Russian flag hanging off the rear view mirror and the diplomatic plates rubbed him the wrong way. He took out his blackberry, snapped a few images of the vehicle and forwarded them to Stan and Eleanor. The girls appeared harmless, but it never hurt to double check. His experience taught him to trust his instincts and the incident in the wee hours of that morning had left him wary. The faster they knew whether this was a coincidence or a setup the better their odds were to handle the situation. His mind was already working out different scenarios when he pulled the seat belt into his lap. He did not like this development one bit.

Marshall turned to the boy and was about to ask for an explanation, but the expression on his mother's face stopped the man. Liz shared Marshall's feeling of unease, but clearly for different reasons. To say the woman was angry was an understatement: she was downright livid. She was fighting to rein in her fury but failing miserably, while James was keeping mum as if expecting her to blow a fuse. Marshall patiently waited for an explanation he saw was coming. He turned back to face the road and watched Mary get back onto the highway. His partner felt the tension in the air after the appearance of the girl, but since there was no immediate threat to the safety of their witness, she decided to defer to Marshall to diffuse the situation. Somehow, she empathized with Liz, who was obviously aggravated by the encounter, but did not want to jump to any conclusions.

Liz took a long pull from her coffee cup and was able to reign in her anger somewhat. Marshall turned to her, feeling she was about to speak. Her voice was devoid of emotion and more hoarse than usual.

"The young woman that just wrapped herself around James is Katherine Grygorev, the youngest offspring of a diplomat at the Russian mission in New York."

Her tone was even, each word carefully enunciated.

"Her parents chose to send all their children to Riverdale instead of the school at the mission, unlike the other diplomats. She was two years ahead of James at school and now is a freshman at Ohio State at Columbus, if I am not mistaken. She is an entitled, spoiled seventeen year old who is as brainless as they come."

She shrugged.

"The girl is a walking cliché of nouveau riche from the former Soviet Union that flooded the Upper East Side over the last decade. It's a small world…"

She mused out loud, sneered and waived dismissively.

"She is not connected to people that would be interested in my whereabouts. Her goal is to get chummy with my stepsons, particularly A.J."

James was mortified at his mother's words and looked as if she had run over his dog.

"Mom, it's not like that. Kat is my friend."

Liz did not respond. Marshall could tell this was not their first argument on the subject. Mary couldn't hold back and snorted.

"A euro trash Barbie with sights on Archer James Graham, huh? Oh, this is good."

Marshall choked on his coffee, realizing the women bonded while he was giving Jim a piece of his mind and wondered if he had something to worry about. Rather than contemplating the issue further, he called Stan.

---

Chapter 5: Best Laid Plans

---

Marshall shifted in his seat, mulling over the conversation he had with the chief. Apparently, their witness was right about the incident at the gas station. It was nothing more than a coincidence. After they were able to get out unscathed from the shootout in New Jersey, they lost the tail and activity around their departure subsided. A few inquiries that had been made about their destination from Teterboro came through the official channels. Stan had Charlie and Eleanor trace them back to check for abnormalities. There was also a matter of a missing NYPD detail to consider.

Marshall's mind played back the night they left New York City. It was suspicious that someone had pulled the security detail when Liz was still under the protection of NYPD. He sent a quick email to Eleanor outlining his thoughts on the matter, adding another detail to her research. There had to be a leak either in the PD or D.A.'s office, for them to be followed out into New Jersey. He had little doubt that the incident at the Met and the ambush were orchestrated by the same person. The mole had to be found and eradicated. There were few things in life that grated on his nerves more than dirty law enforcement agents.

Marshall shifted in his seat again: fifteen hours on the road were taking a toll and his back was starting to complain, he needed to rest. He was certain everyone was feeling the effects of the drive. It was time to turn in for the night.

The hotel Eleanor booked was completely different from the usual fare. He was surprised when he saw the reservation come through. The itinerary came with a little note from Eleanor.

"Whatever the woman wants, woman gets. Doctor's orders."

Marshall understood the implication of the words. Elizabeth was no criminal. Suddenly Stan's debrief before the case came back to him "high profile witness". The DOJ would want to appease her for the testimony. While Liz had her safety to consider, she could still refuse to testify and disappear. Unlike many criminals that turned sides and eager to make a deal, the DOJ had little leverage with this witness.

Marshall glanced at the duo in the back. He could tell James was still sulking over the comments his mother made earlier. The music in the boy's headphones was loud enough for everyone to hear. Marshall smirked and broke the silence.

"Did you know that daily exposure to sound above 85 decibels for over eight hours a day can cause permanent hearing damage? Every increase of three decibels doubles the intensity since decibels are calculated on the logarithmic scale, which means hearing loss occurs at a faster rate. That angry music James is subjecting himself to in attempt to avoid any semblance of a conversation, actually erodes his hearing with every moment. The studies show that noise induced hearing loss is becoming common among adolescents using portable electronic devices for personal entertainment. In recent years a few prominent musicians came out with statements about contribution of their art to the deterioration in their hearing."

Mary looked back in the rearview mirror and was met with a quizzical look from Liz.

"This is the part of the trip where the gates open and the trivia flood descends upon us. Halleluiah, numb nuts, you've held back for more than 12 hours straight. Must be some kind of record."

Liz raised her left eyebrow, "So I take it you were expecting something like this?"

"Oh, absolutely. I am surprised it hasn't happened earlier. Marshall here is a cornucopia of useless facts."

"Mare, you do realize, your futile attempt to mock me resulted in using a word with four syllables? It appears I have finally managed to corrupt you." Marshall winked at his partner.

"My God, you are such a dork." She said with a laugh.

"My plan for mind domination eight years in the making is coming to fruition."

Liz looked from one partner to the other, thinking "Oh, yes, this goose is cooked. Well done, actually. Wonder if either of them has realized it yet. Marshall probably has… But they are not sleeping together, that's for sure. Mary is not the type who'd consider patience a virtue."

The tension in the car dissipated as they rolled into downtown Indianapolis. Marshall pointed to the entrance of Conrad Downtown, "Valet parking only, Mare, pull up and I will check us in. While I am gone, please don't rip a bellhop a new one."

"There goes my hope of stress relief by abusing the menial servants."

Marshall shot her a disapproving look, while Liz was trying to figure out if Mary was joking.

"What? Too much? Okay, then."

Mary maneuvered their heavy SUV between the taxis and climbed out carefully handing the keys to the valley.

"Don't scratch the car and have it close by."

When Mary walked over to the entrance, Liz and James were standing next to the bellhop loading the bags onto the trolley. Marshall waited for the trio to walk into the building and made his way to the check-in counter.

He was sitting in his favorite hand tufted leather chair facing the ocean, absentmindedly swirling the amber liquid in a snifter and staring at the darkening evening sky. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore usually calmed his nerves, but not tonight. It seemed tonight nothing worked to alleviate the pressure. He felt the onset of a migraine. It was yet another long and trying day. He had never been prone to self-flagellation, deeming it a quality of the weak and insecure. He was neither: well known for a particularly short fuse, and had never shied away from showing his temper. He retreated to the peace and quiet of his study to deal with two failures looming over his head like the sword of Damocles. The last five days had been a disaster. He contemplated if he had made an error in judgment, but could not bring himself to admit making an error or giving in to his temper.

Recalling the events of the night that had the potential to ruin him made his blood boil. No one dared to insult him and expect to live another moment. That entitled bastard deserved that bullet. But, how his imbecile of a bodyguard missed that broad hiding in the corner office was beyond him. As he analyzed the last few days, the results were not any better. The woman was still alive and in the wind. He held no delusions about the value of his life if she were to testify against him. The highly recommended special ops trained gun failed to take care of his problem. He didn't think NYPD had any viable leads, but could not afford to take any more chances.

The crew equipped with automatic weapons went up in flames. A small smile twisted a corner of his mouth. At least the marshals saved him the clean up job that he would be forced to commission to deal with the failures. "I am surrounded by incompetent morons. If I need something done properly I have to just do it myself." He paused at the thought, realizing he would not be able to take care of his problem himself. Taking care of her partner got him into the situation in the first place and he had his status as a Thief to consider. The code prevented him from doing his own wet work. He sneered. The elders were sticklers for the code, and unfortunately were still calling the shots. The code was a worthless piece of crap. "Another decade no one will care about the damn code, the elders are bound to lose the power or die. Everyone has to die at some point, right?" He downed the cognac from the glass in one gulp without a flinch and reached for his phone.

The man he dialed picked up on the second ring and immediately started talking "I do not have any new information for you. I am trying, but there are too many road blocks. After they crossed into Jersey, they disappeared. They were supposed to show at Teterboro, but never did. The plane was rerouted and I can't get the original destination without being red flagged."

"I don't care about your red flags. You have to do better to get me what I need, or…" he let the words linger.

"Don't do this to me, you know I am doing everything I can."

"Obviously it is not enough or you'd have the information that I asked you for."

"I need more time."

"Twenty four hours." He slammed the phone shut and poured more cognac into his glass. "Looks like it's time to look for a different source, this one is becoming troublesome."

He picked up the phone again. "Deal with the old man," he barked in Russian to the person on the line, hung up and poured himself another drink. Before he had a chance to finish it off, his phone rang. Without looking at the caller id he barked, "Were my instructions unclear?"

The line was silent for a moment, and then a quiet stony voice said, "You are becoming a liability."

"What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me. And not only me. You'd better not make any more mistakes." The last word was spoken with so much emphasis that Gleb's blood began to boil again. He knew the man on the line was not to be trifled with, but was damned if he would let anyone question his methods…

He hid his anxiety with anger, "Mistakes? I don't make mistakes. It was my call to make." He hissed, "I have everything under control. You have nothing to worry about."

"As long as you realize what's at stake here, boy. One more mistake… and you know what can happen." The unspoken threat was clear. "Your disregard for the code was ignored because you delivered results. You best remember in which penitentiary you were crowned…" The voice left the sentence hang, the tone with which the phrase was spoken was laced with venom.

Gleb wasn't crowned at a pen. He acquired the thief title using a great deal of money and connections, not having earned "tenure" in the prison system. That held no water with the younger generation who had little reverence for the code, but the elder thieves who still held the majority of the power lived by the code, and a slip up would cause dire consequences for him as the treasurer. There was only one way a person was laid off from the post in the ranks, and that was by leaving it in a box. He wasn't quite ready to go that way just yet. He said through gritted teeth, "I said, I'm handling it!"

Unfazed by the unmasked threat in his voice, the other man continued.

"You should reel in your temper and ask for help. Word of advice, deal with the girl without hurting her. If she is killed quite a few people will be unhappy. Cyrill, God rest his soul, has a lot of loyal friends who would be really unhappy if you hurt his little girl."

"What does he have to do with this?"

He was bewildered. Even from the grave, all these years later the ghost of his nemesis interfered with his plans.

"This is something I should not have to tell you. Maybe you ought to consider retiring from the treasury. Think it over and do the research. She is Baron's only daughter. Didn't know that, did you, boy? Hurting his flesh and blood will not bode well for you."

He couldn't wrap his head around this information. How did he miss the connection between this broad and Baron? This put the events of the night five days ago in a completely new light. How much did this woman know about him? Who was the man whom he thought was her father? His blood stilled in his veins. He needed to get off the phone, fast.

"Cat's got your tongue?"

Gleb could almost see the other man's thin condescending smile. His problem just increased tenfold.

Marshall returned with the keys to adjoining rooms on a low floor in close proximity to the fire exit. Liz would have preferred a suite on a high floor, but accepted the explanation, that a low floor was safer should they need to leave in a hurry. She realized that she would not have much privacy at the hotel, as the marshals made it clear that Mary would be staying in the room with her, and James with Marshall.

Once in the room, Mary took the bed next to the door, and Liz sat her tote on the bed next to the window.

"Mary, you must be exhausted. Why don't you take the shower first?" Liz offered.

"No, you go ahead; I need to make a few calls and discuss a few things with Marshall."

Without another word, Liz grabbed her handbag and disappeared into the bathroom.

Mary popped into the other room. She saw James stretched out on the bed by the window, headphones still plugging his ears, while Marshall perched up by the desk with his laptop open, studying Google maps and clicking through documents. She walked over and leaned against his shoulder looking at the screen.

"So, what's the plan, Doofus? Did you speak to Stan?"

"I talked to Stan, we have free reign with resources, as long as Liz gets to the office by Wednesday. Tippy Boswell is running point on this case. Schwartzman got his ass handed to him in the battle of jurisdictions. I wouldn't write him off just yet, but we will be dealing with Tippy when we are back at the office."

"Tippy? Fantastic. Can't wait to see his ugly mug."

"You are still pissed at him for Mia."

It was a statement, not a question. Marshall was watching her closely. He knew she repressed her pain after Mia was gone. Seeing Boswell again was bound to wreak havoc on her emotions.

"Who, me? Nah, where did you get that idea?" She waved dismissively. "I am just so excited to work with Boswell again… There is no way in hell he gets in the face of another witness on my watch."

"Mare, you have to take a step back. You are letting him get to you. I hate to point out the obvious, Liz isn't your witness yet."

"Pretty sure she is going to be right after she signs the dotted line of the MOU, knucklehead. You got the last one."

"I can give you a free pass on this one." He was going to say something else, but the look in Mary's eyes stopped him. "Your call."

He was suddenly aware of her proximity, the heat radiating from her body. She was still leaning on him, although he had not touched the laptop since she walked into the room. She was staring at the screen oblivious to his reaction. At his last words she shook off her pensive state and peeled off his shoulder.

"Okay then, my call, my witness. End of story. Now back to the plan."

It took Marshall a second to collect his thoughts.

"I figured we leave the hotel before the morning rush hour. If we are out of here by six, we should make it to Tulsa by this time tomorrow, which leaves us with ten or eleven hours for the final leg of the trip. There are no major cities between Tulsa and Albuquerque, and finding a hotel up to Liz's standards may be difficult even for Eleanor."

"Right, God forbid we stay in a Hilton."

"Actually, Mare, we are in a Hilton. Conrad is the top of the line of the Hilton chain."

"Whatever, you know what I mean." She rolled her eyes and cracked her back. After being in the car for almost eighteen hours, she was achy.

"I have to go back and check on Liz to make sure she did not drown in the tub." Mary's stomach growled. "We need food. I'm starving."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll check the menu before I hit the shower. Come back when you're done, so we can order."

Before he could finish, Mary disappeared behind the doors to the next room and he heard the click of the lock. He looked at James. The boy had not moved a muscle since they arrived at the hotel. Marshall decided to give a conversation with him another shot. The conversation would wait until he was done with the shower. He needed to get the kinks out of his back before talking to the kid. Last thing he wanted was to rip into him because he couldn't maintain a level head from physical discomfort.

Mary heard the water running in the bathroom. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. The mere mention of her partner in the shower brought color to her cheeks. What the hell was she thinking? They were on a witness transport and her mind was painting pictures that were entirely too risqué for a partnership. Since the debacle in Mexico, she had no time or desire for easy stress relief, disposable cowboys somehow lost their appeal. Her mind was wandering back to the speech Marshall had made before she ran off into Faber's arms.

"I get that you don't like messy. But maybe messy is what you need."

Her whole life was messy and out of control. Her personal life didn't have to be… but lately, all she could think about was that maybe, just maybe he was right, again, like he usually was when it came to what she needed. The thought stuck on an infinite loop inside her head.

"Maybe messy is what you need."

What she needed right now was to stop inappropriate thoughts about her partner, walk over to the bathroom, check on Liz and get their act together, so they could get back to Albuquerque in one piece. She could not force herself to move a muscle, the cool exterior of the door providing odd comfort and it took all her remaining effort not to slide down against it. She peeled off and stumbled onto the bed by the door. "I will check on Liz in a few minutes, I just need a second." was the last thought in Mary's mind before she drifted to sleep.

Liz locked the door into the bathroom and turned on the water in the oversized tub before sitting down on a pouf. She opened her tote, took out the laptop from the neoprene case, slid a wireless card into the slot and powered it on. She set the laptop on the counter to boot, then punched in the password with a low chuckle. That bath really looked inviting, but there was no time. The shower would just have to do for today. After drying herself off and putting on a track suit, Liz looked at her reflection in the mirror, pulling her damp hair into a bun.

With a sigh, she settled back on the pouf and reached for the laptop. Opening a folder called Letters from Spencer she found a file. Liz stretched, trying to shake off the tension, and then clicked on the icon. There were only a few lines in the letter.

Iz,

I have some bad news, the Sunday Times ran the evacuation of the Met on the front page. Andrew was able to keep your name out of the paper, but it's not looking good. Hopefully, you are out of the Tristate area by now and are traveling safely. Please shoot me a line as soon as you pick this up, I need to know that you guys are fine. We are all worried.

Miss you already.

Love,

S

Liz opened a new Word document, but before she could start typing, a scripted window popped up.

"Where did we meet?"

Liz scrunched up her forehead, then laughed softly and typed. "Mount Sinai Hospital Nursery. You were two days old." The cursor in the corner blinked, and then a phrase appeared on the screen.

"I was hoping you'd be logged on. Liz, you guys okay?"

"One more close call, but otherwise we are fine. These marshals are really something."

"That's good to hear. Unfortunately I have more bad news. Before I tell you anything, I want you to know that Martin is safe, he left for Miami in the AM."

"Odd. He didn't mention a trip when I saw him. What happened?"

"It seems the mob wired Martin's car. If I had to guess, Doris had to run errands this afternoon and did not take Henry. I'm sorry, honey, she is no longer with us."

Liz gasped. "How bad is it?"

"Bad. The Jag blew all over the damn garage. Martin is flying back this evening and Edith is taking care of the funeral arrangements."

"Spence, please tell Edie to have Dad stay at my place. I don't want him to be alone."

"I think Edith is going to stay at his place for a while, but I will let her know. Take care of yourself, please."

"I will. I have to go. I don't want to raise any suspicions. I will logon later."

"Okay, boss. Love you!"

Liz closed the cover of the laptop and splashed some cold water on her face. She had to regain composure before facing the marshals. "Doris, oh, God, Doris. How many people will have to suffer for this? Rob, what the hell were you thinking? This is one hell of a mess…" Liz wiped the tears off her cheeks. "I miss you. If you only knew how much…"

She shoved the cased laptop into her tote and closed the zipper with enough force to rip the thing. Startled by the noise, she grimaced, checked the zipper for damage. Luckily, the thing was sturdy enough to withstand her temper. She sat back on the pouf, leaning back against the wall and pressed fingers to her temples. The pads of her digits were cold. She contemplated for a moment why that was, considering the bath was full of steam. Feeling the onset of a tension headache, she pushed the thoughts aside, got up, grabbed the bag and unlocked the door.

He was still in his leather chair by the window facing the ocean. He stopped drinking and shattered his glass against the wall after receiving the call about an explosion at the Park Avenue Towers. He needed a plan for damage control. "These idiots are not capable of doing anything right. Thank God." He was not a religious man, but he could not help but be grateful that his minions were unable to properly carry out his order. The housekeeper was a casualty he could live with, but dealing with the aftermath of the lawyer's demise would have been a different matter. As he learned more and more details about the family he crossed, his mood darkened. Intimidation and violence were likely to backfire. He was not one to scare easily, but the situation was getting more and more uncomfortable by the minute. When his phone rang again, he jumped. Rubbing his hand over his forehead he answered. The same man he spoke with earlier that evening, Advokat, was on the line.

"Did you mistake New York City for Moscow of the nineties? Are you insane?"

"I am handling the situation!" Gleb was nearly screaming.

"The hell you are! Keep your temper in check!"

"She would have to come back to attend to him. It was a damn good plan!"

"Right, and before tonight, Martin only had the reason to wake the sleeping dogs for the threat to his stepdaughter. With this act you managed to add a few other things to his list. Are you really that dim?"

"I tried to roll it back after I spoke to you, but couldn't stop it!"

"In the future, so you don't need excuses, before you decide to handle any situation, you clear it with me and proceed only after my approval. Understood?" The voice was mocking him, dripping with menace.

Gleb slumped in his chair. "Yes. I will clear everything with you."

The line went dead. He was cornered. He needed a plan to stay in the game or disappear. He had to find this woman.

---

Chapter 6: Hidden Revelations

---

Liz walked out of the bathroom and took in her guardian's sleeping form. Mary was curled up on the bed, asleep. Liz softly padded over to the other bed, not wanting to wake the marshal, but the instant the lock of the bathroom door clicked, Mary's eyes were open and she was immediately alert. Realizing Liz was responsible for the noise, Mary said, "I was going to check on you in a few. How long have I been out?"

"Not sure, I literally came out a second ago. It's all yours."

"Is there any hot water left?"

Liz sneered. "There better be, or there will be hell to pay." After a pause, she offered, "Before you go do you want to order food? It usually takes the service about an hour to bring it up, and I am sure everyone is starving."

Mary agreed, "Just what we were thinking."

She walked over to the door to the adjacent room and kicked it. "Marshall, if you guys want to eat, open the damn door pronto."

Marshall opened the door and leaned against the jamb.

"What's with the racket? Didn't we agree to order in a few?"

Mary's gaze swept over her partner's lean form. He was clad in a pair of dark jeans and a fresh oxford shirt. His hair was still damp from the shower and slightly disheveled. Mary knew she was staring and it took some effort to tear her eyes away from him.

Liz didn't seem to notice anything. The woman was fumbling with the remote and flipping channels until she settled on CNN.

Mary turned back to Marshall.

"Liz suggested we order dinner now. You got a problem with that?"

"No, I don't. But Jim tore off to the shower a minute ago. It is customary to wait for the entire party to order, you know."

Liz absently shook her head.

"No need to wait, Marshall. I know my son's tastes. Any teen boy's idea of a gourmet meal is a cheeseburger, medium, and a plate of fries with a ton of ketchup. Mine is hardly an exception. However, if you are carnivorously inclined, the local outpost of Capital Grille does excellent porterhouse steaks." Her tone took on a wistful note.

"It's a shame, really, that we cannot spend the evening at a regular table downstairs. I could use a martini."

Marshall didn't have to look at Mary to know she rolled her eyes, but before they could continue the conversation his phone rang.

"Yes, Stan," Marshall spoke into the phone after glancing at the caller id. He listened for a few seconds, waved his hand in excuse and retreated into his room.

Liz eyed Mary quizzically. Mary shrugged and grabbed the leather folder with the menu from the desk. Liz recognized the escape tactic, but did not push the other woman. She was not in a betting mood, but had a fairly good idea what Marshall's call was about. Realizing she had only minutes before having to feign surprise about Doris, she focused on clearing her mind. The marshals' boss undoubtedly received news of the explosion in the garage in New York and the death of her father's housekeeper. Her reaction had to be genuine. She could not risk the marshals learning she received the information before they did. Mary was suspicious enough already; Liz noticed Mary eyeing her bag earlier.

Over the last twenty hours, the team that was entrusted with her safety had earned her respect, which made the task of dealing with the mob threat on her terms more complex. For a moment, she considered letting the situation play out as it would, knowing her father and Andrew were working on getting her out of this mess. However, as soon as she found out about Doris that idea was abandoned. There was no way she could stay passive, while people she cared about were falling victim to the vicious man, whom she suspected in aiding the untimely demise of her biological father. Not that she had much daughterly feeling for him, but the bastard squashed any chance she had to develop a relationship with her father. Her adversary raised the stakes, when he ordered the hit.

Liz berated herself for getting worked up; she needed to focus on the impending conversation. To bring her plan of retaliation to fruition the marshals had to be kept in the dark. That task required being more cautious about using the laptop during the trip, while maintaining her connection with Spence. It was likely that she would have to send her to Lausanne; most likely the Marshals Service would have a problem with a protected witness traveling internationally.

Mary was perusing the menu, when she heard familiar footsteps and knew something was amiss from her partner's gait. Whatever news Stan relayed to him was not going to make either of them happy. She stole a look at Liz, but the woman did not acknowledge Marshall's return, engrossed in some financial report on Bloomberg. Mary usually skipped over things like that when channel surfing, but still recognized the logo in the corner. Why anyone voluntarily spent their time watching that sort of programming was beyond her comprehension. Mary forced her attention back to Marshall. Just like his partner, the man was intently studying their witness. She felt that she was being watched, and turned to face them.

"You ready to order?" Her tone was light, but her posture was tightly coiled.

Marshall ran his hand through his hair.

"Oh, this is bad, really bad." Mary took note of his gesture, which was a familiar sign of concern. "Wait for it… there."

She watched Marshall brace himself to deliver the news. "Here comes."

The tall marshal took two steps towards the witness, and began in a controlled voice.

"Liz, I am afraid I have some bad news."

When he saw that he got her attention, he insisted she sit down and then continued.

"Your father's vehicle was detonated in the garage of his apartment building two hours ago. Luckily, he was unharmed as it appears he left for Miami this morning."

"Oh, God!" Liz gasped. She started panting and looked as though she was about to faint.

"Breathe, Liz, just breathe."

"Why did the car explode? This doesn't make sense. Henry doesn't take the Jag out…"

"It's wasn't Henry, Liz. The victim was a female. Edith told the NYPD that Doris had planned to run errands this afternoon and was going to take the car. The M.E. has not confirmed the victim's identity yet, but since Doris has not been seen since the explosion... I'm very sorry for your loss."

Liz sank against the back of the chair with a gasp. Her hands clasped the armrests, knuckles turning completely white. When she did not say another word, Mary approached her.

"Liz, can I get you anything? Water?"

Liz only shook her head in response. Mary narrowed her eyes at the other woman. Something in her reaction was off. Mary's bullshit radar was going haywire. Liz was too composed, her distress too controlled.

"No one could keep that much of a front could they?"

"Tell me what you need."

Out of the corner of her eye Mary noticed Marshall's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he wisely did not comment.

Liz glanced up at Mary.

"I need to speak to my father."

The request was difficult, but not all together unexpected.

After a moment's hesitation, Mary said, "That can be arranged when we reach our destination. We cannot get a secured line on the road and calling from an unsecured one is out of the question. I have no doubt that all Martin's phones are compromised."

Liz sighed.

"I figured as much, but asking was worth a shot."

"I promise you will speak to him as soon as we get to our office." Mary anticipated questions, but none came.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

Liz rose up from the chair and walked over to the window. Marshall was about to pull her away, but Mary interfered before he had the chance.

"Liz, please step away from the window. You have to remember, you are not out of danger. Only a handful of people know where we are, but better to be cautious."

"Ah, that's right, I'm sorry. I guess I should adopt a healthy dose of paranoia, if there is a dose that's healthy."

She stepped back, distraught, her eyes searching the room for something, but could not find an anchor.

"It's not paranoia if they are really after you," Mary said with a smirk.

She turned to Marshall, tugged on his sleeve and pulled him into the other room, muttering, "C'mon, Doofus, let's give Liz some privacy."

Once in the other room, Mary climbed onto Marshall's bed and pulled her knees to her chest. "What a cluster fuck."

Marshall rubbed his forehead, mulling over something. Mary looked at him expectantly. She knew he was going to ask her about using his line. Something about its structure or maybe the sound made it work like magic on pretty much everyone. Mary recalled the first time she used it on an insolent teenager, consciously imitating Marshall's tone when she said the words. She doubted it would work, but after dishing out tough love and not getting through to the girl, she was willing to try just about anything. She was baffled when the girl opened up. She took notice and filed it away, deciding to put it to the test soon.

The opportunity presented itself, when a witness clammed up and was willing to go to prison to avoid incriminating the woman he loved, and again the "secret weapon", as she started calling it, delivered results. Mary no longer considered it a fluke and tested it on her own family, when Brandi was about to lose it at the dress fitting the other day. She wasn't surprised at that point, rather expected it to work. Brandi's emotional maelstrom was avoided, and Mary was convinced Marshall gave her a panacea for handling people in a crisis. She wondered what it said about her mindset and the effect her best friend's words had on her. The sound of Marshall's voice brought her out of these thoughts.

"Interesting choice of words, Mare. Care to elaborate?"

"C'mon knucklehead, even you know the definition of the word cluster fuck."

"Mare, that wasn't my question."

She really did not want to talk about it. It made her uncomfortable to admit using something from his 'dealing with Mary' toolkit. She knew he figured out ways to handle her volatility, she was neither dumb nor blind. It pissed her off in the beginning when she put two and two together, but not anymore. He cared about her enough to deal with her nasty, cranky and outright bitchy moods and take care of her. Hell, he was the only one, who got to know the real Mary Shannon, took the time and did not leave, which was more than her family, ex-fiancé and ex-husband ever bothered with. The barriers she put up were strong enough to keep everyone out except Marshall.

Mary was not as oblivious to personal issues as most people thought. She knew her partner almost as well as he knew her. She took notice of his methods years ago, and learned them. After all, her intuitive nature allowed her to read everyone, not just the witnesses. Her mind set up roadblocks to accept certain things, thirty years allotted time to refine the craft of avoidance elevating denial to an art form. Lately though, she started thinking it was causing her more harm, than good. She was still trying to keep a semblance of distance, but had to concede failing at it, wanting more from their partnership than she already had.

"Maybe messy is what you need."

Mary shook her head to banish the thought and try to figure out how to respond. But, before she could say anything, James returned from the bathroom.

Marshall frowned and spoke in a low voice, so James would not hear him, "Saved for now… You don't get a free pass on this, Mare. I will need an answer."

"I'd be disappointed if you dropped it." As always she masked her discomfort with bravado.

Mary's voice was louder, so James caught the end of the phrase. He had interrupted something, but decided he did not care to find out what it was. If his mother wanted to befriend these people, she could, but he would have no part of it. They were screwing up his life by taking him into the middle of nowhere and he had no recourse. For the time being he went along with it, but did not have to like it and was not about to make their job easier. He picked up his mp3 player from the nightstand, put on his headphones and flopped on the bed. He really did not feel like dealing with anyone right now.

Detective Len Morris was pissed. Surveying the crime scene at the garage of the Park Avenue Towers gave him the heebie-jeebies. It is not that he has never seen car explosion sites before, but the location of the crime had him out of sorts. He frowned. The homicide case of Robert Stone was mowing down victims like the plague. The criminal mastermind behind the murders had complete disregard for human life. Morris assumed Gleb Stolov was behind this bombing, but had no way to link him to it.

"Yet. He thought to himself. I do not have anything tangible, yet. I have a hunch, which is no good for the Grand Jury, but good enough to get the leads if you know where to look."

He knew he would find something to prove it. The suspect went from a supposed crime of opportunity to a contracted attempt to murder and now a bombing. No one could pull off this many stunts without making mistakes. The challenge was for Morris to find them. They didn't call him Len 'the Pit bull' Morris for nothing.

By dumb luck, the explosion claimed the life of only one person. The victim happened to be alone on the entire parking level when she started up the car. The property damage was not very significant, but a few people would be upset about their cars getting hit with debris. The nature of the crime bothered him. Murder by car explosion was not often seen in New York City these days, but judging from the articles he read on the time of guerrilla capitalism in Eastern Europe, that was the standard modus operandi for dealing with competition.

Fortunately, the crew that rigged the car got sloppy. Unlike the shooting at the Opera, he had forensic evidence, if he was really lucky CSIs would get prints. Detective Morris briefly considered the other explosion from early morning across the Hudson. A NJ detective was working that case, but Len felt these two were linked. He did not believe in coincidences, so he did not buy Elizabeth Graham's disappearance and radio silence from the D.A.'s office on the matter. Need to know only. The marshal in cowboy boots that Morris talked to at the Opera had to be responsible for the star witness' vanishing act. Feds were working their angle, but Morris was not about to hand them their case.

His phone rang. He listened to his partner fill him in with additional details the crime lab came up with from the evidence retrieved at the Met. The detective told his partner to wait for him at the precinct, drained his coffee and went back to his cruiser. They had two murders to solve. It was going to be a long night.

Marshall was getting frustrated with this transport. A road trip with two volatile women and an insolent teenager was almost as high on his to do list as a root canal. To his amazement, they were getting along much better than he anticipated, but the feeling of apprehension would not leave him. Mary was seesawing between bouts of compassion and lashing out, Liz was clearly hiding something, and James was a general pain in the ass. Marshall was staring at the screen of his laptop. He was reviewing additional intel and planning the route for tomorrow. The weather was going to get worse with a snow storm moving in, and they needed to get out of the area before the roads became dangerous. They were moving southwest so he thought they had a chance of beating the weather.

Marshall leaned back in the chair. The dinner was nice: the food was excellent and the conversation pleasant. James refrained from making faces or smart comments, for which Marshall was grateful. He was tired and not entirely sure he would maintain restraint and keep from shaking some sense into him. Now that he thought about it, Jim hasn't uttered a word since they left Columbus. The incident with the girl had rattled the boy more than he would have thought. Granted, Liz was unexpectedly open with her disdain with the character and encouraged Mary's sarcasm on the subject, putting the poor kid on the spot. The insinuation about the girl's intent to snag Jim's older brother had to grate on his nerves. He had a crush, raging hormones and now a severely bruised ego. And Liz had no problem steamrolling over it. That spelled trouble for their future in Albuquerque.

The women called in an early night, which was not a bad idea. Marshall put the table out, locked up and changed into his Angry Birds pajama pants. As soon as Jim was out of the bathroom, Marshall intended to hit the sack. He was counting on getting at least eight hours of sleep to make up for the previous night.

"Dude, are you serious?"

Jim blurted out staring at the marshal's pants. He was going to give the marshal the silent treatment, but the older man's get up was just too funny to resist. The image before him did not mesh well with the badass shooter he saw in the SUV less than twenty four hours ago. Plus he felt like lashing out at someone. If he was entirely honest, the man had not participated in the conversation that pissed him off, but mouthing off to his mother last time got him talking to this guy anyway. It wasn't that he didn't like him, he actually seemed like a pretty stand up guy, but his mother and the female marshal grated on his nerves all evening. He was content to keep quiet then, but now felt compelled to say something.

Marshall crooked an eyebrow with a less than amused expression, "What, pray tell, are you referring to?"

James had readied a smart remark, but the man's tone stopped him. He reconciled the image of the guy in silly pajama pants with the badass and decided not to push his luck.

"Whatever, man. I'm going to sleep."

"Lights out, man." Marshall mimicked the boy's tone.

"We leave bright and early tomorrow. Word to the wise, adjust your attitude. My partner is not a morning person, so I just might step aside and watch her rip you apart, if you don't."

Mary woke up at the crack of dawn rested and refreshed. She was ready to hit the road again. Liz was still asleep, while Mary slipped into the bathroom. The remainder of the last evening was pleasant enough. The meal was good, the mood surprisingly light and they did not get any more bad news. Since all were exhausted, they called it a night by nine P.M. Mary was out cold after securing her Glock under the pillow. Her subconscious capitulated to fatigue and she was overcome by blissful dreamless sleep, or so she thought.

Mary's morning routine was interrupted by a knock on the door. She scrambled out of the bathroom and realized that the sound came from the adjacent room. When she cracked the door open, a tray with two coffees floated in and Marshall's voice said "Ladies, be ready in fifteen. The snow storm is moving in, we need to leave before the roads are closed."

Mary snagged her cup, set the tray down for Liz on the nightstand and went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

As soon as Mary disappeared in the bathroom, Liz opened her eyes and took her coffee. That tall marshal was really something. She wondered how long the pair had been partners. They had feelings for each other that went beyond friendship, which was obvious to anyone who cared to observe their interactions. She assumed that they went through a few difficult situations, and Mary's muttering in her sleep confirmed her suspicions. Liz always had trouble sleeping in hotel rooms. In her line of work, traveling was a necessary evil, and she managed by bringing her own pillow cases and popping a pill before bed. Neither of those options was available on this trip, as she was disinclined to share this information with either of the marshals. As a result, she tossed and turned most of the night, unable to fall asleep.

Around four in the morning, Mary had a fairly vocal dream and Liz was happy they closed the door into the other room before going to bed. She figured if Marshall heard his partner calling his name in the middle of the night, he would likely rush to her side, and Liz was too tired to convincingly feign sleep. It was one thing to passively observe a dance between two people, and quite another having to participate in a fallout that was bound to happen when a third party is privy to the situation. On the upside Liz now had more information to ponder when it came to their relationship. She was not a meddling type, but recent developments in her life taught her not to take things for granted and something nudged her to impart that piece of wisdom onto Mary. Liz figured the other woman would be kicking, screaming and might break something during that conversation, but hell, that would only make her exile interesting.

---

Chapter 7: Lies, Damn Lies and Confessions

---

Mary was enjoying her second cup of coffee outside of the hotel, watching Liz discuss the merits of wheat grass, barley grass and spirulina with Marshall, while they were waiting for the valet to bring the SUV around. The other woman had foregone coffee for a green beverage that served Mary with an unpleasant reminder of an encounter with a witness she would rather forget. She realized she really did not want Marshall to recall that particular episode this morning. Mary would rather avoid reliving one of the lowest moments of their partnership during a high risk transport. As far as she could tell from the animated discussion, it did not seem like Marshall made the connection.

Mary exhaled in relief, looking forward to riding shotgun for a change while Marshall drove them through the inclement weather. She hated driving in the snow: she could, growing up in New Jersey prepared her for driving in near blizzard conditions and on black ice, but it did not mean she had to like it. Marshall did not mind it as much, so he usually wound up driving on snow covered roads. She looked up at the heavy gray clouds gathering in the sky and felt a familiar dread. The horrible white flakes would surely start falling soon.

Mary carefully contemplated if they had missed anything in the preparation for the next leg of the trip. There was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind, but she could not quite place it. All senses on high alert, she was scanning their surroundings for any suspicious activity. It was unlikely that their location was known to the people looking for Liz, but it was better to be prepared for the worst outcome on high risk transports like this. Marshall's calm demeanor was reassuring, as she knew he had analyzed all the details and went over every possible contingency last night. She felt bad for crashing before having an opportunity to discuss the plan with him in detail, but figured if he needed her input, he would ask for it. Since he did not mention a thing, she assumed they were driving to Tulsa as planned.

James stood next to Mary, pointedly ignoring the conversation and fidgeting with the cord to his headphones, simulating disinterest. He took the older man's advice, deciding against aggravating the blonde marshal with snide comments, but could not help shooting nasty looks at his mother. His less than sunny disposition did not escape Mary's watchful eye, and it grated on her nerves. She tolerated his behavior, preoccupied with his mother. For the time being, she decided against intervening. If his attitude did not improve once they got to Albuquerque, she would put the fear of God in him then. In the last few years, WITSEC afforded her plenty of opportunities to deal with insolent teenagers, and she would happily apply her experience to this entitled brat. She took another pull from her cup and smirked at the thought.

The valet brought in the Yukon.

"Ready to go?"

Marshall ushered Liz and James into the back of the SUV, while Mary continued scanning their surroundings. After ensuring their charges were secure, both marshals got into the SUV. Mary punched their destination into the GPS, as Marshall pulled into the empty street, anxious to leave downtown Indianapolis before the rush hour and the snow.

Gleb was pacing in his office. Twelve hours had passed since the last conversation with his source, but he has not heard anything since and was getting agitated. He was suspicious that his source did not reach out to him after the lawyer's car blew up. He decided that it was time to look for an alternative source and start tying up this loose end, but before he had a chance to finish the thought, his cell rang.

"You better have something for me."

"I do." The man on the line was decidedly more confident this morning.

"Are you going to tell me or do you want me to visit your office bearing gifts of graphic nature?"

"I got you what you need. The Philly marshals' office is in possession of the Tahoe used to take the person of interest out of the city last night. I am told their garage is short a Yukon."

"And? You got anything else? Plates?"

"Better. All marshals' vehicles are equipped with tracking devises. I pulled a favor, and it was traced to Indianapolis. I will have more information on the truck later. The tracker has to be turned off, otherwise someone else might notice, but I should be getting regular updates."

"Well, not too bad. I would prefer to receive information in a more timely fashion, but if you can get me their final stop that just might get you off the hook."

Gleb hung up. For the first time in days he felt relief. There was hope for him yet.

The morning after Martin returned to his home from a fruitless trip to Miami, he recounted the conversation from the night before. He knew his phones were tapped, so he picked up a few disposables. He would have preferred the conversation to happen in person rather than on the phone. Unfortunately, his spur of the moment decision to fly down to meet with an old acquaintance was worthless. Martin missed the man who spent his winters in Miami by a day. He knew that was likely that would happen, but had to try. Since he was unwilling to follow the man to his destination, a phone conversation had to do.

Walking into his office, Martin removed a few disposable phones from his briefcase. He levered himself into a chair before ripping the packaging on one and tapping a few keys. He waited for the line to connect and upon hearing a familiar deep male voice, said, "Morning, Filin."

"You are up late. It's nearly midnight your time, no? How did your trip go?"

Martin could picture the wicked smile on the other man's lips and couldn't contain his irritation. "You know how well it went, Goddamit."

"Well now, that's no reason to yell at an old friend. I thought I'd see you in Bal Harbor last week. How do you feel about some hunting for old times' sake? The weather is not as great as on the beach, but the scenery is definitely calming. When was the last time you were thigh deep in the snow? If you jet over here you'll make it just in time for dinner. I can have the Lodge get a room ready for you."

"Cut the crap, Filin. This isn't the time to discuss the good old times."

"No? Pity that. Glad to hear your Russian is just as impeccable as I remember. Did you pass that skill to your daughter?"

"As a matter of fact I did."

"Good. I wouldn't worry about a thing then. It's a shame you don't want to visit though. Sedoi is coming in for our shindig tonight. Had Baron been alive, it would be a reunion."

"I think I'd like to speak to Sedoi. I will call noon-ish my time tomorrow."

Martin never intended to collect on the debt, the knowledge weighed heavily on both. Upon leaving the Soviet Union with his new wife Helen and daughter Liz, Martin had hoped to forget everything he saw outside the diplomatic mission, but the past had a way of sneaking up on him. Elizabeth's biological father, Baron, held up his end of the deal, attempting no contact with Liz while Helen was alive.

Sedoi was Baron's right hand man. Martin was certain that Baron had charged Sedoi with watching over his daughter and his appearance at the summit had worried Martin. He could read between the lines. Gleb's days were numbered and Liz would be safer with him out of the picture, however he was sure Liz was bound to start digging into the past and he wasn't certain he could handle telling her everything. Twice, he did a fairly good job hiding the fact he knew her biological father. He wasn't confident he could do it again if she heard Sedoi's side of the story.

Marshall put the radio on to track weather conditions and everyone fell into silence as they rolled out of the city. They had been on the road for two hours. Marshall watched stray flakes falling on the windshield and the ground, but not sticking. They were making good progress; it looked like they would make it to Tulsa without significant delay. He was grateful for the reprieve from tension in the vehicle, needing to review the plan for the day to make sure they were not missing anything. The apparent leak somewhere in the chain of custody still had to be addressed. Since the incident in New Jersey, it did not look like there was anything to suggest their movement was being tracked, but he could not risk taking a chance and it hit him like a ton of bricks. Before he could finish forming a coherent thought, Mary turned to him hurriedly and blurted out, "The truck has a GPS tracker. I'll call Stan."

"Stan, this is Mary." Marshall didn't hear the chief's question, but the tone riddled with agitation.

"No, we haven't had any more problems, yet. Check something for me, will you? I need to know if anyone accessed the GPS tracker on the truck."

"No, nothing specific, just a gut feeling."

"Uh-huh. Got it. Thanks." Mary hung up the phone and frowned.

"Change of plans. We're going to St. Louis to ditch the truck at the airport. Eleanor is booking a rental there and another one in Tulsa. Someone accessed the GPS on this truck in the last six hours. Stan has IT pulling the logs."

"Mare, St. Louis is two hours away and I don't think I can go much faster than I already am in this weather."

"If you got a better suggestion, numb nuts, I am all ears."

"Not at the moment, no."

"Okay. Then St. Louis International it is."

The tension in the car was palpable. The threat only minutes ago considered vacated, now loomed with newfound force, leaving both marshals wondering if they discovered a breach in time and preparing for the worst, Liz grappling with the decision to entrust her life to the Marshals Service instead of using her own resources to disappear, James pretending not to understand the implications and continuing to fidget with the controls on his mp3 player.

Without further complications the group switched the marshal issued SUV for a rental reserved for Mary Shepherd in the crowded St. Louis airport and picked up decent pizza for the road ahead. The snow storm receded by the time they reached St. Louis, so Mary had no issues with taking Marshall's place at the wheel. She was feeling bad about snapping at him earlier, but would never admit that to him, especially not in the confines of the truck. They got to Tulsa by seven, hitting rush hour traffic on approach.

Thirteen hours on the road exhausted everyone. The hotel reserved for them was in the suburban area, for which the marshals were grateful. Not having to deal with downtown traffic would afford them flexibility with the morning departure time, and they needed to regroup before the final leg of the trip. When Liz demanded an upgrade to a suite and privacy for the night Mary bristled, but acquiesced.

As soon as Marshall checked them in, Mary escorted Liz and James to their two bedroom suite, cleared the bedrooms, walked into the living area, flipped on the TV, powered up her laptop and prepared to take the first shift. Marshall cleared the floor perimeter and tossed their bags into their room across the hall from the suite. He took a shower, changed into a fresh shirt, grabbed his laptop from the bag and made his way over to relieve Mary and order dinner.

After the tense silence of the drive, Marshall thought he could deal with anything, but nothing prepared him for the yelling he heard in the hall before entering the suite. It occurred to him, that he was only hearing one male voice. Liz was not participating in the screaming match. Mary was poignantly staring at the screen of her laptop pretending to ignore the ruckus coming from one of the bedrooms.

"How long have they been at it?"

"Since you left."

Mary rubbed her neck trying to relieve the tension and rolled her shoulders.

"Headache?"

"Yeah. Hurts like a bitch. Those two are not helping."

"Go take a shower. I've got ibuprofen in my go bag."

"Order me a burger, will you? I am starving."

"You got it. Now shoo!"

Mary bolted out the door before Marshall had a chance to blink. He turned the TV off, logged on to his laptop and prepared to plan the final leg of the trip, when James' particularly loud words reached his ears and he realized the screaming match was not in English. In two strides he was at the door, surprised James was fluent in Russian.

"We are in the middle of nowhere already and still don't know where we are going. Or, did they tell you where they are taking us?"

"No. We will find out when we get there."

"How can you be so nonchalant about this?"

"I have control over emotions, which I'd hoped you'd inherit. Clearly that didn't happen. Do you realize your life is in as much danger as mine?"

"Who cares? I won't have much of a life in whatever bumfuck we wind up in anyway!"

"Language, James. It's not a good reason to make a scene or interrupt me while I am working."

"That's just it, mother. You are always working. All you care about it your precious work. Have you considered the implications of all this for me?"

"Implications? You are alive, right? You have food and a roof over your head. Once we are settled, your life won't be much different from what you're used to."

"That's right, mother, my life will be just the same. Lies, damn lies and, wait, more lies!"

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I am talking about. Mother, for once look me in the eyes and have the guts to tell me the truth. My father is dead, stepfather is dead and yet you still choose to lie. Like mother, like daughter."

Marshall heard a slap and burst into the bedroom. James was rubbing his cheek and staring daggers at Elizabeth. The woman glared at both men and stormed out of the room. Marshall followed her out, saw her turn on the TV and slide onto the couch. Satisfied, he returned to the bedroom and stared down at the young man in front of him.

"Want to tell me what all this was about?"

"I don't see how this is any of your business."

"Do you remember what I told at the diner? Everything about you is my business. I'm responsible for your safety, so you as much as sneeze, it's my business. Every dumb stunt of yours endangers not only your life, but the life of your mother, my partner's and mine. So, start talking."

The grim look on the marshal's face told James that he needed to come clean. He winced as if he had a toothache.

"Does my new name have to be James Archer?"

"No, it doesn't. But, we recommend you keep your first name to avoid confusion. Why?"

"I don't want to be James Archer. That's not my name, or never should have been anyway."

Marshall realized the boy was upset. He understood most of the exchange between the two, but it did not give him enough information to figure out the cause for the distress.

"I should have been Jackson Spencer."

"That can be arranged, but why?"

"I have my reasons. I won't give you any trouble; if you just change my damn name. My mother can do whatever she pleases, I don't care."

"Jim, you need to learn to contain your temper. You are mad at your mother, but that will pass. Destroying relationships is easier than it looks, trust me."

The men fell silent for a moment. Had they not been quiet, Marshall would not have heard the click of the lock in the door. The sound was almost inaudible. The marshal ran out into the living area: the television was still on, but Liz was gone. He barked at James to stay put and ran into the hall. It was empty. Rushing to the elevators, he hit the speed dial on his phone.

"Mare, Liz just split."

"What the fuck? What do you mean she split?"

Mary ran out of the room and collided with Marshall in the elevator lobby.

"What the hell happened? I leave you for five minutes and the witness is gone?"

"Their argument got nastier. She slapped him, walked out into the living area and turned on the TV. I went back to the bedroom to give James a piece of my mind, and while we were talking Liz slipped out. I heard the lock click; she must have propped the door before leaving, there is no way she could have made it to the elevators before I got here."

"God damn it! Tell me you understood what they argued about! Your knowledge of random languages would really be handy now."

"My Russian is a bit rusty. I think James was blaming Liz for ruining his life, caring too much about work and lying to him. Normal adolescent grumbling, you know, the parent hating speech. Except, I thought it was odd that he said both his father and stepfather were dead, since he never had a stepfather. Elizabeth was only married once."

"And she slapped him after that?"

Mary practically saw mental gears shifting in Marshall's head.

"Yeah. He told her like mother, like daughter… and she snapped. Mare, I think James insinuated that James Sr. is not his father."

"Well, I'd slap him for that one too. I got a hunch where to look for Liz. Go babysit junior. Order food, watch TV, whatever. Don't lose the kid, while you're at it." With that, she socked him in the right shoulder, wanting to ease his tension. "Don't sweat it. You couldn't have predicted this shit storm. She's a hot head."

Mary had a hunch were Liz went. In fact, she could bet on it.

"Mare, you want to tell me where you're going to look for her?"

"Why, Marshall, the bar of course."

Mary turned on her heel and viciously attacked the elevator call button.

Mary walked into the hotel bar, scanning the stools for a familiar silhouette. She spotted Liz in the corner booth, with an open bottle of Lagavulin 16 and a glass on the table in front of her. Mary slid in and settled across from the distraught woman.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"I couldn't stay in the same room with my son. I would have wrung his neck. I had to get out."

"Look, I get it. The week you had has not been easy on either of you. Give yourself a break. But, you can't run out of the damn hotel room on your own while I step out to clean up. And you can't get drunk."

"I have no intention of getting drunk. Two fingers to take the edge off, that's all I want. I got the bottle so the waitress would leave me alone; her sunny disposition is outright irritating. I'd offer you to join me, but something tells me you won't."

"Did the part that I am on duty give me away?"

"Uh-huh. I don't need a babysitter though. I'll be up as soon as I am done with this glass. I closed out the tab."

"Have you lost your mind? There is no way I am leaving here without you. Are sure you're not drunk yet?"

"No, stone cold sober. Sad. Right?"

"Hopped up on adrenalin, pissed off and upset. So no, not sad. Deranged, maybe. Yeah, I'd say deranged. Who am I to judge? That kid of yours could send anyone over the edge."

Liz sighed, before speaking.

"The ironic part is he isn't wrong."

"Come again?"

Liz drained her glass in one gulp and poured another.

"I haven't been to confession in years, you don't look like a priest, but what the hell, right? Your file on me is thick enough, and for some reason, I have a feeling you'll understand."

"M'kay…"

"Don't look at me like that. Nothing I am about to tell you is illegal, you can take your law enforcement hat off. Some old dirty laundry that my son seems to be eager to air out to the whole world. Still need to figure out how he learned about it…" Liz braced herself.

"If you want to hear this, call Marshall, this might take a while."

She waited for Mary to finish the call, and then continued.

"My mother got diagnosed with cancer in nineteen eighty, when I was twelve. The following seven years were excruciatingly tough on my family, particularly my father, Martin. Watching Mother wither away after surgery, then radiation, then chemotherapy, destroyed him. At the end she resorted to alternative medicine… you name it, she tried it, every possible and impossible cure. Martin put everything he had and didn't have into the fight with the disease, physically and emotionally, sparing no time or expense on her care.

Growing up, I was always a daddy's girl, but after Mother got sick, I was more or less on my own… until Edie moved in with us. Edith is my cousin, and was the closest surrogate I had to a mother and sister at the same time. I was a casualty of the battle with cancer; if you will, I used schoolwork, books and extracurricular activities as an escape to the nightmare at home. I didn't have many friends, you tend to become a pariah by being a kid with a terminally sick mother, so you get used to it."

Liz took a sip of her scotch. "When my mother passed away, I was nineteen. Everyone felt even more pity for me then. Most people thought I was orphaned when they laid her to rest, but the truth is I lost both of my parents shortly after she was diagnosed. After she died, Martin became a shell of his old self. Edith took care of my father, while I battled my own demons. No matter where I looked, I saw reminders of what our life used to be and couldn't stay there. I was almost finished with college by then anyway.

When Jay proposed, I grabbed onto him like a lifeline. You know, he was every young girl's dream: mature, tall, dark and handsome. You've met Cam, I believe. Well, Cam now looks a bit like Jay then, only Jay was more polished. Cam is rougher around the edges, you know? Took after his mother… I don't think Mitsy ever forgave me for accepting Jay's proposal, but that's another story. She divorced him a number of years back by then, but still felt betrayed. Maybe because she was close with my mother, I don't know. Cam and A.J. were surprised, but really couldn't care less. Cam had his own place then and A.J. was the token golden child in the family. It took some time to adjust to our new circumstance, but we were friends growing up, so nothing really changed…

Anyhow… I am not sure if Jay was in love with me, but he loved to take care of me and it was enough. For a change, it was nice to feel noticed, wanted, cherished even… We were happy."

Liz fell silent.

"But? There is a but, right? Because there is always a but…"

"Yes, Mary, there definitely was a but... his name was Rob."

"Wait. Rob? As in Robert Stone?"

"Yes. Rob and I met and became friends while at Riverdale. He was three years ahead of me, popular and smart. I was gangly and bookish, but we hit it off somehow. He didn't pity me because my mother was sick, treated me like a normal person. So I hung out at his house more than at my own: his sister was born the same year my mother got sick and I loved playing with her. After graduating from Riverdale, Rob went away to college, my mother passed away, I got married. Ironically, Rob was a stand in for a maid of honor."

Liz let out a mirthless chuckle and took another sip from her glass.

"Rob was the quintessential Lothario: a girl in every town, a date for every day of the week. But, we were friends, so who was I to judge. It never had any bearing on our friendship. After Rob returned to New York, we started working together, opened a firm. To everyone's surprise, including our own, we became successful… When you work with someone and you are good at what you do, you get close. The bond you share blurs the line between partnership, friendship and something else entirely. Don't get me wrong, Jay and I had a strong marriage, but something was always missing, passion maybe.

I got married too young and for all the wrong reasons. So for the lack of a better word, Rob seduced me at a developer's conference in Las Vegas. I refused to destroy my marriage by having an affair with my best friend, especially since I was well aware of his philandering habits. Instead, I pretended nothing happened until I found out I was pregnant. I told Jay that there was a chance the child wasn't his. He told me he didn't care. If I wanted to raise the child with him, then the child was his in every sense, so he chose to save our marriage. Jay saved me from myself… twice."

"Let me get this straight. Are you telling me that James is Rob's son?"

"After Jay passed away I tested Jim's DNA. There are no common genetic markers between Jay and Jimmy. Robert had to be James' biological father. There was no one else."

Liz grimaced.

"Rob did his own research a few years later when he wanted to marry me and be a father to Jim… but that didn't turn out too well. He knew he was Jim's father. It's getting late, we should probably go back."

"Wow. I mean, wow." Mary had trouble processing everything Liz told her.

"Listen, I saw a courtyard earlier. Mind if we stop for a smoke?" Liz asked, shoving the bottle in her tote.

"You are just chock-full of surprises tonight, Liz, one odd health nut that drinks scotch and smokes."

"It's harder to fight the roots under pressure. I think I mentioned before, I'm only human. I don't drink vodka though, find the taste revolting."

"Good to know."

Liz took out a pack of Benson & Hedges.

"My mother smoked these before she got sick. Would you like one?"

"Sure. The night is shot to hell anyway."

"Dang. And here I thought this trip was going so well."

"Sarcasm. Great. You are so not the person I pegged you for."

"Chock-full of surprises, remember?"

The women stood outside watching smoke rise up in silence. Liz turned to Mary and let smoke out of her nostrils.

"When I did this, my mother would get livid. She didn't mind that I smoked in front of her, but it drove her absolutely bonkers when the smoke came out of my nose. A lady should never allow for such vulgar behavior. So I used to do it just to piss her off. Teenagers do dumb things rebelling against parents. I have to figure out what to do about James. I am afraid his rebellion may get him hurt or killed."

"Liz, if you let me I will deal with it. Trust me." Mary put the butt out in an ash tray. "Ready when you are."

---

Translations:

Vor – Thief

Filin – Owl

Sedoi – Gray-haired

---

Chapter 8: Worlds Apart

---

A/N: All dialogue taking place at the Lodge is assumed to be in Russian.

Marshall watched the elevator doors close behind Mary, sighed and rubbed his forehead. He forced the thought of judgment out of his mind, resolved to take care of a more pressing matter: kicking some sense, metaphorically speaking for now, into the teenager who caused this conundrum.

Upon returning to the suite, he found James with a remote in hand, channel surfing on the couch. Already tired and off-kilter, Marshall felt his blood boil at the sight. The entire transport this kid has been exposing them to unnecessary risk with his behavior despite a warning Marshall gave him at the diner in Pennsylvania.

In the Marshals Service, Mary was notorious for her no nonsense taking approach, while her partner's reputation was as the diplomat and peacemaker. He was one to be called on when the situation required kid gloves. Aside from Mary, there was only one other person in the Marshals Service who knew why the duo worked so well together: their chief. The success was not only due to Marshall's countering Mary's explosive nature with his composure, but also because the levelheaded marshal had a well hidden primal side, the core of steel that enabled him to unleash the fury on the unsuspecting subject. There were a handful of situations to which Stan was privy, as Marshall preferred to keep these episodes quiet and the witnesses were reluctant to share the details. Truth of the matter was the male part of the dream team was content letting his partner play the role of a bad cop to his good one, exercising restraint unless the situation escalated to the point where his involvement was absolutely necessary. As far as Marshall was concerned, the situation created by James demanded it. Turning from the door, he growled not bothering to mask the fury in his tone.

"I don't think we finished our conversation."

"On the contrary, I think we did. I have nothing to add." James ignored the older man's tone, not looking away from the television.

Marshall barely controlled his rage as he advanced to the couch. In three strides, he was in front of James, leaning in just enough to block the screen, his height affording him the advantage of staring the boy down.

James shifted uncomfortably under the steely gaze of the marshal. Seeing that he now had James' attention, Marshall eyed him curiously, his sharp mind analyzing the teenager's body language and choice of words. The conversation Marshall overheard earlier gave him a fairly good idea for the source of James' anxiety, but the behavior that stemmed from it was inexcusable.

"Let's recap, shall we? While on my watch, you insulted your mother causing her to storm out of the room. As a direct result of your actions, my partner is now roaming the halls of this hotel searching for her. Our efforts at maintaining a low profile on this trip are shot to hell and men looking for you now have another breadcrumb on the trail you've been laying out so diligently. I don't know about you, but I prefer to travel without getting involved in a gunfight. Yet, your actions as good as guaranteed me another episode before we get to our destination. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?" Marshall exaggerated a bit, but felt it necessary to get his point across. He looked at the kid expectantly, after noting a hesitant nod to the affirmative, continued.

"Before I discovered your mother's disappearance, you told me you want to change your first name to match Robert Stone's father."

When he saw James get whiplash at the sheer mention of the name, his earlier assumption was confirmed. So the marshal softened his tone, sat back in the chair across from the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.

"You seem to think Robert Stone is your father. Why don't you make it easy on yourself and tell me what this is about?"

James narrowed his eyes at the man, unsure if he could trust him, but the words came tumbling out before he could stop himself.

"A few weeks ago, I was at Spence's, I mean at Pat's, Aunt Pat's, I guess, whatever. I mean, Rob's sister's place. We were looking at old pictures of Rob and Mom from their high school days… and I saw myself in one of the pictures. Seriously, if I didn't know better, and if not for my mother aged no more than fourteen, standing next to me, I would have sworn it was a picture of me. Do you realize how weird that is? I thumb through some crappy snapshots from thirty years ago, and my mother's dirty secret hits me in the face. And then, there I was, trying to make sense of my life…and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Pat knew it all along. I've had a mad crush on her since I was three… because she is funny, ridiculously brilliant and hot… and she's always known … she is my Aunt! That's sick and twisted."

James' outburst was interrupted with Marshall's phone vibrating in the holster. The Marshal checked caller id, picked up, listened to Mary tell him that she found Liz in one piece and that they needed some time to talk. He hung up and motioned for James to continue.

The boy curled forward and buried his face in his hands. "I sent our hair to a lab, and the results are conclusive: Rob is my biological father. My entire life has been a lie and I have a DNA report to prove it."

Marshall felt his anger subsiding; James needed a friend, not a reprimand.

"Carefully think about what you are saying. Do you think your mother lied about loving you? Or your father loved you any less than he otherwise would have? Or Robert for that matter?"

"Um, yeah... I haven't looked at it this way. I don't remember much about my dad, just random memories. And Rob always worked as much as mom. I guess, he tried to make time for me, especially after Dad died, took me golfing, and the firm always bought the box at the Rangers, so when they were not entertaining clients, we went to the games. Last year he took me to his club, told me I was now old enough. I always figured it was big brother stuff, kind of like hanging out with Cam and Archie…"

James paused, paled, "You know, I just realized, Cam and A.J. are not even my brothers. It's a fucking reality TV show, not a life."

"That's one way to think about it. But there's another: you have a lot of people in your life that love you. More than you would have otherwise. Your mother must have had a good reason for making her choice. You may not agree with her now, but I am certain she did what she felt was best for you."

"Look, you don't get it. You don't know my mother. She makes her decisions based on what is best for her. Always has. She is a self-involved, egotistical…"

Marshall's anger flared up again. Before James had the time to blink, the marshal crowded his space: fists clenched with index fingers in his face.

"Don't say something you'll regret later. Count to ten, take a deep breath, whatever it is that will get you to stop blurting things out. Your temper will get you in trouble. I don't mean with your mother. Your current situation was created by two men unable to control their tempers. One of those men was your father. Your mother was forced into it, just like you."

James stared back defiantly and spit out, "You're right. I was forced into this mess. When I thought my life couldn't get any worse, it did. But nothing really changed: it was a lie and will be a lie, just a different one. So it really doesn't matter."

Marshall flopped onto the couch, next to him, "This is where you are wrong, Jack. Everything matters." Noting the boy's confusion, he clarified, "Devil is in the details. By this time tomorrow, your name is going to be Jackson Spencer. This is what you wanted right?

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well then, you better get used to the name, Jack."

"Okay." James stifled a complacent yawn. "Listen, Marshall, I'm beat. Can I go to bed now?"

"Go. But, if you need to talk, I am here for you. And I don't mean just about this, about anything. I will listen."

James bristled, "For real? Who says shit like that? Never mind. Don't want to know."

He got up and stumbled away into one of the bedrooms, but before closing the door, he eyed the older man cautiously.

"You seem like a straight up guy, Marshall. Don't fall for her act. She's always working an angle and most of the time, it ain't pretty."

Marshall stared at the bedroom door after the kid closed it. Getting through to him was like trying to break a steel door with bare hands, and it was grating on the man's last nerve. He dealt with his share of WITSEC teenagers and had plenty of experience handing his nieces and nephews, yet, James got under his skin, pushing his buttons.

Marshall sneered at Jim's last comment about Elizabeth; the boy could not have been further off the mark. He was a guy and no monk; naturally he noticed that Liz was an attractive woman. However, his career in the Marshals Service meant more to him than a roll in the hay: that sort of stress relief was a page from Mary's playbook. Marshall had enough control over his carnal urges not to pull a stunt like that. He winced at the thought, all these years later he still could not get over her indiscretion with Eps.

Then again, if Marshall dared to be entirely honest, he refused to give up hope that one of these days Mary would see the light and open up to having a real relationship with him, because no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to move on. He tried to date other women, but they all paled in comparison with his brash partner that he fell in love with. There was room for only one blonde in his life, and it was Mary. He raked his hand through his hair forcing his thoughts away from his partner and went back to contemplating the issue with the witness. "How does a child born into a privileged family grow up more jaded and damaged than kids from broken homes? Money doesn't buy happiness, indeed."

Marshall hit the space bar on his laptop to bring it out of the sleep mode, and checked his E-mail. As always, Eleanor was more reliable than a Swiss watch: the confirmation for a car rental reservation at Tulsa International under Marshall Miller was in his inbox. The following morning, before checking out of the hotel, he would return the SUV they drove in and pick up this one. He sent an E-mail back to Eleanor confirming the new papers for James to be issued under Jackson Spencer Green. He knew it would rub Liz the wrong way, but he was looking forward to watching the scene implode in the WITSEC conference room at the Sunshine Building.

Marshall was beyond fatigued, ready to wrap up this transport. Rationally, he realized they only left Albuquerque three days ago, but it felt like months. The marshal attributed it to stress and general lack of sleep. When they returned, he would turn off his phone and sequester himself to his bedroom for at least twelve hours. He smiled at the thought of leaving Stan to deal with Liz and her kid for a day, while he and Mary recharged. "No such luck… We'll be stuck with them for at least another week. Liz will drive Mary nuts house hunting…" Preparing for the next day, he reviewed the map for the last leg of the trip and checked the threat assessments, resolved to reviewing the files until the ladies returned. He smirked, "Mary would blow a fuse if she knew I referred to her as a lady."

Marshall must have dozed off, but another E-mail from Stan popped up with a chime. He rubbed his eyes and read a few lines. Learning there was a leak in the Philly office of the Marshals Service, he swore at the screen. The internal affairs department questioned the tech guy who accessed the GPS chip of their truck, but got nowhere. He had a plausible explanation for the mix-up, but Marshall did not believe in coincidences. After the incident in New Jersey, he was certain, the mob was searching for their location, using every resource at their disposal. He noted grimly, the leak in Philly did not explain the ambush on route 80 or a missing cruiser outside of Liz's apartment in New York. There was a deeper security breach along the chain, likely in more than one place. He sent his notes to Stan, hoping NYPD or the Feds would get a break in their cases in the next twenty four hours.

Marshall glanced at his watch: it was almost midnight. Mary was not kidding when she said they would not return for a while. "Do I want to know what they are discussing?" He hoped Mary refrained from doing Liz any bodily damage for skipping out on them. His partner never failed to surprise him, especially when she dealt with witnesses. Personal issues and people she loved posed a challenge, but not witnesses. That train of thought brought him back to the conversation he had with Mary the night before. He never doubted she paid attention to things he had said over the years of their partnership, but having tangible proof felt oddly gratifying. He expected her to dodge the question about using his words to comfort the witness, but was shocked at the lack of sarcasm in her retort after James interrupted their repartee.

Mary was acting strangely lately, and during this transport in particular looking more pensive and withdrawn. The assignment was getting to her too, but there was something else. Something she kept from him. While he usually had a fairly good idea what went on in her head, he was at a loss this time and it bothered him. These thoughts of his were interrupted by muffled voices at the door and familiar footfalls. Marshall looked up from his laptop and saw Mary and Liz enter the suite. Liz quickly excused herself and disappeared in her bedroom.

The snow covered fields stretched to the horizon, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. It looked as if a brilliant white blanket covered the landscape. The sight was breathtaking, only seen outside of the city limits these days. Even fresh snow in the city never looked this white anymore: the number of cars, humidity and pollution were responsible for that. Sedoi contemplated the city from his memories, remembering how he played in the snow in the schoolyard in one of the myriad planned neighborhoods built after the war. Growing up, his life was often more tough than carefree, but he had a few moments that he cherished to this day. That was all he had left, that and a promise made to his dying friend to look out for his daughter. This promise brought him back to the city that no longer bore any resemblance to the city he left when sentenced to the correctional colonies in the sixties, or the nineties, when he thought he abandoned the wretched place forever, a free man. The promise had no expiration date, and a shooting in New York dragged him back from his home on Lake Leman to the outskirts of Moscow in the early spring. After deplaning, he breathed in the stale air of the airport and immediately knew he had returned to the land he vowed to never step on again.

Sedoi leaned back on the leather seat and looked out the car window with a sigh. The highway was empty, a poorly plowed grayish ribbon tossed between the forests and the fields spread into infinity. He lost the taste for the bitter cold of Russian winter after fifteen years in Siberia. His bad leg ached; he absentmindedly rubbed his knee. Sedoi was late, but knew Filin would hold the summit off until his arrival. He had no doubt that his delay was reported hours ago. His driver, a nice enough kid that he kept around as much for his brain power as for his shooting skills was making good time in the treacherous conditions. The rented Range Rover was moving smoothly on the salted blacktop, the sound of tires providing an amicable backdrop to the older gentleman's thoughts. By all accounts they would make it to the Hunting Lodge before dark.

The groundskeeper at the Hunting Lodge sat outside of his post on a bench, watching smoke rise from his pipe, waiting for the last vehicle to pull through the gate to lock down for the night. A few guests arrived in the morning and closed the Lodge down. The hunting season was still in full swing, but he had a fairly good idea that the gentlemen who showed up this morning were visiting the Lodge for purposes that had little to do with hunting animals. Their kind stalked a different type of prey. Had he missed the tattooed fingers, he would have known who took over the Lodge tonight: the Italian suits and expensive dress shoes, heavily armored cars and body guards packing serious heat gave it away. The most ruthless criminals gathered at the Lodge for their S'hodnyak (summit).

Filin sat in one of the largest private rooms of the Lodge, staring at the roaring fire in the fireplace. At the emergency meeting that he called, fifteen people accountable for each region of the former Soviet Union would have to decide the fate of a rogue and possibly find his replacement. He had already made his decision, but had to get approval from the rest. He doubted that he would have any real opposition to pushing through the agenda; his authority had never been questioned in his tenure as the Superior. Filin never fancied surprises, so he made sure he knew where everyone stood well in advance. This evening two men were a cause for concern: Sedoi, who has not shown up for these meetings in years, yet had a personal stake in this matter, and Advokat, who backed Amerikanec to the appointment of the treasurer. Filin was disappointed that Sedoi's flight got delayed due to inclement weather, preventing them from having a private conversation before the summit.

At six in the evening, thirteen men were seated at a rustic wooden table in the dining room. Honoring tradition, only carafes with water and glasses were set out, protocol did not allow alcohol or food. Men were waiting for the Superior to start the meeting, but he was stalling. Quarter after, Filin walked in followed in by Sedoi, who was slightly favoring his leg and supporting his gait with an elaborate cane.

"Evening, gentlemen." a rumble of surprise rolled around the room. Few people expected Sedoi to show up in person. For the past ten years his votes were cast over the phone, and most doubted he was still alive. "Nothing has changed much, I see…"

Filin interjected, "Gentlemen, we have an urgent matter to discuss, so skip the pleasantries until dinner, which will be served shortly after we adjourn. In the interim, I will ask you to consider my proposition carefully before casting your vote."

His words were met with silent acquiescence.

"As you know, we have a situation in New York: the attention that has been drawn to the treasury is undesirable, to say the least. Americanec once again proved that he is ill suited for the role of the treasurer. I believe it is time for a replacement. Any objections?"

Advokat cleared his throat.

"Filin, it seems you are jumping the gun. Or do you have a worthy candidate in mind?"

Sedoi looked at the younger man questioning the intent of the Superior. In the olden days, this type of behavior would not be tolerated. Maybe he was too old for this game, things seemed the same, but they really weren't. The subtle changes he saw, he did not like. His leg ached again: he shifted in the chair, trying to get comfortable. The meeting would not adjourn quickly.

Despite Sedoi's concern, Fillin was able to maintain his authority in the meeting and sway the group to come to a unanimous decision to oust the treasurer. Gleb Americanec Stolov was written off without much ado. He sensed Advokat was unhappy with the resolution, but did not have enough power to shift the balance his way. Baron would have added Advokat to the elimination list, but Filin was diplomatically inclined and more progressive than either of them ever was. Perhaps, Sedoi mused, Filin's uncanny ability to mesh the old with the new had allowed him to preside over the S'hodnyak for the last twenty odd years.

Advokat left the meeting huffing in anger. Granted, he was unhappy with his prodigy's behavior as of late, but uncomfortable with the outcome of the summit nonetheless. He knew what the resolution meant. Filin was unwavering in these matters; Americanec was as good as gone in the next few days. He knew that Filin's agenda was twofold. First, as the Superior he was ultimately responsible for the business of the entire organization, and if the Feds got their hands on Americanec, they would get a crack at unraveling a substantial portion of their interests on the East Coast. Second, Advokat knew that both men kept their loyalty to Baron even after his demise. Trading Americanec's life for the one of Baron's daughter was a small price to pay in their book. Advokat had a decision to make: make another call to warn Americanec to get out of dodge, or cut his losses and figure out how to break in the new treasurer in the States.

Mary's gaze followed Liz's retreating form until she closed the door to the bedroom, and then leaped to the sight of her partner on the couch. Since Marshall failed to notice Liz' departure from the suite, Mary was sure it was gnawing at him all evening. He looked the worse for wear: dark circles under his eyes, stubbly chin and tousled hair. From its state, she knew he was worried about them, about her, while they were talking in the bar downstairs. In the beginning of their partnership, his habit of messing with his hair annoyed her, but now she found it quite endearing, not to mention a telltale sign of his emotional state.

"He's so huggable, when upset... What the fuck?" She stifled an urge to pull him to her chest and run her fingers through that thick mane.

"Where the hell did this come from?" she wondered as she flopped on the couch next to him.

"So, what's shaking?"

Marshall quirked an eyebrow at Mary. She was in a good mood despite the evening that went south.

"We're all set with the car switch for tomorrow. Possible leak in Philly. And at least one more in New York." He could not bring himself to match the upbeat tone of his partner.

"Fuckers. Any leads?"

"Nothing yet. Stan is making calls; Eleanor and Charlie are working through piles of paperwork. The usual. After we get back, the days will be anything but dull…"

"Super. Seeing how this trip has been downright tedious… with the gun slinging mob on our heels and all."

"How did it go with Elizabeth?"

"As well as it could, all things considered. The kid?"

"Still in one piece, if that's what you're asking," Marshall said with a smirk.

"Damn. I wish I was here for that," she chuckled.

"Nothing you haven't seen before. The kid's messed up, just like the whole family."

"You went all badass lawman on him, didn't you?"

"Maybe," Marshall said, stretching his legs in front of him.

"Care to share?"

"Not without coffee and pie."

"We've got neither. Pack it in, buster. I'll crash on the couch, for the off chance either of them decides to make a break for it."

"Mare, are you sure? I can stay here," Marshall said, trying to hide the discomfort his back was causing him.

"Of course I'm sure. Scram. I'm feeling generous right now," Mary said, taking notice of his grimace.

Whom was he trying to fool? He would not last the night on this couch. His back would be killing him come morning.

Marshall unfolded his long limbs from the couch, rose up and cracked his back. Mary heard his vertebrae click into place with a loud snap.

"Case in point: that sounded wrong on so many levels. Last thing I need tomorrow is a cranky partner with a stiff back. Now get out, before I change my mind."

Marshall eyed his partner wearily and left, admitting he needed to sleep in a decent bed to function the next morning. Mary locked the door and settled on the couch, the events of the day took a toll on the female marshal and she was asleep in minutes. When she awoke with a start a few hours later, it took her a while to get her bearings. Mary remembered where she was and tried to figure out what woke her. It was early: the time stamp on her IPhone showed quarter of six.

"Geez!" She muttered, rolling her shoulders and straining her senses. She didn't hear or see anything out of place, yet her instinct propelled her in the direction of Liz's room. Mary moved stealthily to the door and heard a faint clicking sound. Pulling her Glock from its holster, she pushed in the door.

Liz walked into the bedroom, trying to decide whether to take a sleeping pill or get into the shower. James' insults and the trip down memory lane with the marshal wore her out. Chastising herself for drinking scotch earlier, she realized that mixing prescription drugs with alcohol would be another poor decision that she simply could not afford. The shower lost its appeal; instead she crawled into bed with her laptop, hoping that reading legal language would put her to sleep. After all, she needed to review the letters of intent from potential buyers of the two Funds active under Graham Stone Development. She was not fooling herself into believing she could successfully manage either remotely. However, trusting the liquidation to the Marshals Service would be a violation of her fiduciary duty to her investors.

Before tackling the first offer, she opened up the folder on the desktop that she hoped would contain a new letter from Spence. Disappointed with finding nothing, she wrote a letter of her own, letting her friend know they were fine and that she intended to call her the next afternoon from the Marshals office. Mary promised her a secure line for a conversation with her father; she would get another one to speak to Patricia.

Liz did not notice as the next five hours flew by, running the numbers in her spreadsheets, comparing the deal terms and checking if she was triggering claw-back provisions of either of the Funds if she were to sell the ownership interests. The first two offers allowed her return to the business if she was able to leave the Witness Protection program within the next twenty four months as she intended. However, she had a third offer to consider, one with a price premium at that, which was effectively cutting her out of the game. Should she entertain the last option, then Graham Stone Developers would cease to exist as an entity. Rob's legacy, as well as her own would be gone for good. As she clicked through the pages of the term sheet, she traced a faint tan line on her ring finger that felt oddly naked without her wedding ring. This was a difficult decision to make. Liz was so preoccupied with reading through the documents she missed the door into the bedroom open, revealing Mary at the jamb with her gun drawn, glaring at the woman illuminated with the light emitted by the computer screen.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

---

Chapter 9: Destination Albuquerque

---

Mary holstered her gun, staring daggers at the woman sitting up against the headboard and looking back at her over the screen of the laptop.

"Let me rephrase. What the hell are you doing?" Mary asked with a scowl. Her tone was low, anger bubbling on the surface.

"I am working." Liz kept her hoarse voice flat, relying on her ability to manage her temper, one she honed methodically over the years, knowing it gave an upper hand in negotiations. She needed her laptop, and knew its fate depended on the outcome of this conversation. She was choosing her words with one goal in mind: winning Mary over.

"Working? What part of leaving everything traceable or identifying you, did you not understand?"

"Mary, I did. I took precautions: this laptop is brand new and fully encrypted. It does not have a wireless capability or a GPS chip. It is virtually untraceable. It would be incredibly reckless of me to create a security breach after all you've done for me. But, I couldn't leave town without a laptop…"

Liz spoke softly, Mary noticed. She was oddly comforted by the tone, and felt her fury tapering off, lulled by the sound of the woman's voice.

"Precautions?" Mary struggled to refocus her anger. Used to dealing with hysterical women, she had trouble staying mad at levelheaded Liz.

"You can't have a laptop, traceable or not. You can't have documents, or jewelry,or anything that can identify you. Period. You are violating the rules of the program. You want to live? You follow the rules!"

"Technically, Mary, I am not in the program: remember, I haven't signed anything." Liz paused for emphasis. "But, I am sure we can come to an amicable solution before I do."

Mary glared at the headstrong woman. Liz was smart; Mary had to give her that.

"Liz, this laptop is putting us at a greater risk. That's a fact, plain and simple. And it doesn't matter whether you choose to accept it or not."

"What you call a plain and simple fact, isn't. Think about it, there is no additional risk stemming from what I've done. If you were in my position, I guarantee you'd do the same. We are not so different, actually: I take my work personally, just like you do. I have a responsibility to people who trusted me to invest their hard earned money. That is something I do not take lightly. There is no one that I trust who can do this now instead of me. Rob is gone."

"The Marshals Service…"

"Please, Mary, humor me, I would be incredibly naïve to assume the Marshals Service capable of dismantling a private equity development firm invested into multiple funds each with its own maturity date and strategy. But even if I made that leap, there are confidentiality matters to consider."

Liz noticed her words having a desired effect on the marshal and that spurred her on.

"Consider this: what's the harm in my looking over the paperwork while we are traveling? I am under your 24 hour protection. I am running numbers and writing letters. Once we arrive at your office, I will have a package ready that I will have to send Martin, which will save me immense headache. I have no problem making the laptop available for your tech department to analyze, if that helps. I am more than happy to prove there are no tracking devises on this machine."

Mary did not have a rebuttal: relying on the rules of the program proved futile, Liz was not forfeiting her position. Over the course of the transport, Mary worked hard to establish a semblance of trust with her witness and was reluctant to obliterate it with one argument. She remembered that Liz strong armed the D.A. in New York into allowing her to meet with her father before leaving town. Nevertheless, Mary was rattled by the audacity with which Liz pushed the issue. Mulling over the situation, she gave Liz a feral smile.

"Liz, I won't take your laptop, if, after Marshall looks it over, he has no problem with your keeping it," she said, and hit the speed dial on her phone.

As soon as her partner picked up, she barked, "Rise and shine, Genius. Your nerdxpertise is required."

"Well, good morning to you too, Miss Mary Sunshine. Trouble with the coffee maker?"

"No, you idiot. We have a complication. Get your butt over here, so I can explain," she said, taking her irritation with Liz out on Marshall.

"Be there in five." Before another smart retort could come out of her mouth, he severed the connection.

Liz narrowed her eyes watching Mary's body language while the woman was on the phone with her partner. From Mary's confidence in his computer savvy, Liz discerned she might be in for a turbulent discussion after the tall marshal got his hands on her laptop. She doubted he could match Patricia's skill, but it was better to err on the side of caution, and she covertly deleted the Letters from Spence folder from the desktop. Marshall might realize she had a wireless card to go with the laptop, but if he did not, she would prefer keep it that way.

Before Mary had a chance to say anything, Liz hopped off the bed.

"I will leave my current session intact, so Marshall can examine the laptop. But, the confidential files are encrypted and off limits: I logged off from that interface. Please let him know that the system will lock out after three unsuccessful logon attempts. I would hate to have to go through the hassle of getting my information technology director involved." With that, Liz picked up her tote and made a beeline for the bathroom. "I need to freshen up."

Mary looked after the woman, knowing she missed something.

"What is it with Liz and that goddamn bag?" she thought. "Maybe we should search her."

She could almost see Marshall's smirk at that suggestion.

"That would go over well in the trust department, Mare. Not to mention that Liz would raise hell about it once we get to the office."

Mary stopped herself abruptly. Marshall was not even here, and she was having a conversation with him, in her head no less. She listened to the sounds in the suite. Except for the water running in the bathroom, it was quiet. James was still sleeping then. She cracked the door into his room and peered inside: the teenager was in bed either asleep or faking it. As long as he stayed put, Mary did not care either way. She would make Marshall deal with the boy after they decided what to do with the laptop.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of the opening door. She put her hand on the weapon and singsonged, "Is that you, Snookums?"

"Don't you know it, Buttercup," came a prompt response from the front of the suite. Mary relaxed her stance and waited. As soon as her partner walked in the door she socked him in the arm.

"Buttercup?" she sneered.

He carefully held up the tray of coffees not to spill the contents, glanced around the room to ensure they were alone, and playfully shoved her back.

"What? You started it."

Mary tumbled onto the bed butt first and glared at him. Unperturbed, he handed her a cup of coffee and set the remaining two on the table.

"So, what complication have we got?" he asked as if nothing happened, taking a sip from his cup, and watching Mary over its ridge. She looked pensive, he decided, but kept the observations to himself. She gestured to the bed behind her, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw a laptop sitting on top of the coverlet. It was not one of theirs.

"Liz didn't listen to you much," Mary said in a serious tone, hint of playfulness replaced with concern.

"I would have been shocked if she did. I bet she is not remotely contrite about it either."

"If only. Here's the pisser: she thinks we should let her keep it. Gave me a pretty compelling speech, now that I think about it."

He stared at her as if she had grown a second head.

"Really? Do tell."

"She's had the damn thing with her all along, so, unless you find something suspect… I don't see the harm."

"Doesn't mean anything. It still might be traced. Risky."

"Oh, just check it already. We have to know if it is before making a decision."

It took Marshall about an hour to poke around the interface: he was surprised to discover a bare bones system with no bells or whistles, but a few proprietary scripted applications and an Office suite. He recognized a Citrix interface plug-in and a virtual private network client. Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose: the hardware configuration did not jive with the installed software: the laptop was configured for usage with an internet connection. He shut down the machine and reached for his go bag he brought in earlier. Mary hid her amusement when her partner took out a pocket knife and unfolded a small screwdriver from within. He fumbled a little with the laptop cover before taking it off, and peering inside.

"So, what's the story, MacGyver?"

"This makes no sense: I don't see a wireless card or an Ethernet card."

"Care to translate from Geek to English?"

"There is no way to access the web from this laptop." He was thinking out loud.

"And that's a problem because?" she was waiting for him to spell it out.

"Most of the applications installed on this machine are useless without an internet connection. They were designed as remote access points for an office mainframe or a network. Something Liz has no business doing. If she accessed Graham Stone Developers network, the log files registered her IP address, which can be traced back."

"We don't know if she accessed it though, right? Didn't you say there is no way to connect to the web from this laptop?"

"Yes, but, it doesn't mean she doesn't have something to go with it."

Marshall screwed the laptop cover back, formulating his thoughts. "She may have a phone or a wireless card."

"She told me she took precautions. And that she would hate to have to contact her information technology director if you screw up that encrypted system of hers. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Not really. Although, if there's someone she trusts who knows this stuff… Hold up, Mare. I have to check something."

Marshall got his laptop and pulled up the file on Liz. Scrolling through pages of the document he frowned, then smiled. "I knew it." He pointed to his screen.

Mary leaned over his shoulder to look, and was distracted by his scent: unmistakably Marshall, with a hint of cologne.

"Since when did her partner wear cologne? Or did she not pay attention before?"

She shook her head and focused on the screen, angry with him and herself.

"Is this your idea of a joke? I'm not amused." Mary was looking at a driver license picture of a blonde in her early thirties.

"No joke, Mare. This is Patricia Stone, Robert's sister. She is also the information technology director at Graham Stone Developers. I think Liz gave herself away, when she talked to you earlier. Last night James mentioned that Patricia was brilliant, but I didn't put it together until now. Liz had to have gotten her laptop from this woman. I'll take a closer look at Ms. Stone's background when we get back to the office."

"Whatever. How does that help us now?"

"I bet you she gave Liz a wireless card. The question is where could she hide it?"

Mary slapped her forehead.

"Jesus. Her bag."

"You mean the black bag she refused to part with the entire trip? Where is it?"

Mary expected Marshall to pick up on the odd attachment Liz had to her handbag, he figured out where Liz kept the internet access device before she did, but wanted Mary to come to the same conclusion on her own. His ability to read her caused something inside her to stir, but she quickly squashed the feeling. Last thing she needed was to turn to mush right now. Marshall noticed her inner turmoil, a different vibe that radiated off her on this trip. He could not figure out the reason behind it, so he chose to leave it alone for the time being, or at least until they were back in Albuquerque.

"Liz took it with her to the bathroom."

"Seriously? And that didn't seem a little strange to you, Mare?"

"Jackass."

Mary knew he was right. They were quite a pair on this transport, with him losing sight of the witness, and her missing the handbag: blindsided by their personal issues, she decided. They really needed to work through whatever it was that was happening between them before it got in the way of the job. Maybe she needed a vacation. Swearing under her breath, reminded of how well her last attempt at taking a vacation turned out, she looked up at Marshall.

"What do you want to do?" she asked.

"Confronting Liz now would be unwise: she'd clam up and give us grief when we get to the office. I say we give it back, for now. She can use it with one of us present."

"I knew you like to watch, Pervoid." The spark of mischief was back in Mary's eyes.

"Hmm, actually… That's an idea." Marshall reached into his go bag once again.

"You're plotting." Mary saw her partner pull out a memory stick. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"This hotel has a wireless network. I want to see what happens when I get the laptop online. This little bugger is not a jump drive as you thought. This is a wireless adapter that gets you online if there is a Wi-Fi network connection present."

"Blah, blah, blah. Technobable. Half an hour ago you were telling me that it was risky for Liz to have a laptop. Now you've accessed the web with it?"

"Uh-huh. Look!" Marshall's eyes lit up, as they both watched a scripted window pop up and generate folders on the desktop.

"I'll kill her myself; spare the Russians a bullet or two," Mary huffed.

Ignoring her outburst, Marshall continued, "I stand by my earlier suggestion: give it back and watch her work. She's planning something. And no, you can't beat it out of her. Patience, grasshopper, she's smart, but stressed. She'll give herself away."

"Patience is a virtue I never saw the need to cultivate. And Liz is not supposed to contact anyone!"

"True that. Seeing how well she follows the rules… she'll continue stirring the pot, Mare. This way we might get the intel. As much as you hate it, we can't kick her out of the program yet. It took too much effort to get her in. Wait, you'll still see Tippy doing cartwheels for her."

"Thanks for that mental picture. I think I'm scarred for life." Mary felt her anger evaporate.

"How the hell does he do that?" she thought before biting out, "I am holding you responsible when this blows up in our face."

"I know. I wouldn't have it any other way."

While the marshals decided the fate of her laptop, Liz was ensconced in the bathroom. She ran the water into the tub, and took out her cell phone. As soon as it powered up, she sent a text message to Patricia and powered it off. She slipped into the tub: lack of sleep and stress caught up with her and she dozed off in the water. A loud knock woke her up a while later, leading her to wonder how much time had passed.

"Liz, is everything okay? We should get moving."

"I will be out shortly."

Mary glanced back at Marshall.

"Go wake junior, we should leave. We still need to change the SUV at the airport."

"No, we don't. I took care of it this morning."

"Marshall, are you telling me that you got up at the ass crack of dawn to trade out the trucks?"

"Indeed. Who takes care of you better than me?"

Mary only smirked in response, but he saw that even if his partner refused to verbalize it, she appreciated him nonetheless.

Gleb was in his study early in the morning when his phone rang. It was not unusual for him to receive calls at odd hours; holding particularly true lately, since his entire existence revolved around damage control. He was well aware of the clouds gathering over his head and was pulling resources together just in case. He had it on good authority that Filin left Miami for Moscow, and that only meant bad news for him. Not usually part of the summit, he received advance notice of such gatherings and the agenda. This time, there was nothing: a radio silence. It did not require a mental genius to figure out that the reason for the summit was his trouble with the Graham bitch. Gleb looked at the caller id: this call better have some news or someone would have to pay for his frustration.

He picked up and barked, "What've you got?"

"The truck was in Indianapolis and St. Louis yesterday and in Columbus this morning. It's being returned to the Philly garage. I don't have any more information."

"Good. You're not a total waste of air. I'll be in touch." Gleb disconnected and called one of his enforcers.

"Blyad' v St. Louise. Naidesh i svyzheshsya so mnoi." (The bitch is in St. Louis. Find her and report back.)

"Budet sdelano, boss." (You got it, boss.)

Before Gleb could dial another number his phone rang again. Frowning, he picked up.

"Da?" (Yes?)

"My v raschete. Ty zakonchen." (We are even. You are done.)

And the line went dead.

It was the same voice that he heard reprimanding him for losing his temper just a few days ago. Advokat was a man of few words. The last two conversations with him led Gleb to believe that his life and position within the organization was salvageable. He hoped that Advokat would have his back at the summit, able convince Filin not to write Americanec off as old laundry.

"No such luck," he thought bitterly. "You are only as good as your next job. Everyone is expendable."

Gleb knew he had little time left. He had to skim whatever he could and disappear. He was not worried about his bail: skipping from a bounty hunter would be easier than from one of the mercenaries that undoubtedly was on the way from good old Motherland. Wondering how long it would take for the news to trickle through the ranks and if there would be a single person whom he could rely on, he left his study to pack. His doubts were not unfounded: in this brutal business, everyone was looking out for their own skin and his fate took a tumble: it seemed only yesterday he was the top dog in New York, and today...

"Don't write Americanec off yet, dear old Filin. I'm not as pathetic as you think," he thought with a smirk, tossing another pack of cash sealed with the bank tape into his briefcase.

The insistent buzzing of a phone echoed in Pat's head. She lifted her head from her pillow and stared at the screen of her smart phone in confusion. It was silent. It was seven in the morning. She was usually up by now, but she had a late night working up analyses for Martin and A.J. Since Liz left, both men took an active role in the firm. She knew Martin would step up to the plate, but A.J.? He surprised her.

Swearing, Pat realized she was looking at the wrong phone. The ringing came from a disposable that she left on the dresser the night before. The only person who had this number was Elizabeth. She picked up the phone and saw a text message. A text meant Liz had to get in touch quickly. Bracing herself, she opened it.

"I don't have the laptop. Do not upload anything to it until I tell you otherwise."

Swearing a blue streak, Pat padded into her home office. She was scrambling to stop the scheduled upload of information she setup the night before. The software would transfer data automatically, as soon as Liz' laptop had a live internet connection. Since her boss no longer had access to the laptop, the upload would happen in front of whoever was in possession of the machine.

Pat angrily pounded at a few keys on her system to wake it up and slumped into her ergonomic chair. There was no time for coffee. Pulling up her remote access interface she swore for the third time that morning. She was too late. The upload was practically finished. Software automation was a beautiful thing, but it was far from perfect. This imperfection bit her in the ass. Liz would have her hide for this mishap. She hoped the laptop was in the hands of the marshals, as the alternative was unfathomable.

She contemplated remotely frying the hard drive of the laptop, since it was still online and the ports were open, but decided against it. The files that she was uploading were encrypted, and the letter she was posting for Liz had nothing of major importance. Pat sighed pulling out the disposable phone to send Liz a text. There was now plenty of time to make coffee and head to the office of Graham Stone Developers. Glancing at her watch, she realized Martin would be waiting for her there. The man had an annoying habit of arriving at the office first, if it meant showing up before the sun came up, then so be it.

Before leaving the bathroom, Liz opened up her phone hoping for a response. As soon as the phone powered up, there was a message from Pat. "Too late. The upload went through." Liz frowned. The message meant that Marshall brought the laptop online and she would have to explain. She rubbed her temples, applied make-up and gathered her blonde hair into an elaborate twist. Looking herself over in the mirror, she was happy with the reflection.

Liz rummaged through her bag and took out a jewelry case. After years of wearing jewelry going without, she felt naked. She did not bring any of her estate pieces, so she did not see the harm in getting comfortable. She slid two plain bangles on her wrist, put on a pair of vintage Bulgari earrings that she picked up at an auction a few months back, but had not had a chance to wear, and a Cartier ring that belonged to her mother. A part of her needed to feel a tangible link to her life in New York, no matter how ephemeral; and another part, wanted to see if she could push the marshals' buttons and get away with it.

There was a chance she could divert their attention from the issue of the laptop with her disregard for their rules yet again. If either marshal noticed Liz's display, neither said a word. Marshall handed her the laptop without comment, and Liz had to hide her surprise. Liz was uncomfortable, realizing she had missed a crucial piece of their conversation. So far during the trip she was in control of the situation, but it seemed it was slipping. She needed to get it back.

At most a half an hour after Liz emerged from the bathroom, Marshall rushed the party out the door and into their newly rented vehicle. For the duration of the morning drive, Liz blatantly ignored her son and kept her silence when they stopped to pick up breakfast at a diner outside of Oklahoma City. Mary was driving, Marshall riding shotgun and fiddling with his laptop. Without a reason to hide hers Liz followed suit, taking the opportunity to finish analyzing the proposed deals. Neither Marshal blinked when she powered it up, leaving James to watch incredulously, trying to make sense of what changed since he had gone to bed the night before. Aside from Mary's breaking a dozen speed restrictions, the rest of the drive to Albuquerque was uneventful. They pulled into Tucumcari around three in the afternoon, got food and called Stan to update him on the time of their estimated arrival.

Stan informed them that Tippy Boswell rescheduled the meeting with Liz for the following morning, but that they would have to go through the memorandum of understanding with her the same night. Mary would have grumbled about it all the way back to the office, but one glare from Marshall stopped her muttering diatribe. It was decided, that Liz would stay at Hotel Andaluz until they found her a more permanent home. Mary sniggered at the accommodations, but conceded that the proximity to the Sunshine Building would save them time when Liz needed assistance. Both were certain that this witness would be just as high maintenance on location as she was on the road.

They pulled into the garage at the Sunshine building around five thirty, with Mary beating their target by an hour. The marshals put on their best smiles before taking their charges out of the SUV. Marshall was happy to be out of the vehicle, and Mary was looking forward to being rid of the witness. All she needed now was to refrain from killing Liz while they went over the M.O.U. and she would be free. At least for the night.

Liz walked out of the SUV and adjusted the collar on her short black coat.

"So this is it? Albuquerque?"

" 'fraid, so." Marshall responded with a grin. "I think you may grow to love our fair city, Liz. Mary is a testament to that."

Liz smiled graciously, restraining the urge to laugh. She doubted she'd like any city, as her heart was set on New York, but she was not about to impart that particular piece of information to the marshals.

"Shall we?" Marshall said. "We still have quite a bit of things to cover before we can take you to the hotel."

Mary watched the exchange with a sardonic smile pushing up the corners of her mouth, but refrained from making her usual snarky comments. Marshall figured she was conserving her energy for conversation in the conference room of the WITSEC office.

"By all means, lead the way." Liz followed the marshals into the building, with James in tow.

---

Chapter 10: A Phoenix Reborn

---

Stan sat in his office going over the files, waiting for the new witness Mary and Marshall brought in this evening. The A-team reported back on their progress regularly, so he was well aware of the complications they encountered on the transport. So far their trip went better than he anticipated: under the circumstances, he expected Mary to rip off the witness' head or chew off Marshall's ear. It seemed that neither event took place.

"Thank God for small favors," he thought.

Marshall called earlier to let the chief know they were arriving earlier than expected. Stan took it in stride, knowing Mary was driving, and speed restrictions meant nothing to her.

Stan picked up his phone, "Charlie, stop by my office." Hanging up, he hoped to have enough time to give Charlie his assignment, before the meeting with the witness.

In ten seconds, Charlie idled by the door of his office.

"Inspector, I have an assignment for you. You will supervise the move of the new witness' belongings into U.S.M.S. issued SUV from the rental that Mary and Marshall used on the transport. Get the paperwork from Marshall and drive the rental to Long Beach first thing in the morning. Eleanor booked your return flight for tomorrow night. It's a twelve hour drive, so I suggest you leave bright and early."

"Chief, you mean Long Beach, CA?"

"That's right. Inspector Parmalee will be your ride along. Consider this your first assignment out of training. Good luck."

Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Charlie Connor rushed out of Stan's office bubbling over with excitement. The security gate chimed and he saw Marshall step aside to let a woman pass. Mary was on their heels, heading to the conference room and a teenage boy trailed behind, wearing a grim expression. Charlie's gaze focused on the woman. Breath caught in his throat, he froze unable to tear his eyes away from the blonde. She strode into the office, in what looked like slow motion. He caught a spark of mirth in her vibrant blue eyes, as she took off her large sunglasses. He studied her face: high cheekbones, full lips and chiseled chin. Her short black wool coat swooshed around her hips with each step. His gaze swept over her slender form, but he did not dare linger out of self-preservation. Something told him she would not take kindly to anyone ogling her. The woman was tall and strikingly beautiful. Charlie was in awe, unable to move or speak.

Eleanor cleared her throat, bringing him out of his reverie.

"Inspector Connor, don't you have to be somewhere? Doing something?"

The office manager squeezed past him into the Chief's office to let him know the high profile witness had arrived.

"Tomorrow, grab a coffee for the road, kid."

Stan slapped his back and disappeared into the conference room. Passing by, Charlie caught another glimpse of the blonde. His brain short-circuited, but Delia's incessant chatter gave him a preview of the next 48 hours and he made himself scarce.

Stan closed the door to the conference room.

"Ms. Graham, welcome to Albuquerque. I am Chief Inspector Stan McQueen."

Liz rose from the chair and graciously extended her hand. Stan shook it, momentarily lost in the woman's eyes.

"Chief McQueen, please call me Liz."

Stan recovered quickly, nodding to Eleanor. She gave him a dirty look, setting the Memorandum of Understanding in front of Liz.

"Before you begin, can I get coffee, tea or soda for anyone?" asked Eleanor.

"No, I am fine, thank you." Liz responded.

"I'd like a Mountain Dew."

James chimed in from the corner. Liz refused to acknowledge his presence until that moment. When her son spoke up, she gave him a pointed look. He shifted in his seat.

Stan cleared his throat to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Liz, we have a lot of ground to cover tonight, and I am sure you are anxious to get out of this office."

Liz looked over at the female marshal and said, "Mary, I believe, you owe me a secure line. Before we start, I need to make two calls."

Stan furrowed his eyebrows, silently questioning his Inspectors.

Mary shrugged and responded, "I'll go set it up," and left the conference room.

Marshall excused himself and went to his desk, deciding to take advantage of the break to research Patricia Stone's background. He alerted the tech department that he needed them to analyze a laptop belonging to the witness. After they arrived in Albuquerque, there would be no reason for them to stay with Liz. If he allowed her to keep the laptop, he was certain she would use it to access the network.

Liz took over the conference room for the next hour and a half. Her phone conversation lasted quite a bit longer than either of the marshals anticipated. She had no qualms about taking her time, it seemed. Marshall recognized her tactics: first, she had no reason to rush; second, she was using it as a means to exert control over them and the upcoming conversation. He braced himself; going over the M.O.U. would be no walk in the park. He pulled Stan aside and shared his concerns about the breach of security with his boss. Mary filled them in on Liz's intent to complete the asset transfer without the help of U.S.M.S.. Together they came up with a solution they felt would pacify the witness. Marshall got in touch with the tech department to set everything up.

After Liz finished, Stan, Mary, Marshall and James reconvened with her in the conference room. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Liz informed them that the firm of Martin Katz had legal documents requiring her signature no later than the next morning. Smiling, she gestured to the M.O.U.'s still spread out on the table, and asked, "Shall we begin?"

The first hour went by relatively smoothly. Liz read through every clause, but asked few questions, initialing every corner without protest. But, as soon as they got to the portion that dealt with the professional occupation, the conversation turned dicey, just at Marshall predicted.

Mary looked at Liz intently, and said, "Now would be the time surrender your laptop."

"What do you mean? Why?" Liz frowned at the marshal in surprise.

"The documents that you have on your machine compromise your new identity. After you sign the M.O.U., you become Elizabeth Oren Green, an independently wealthy Albuquerque resident, not a real estate tycoon from New York. Do you understand that under no circumstances can you work in the real estate industry?" Mary asked.

"Donald Trump is a real estate tycoon. I'm only a meager developer." Liz smirked. "As I've explained to you this morning, I have unfinished business in New York, which the U.S.M.S. cannot handle for me. However, once that's taken care of, I won't have any interest in working in real estate. I've made my peace with an early retirement." She let out a mirthless chuckle.

Marshall interjected, "We were aware of this issue and have worked out a solution that I believe you will find satisfactory: a temporary office was setup for you in our accounting department, one floor down. As far as everyone outside of this office is concerned, you are an outside auditor retained for the next three weeks."

"Allison would be thrilled," Mary muttered, but Marshall stepped on her foot under the table and she fell silent, so he could continue. "You will be able to use your laptop at this office, using the network access created by our tech department."

Liz narrowed her eyes at Marshall, but he saw that she was impressed. She opened her bag and handed him the neoprene sleeve with the laptop.

"I will need this first thing tomorrow morning."

"You will have it back right after your meeting with A.U.S.A Boswell," Stan said, recovering his authority in the meeting.

"Now, since that's settled, let's continue. Item 42. Assets."

"I don't anticipate for WITSEC to become a permanent arrangement, so I see no reason to transfer all of my assets into the new name. I have no intention to sell the penthouse or the Hamptons home."

"Ma, what about the G.R.A.T.?" James asked quietly, weary of his mother's wrath.

Liz glared at her son, and spoke in a tight voice, "James, as you may remember, the GRAT does not mature for another ten years. I can guarantee that neither Martin, nor I will change the structure unless absolutely necessary."

Marshall's lips curled up as he explained to Mary and Stan, "A G.R.A.T. is a form of a trust created for passing real estate assets between generations shifting the value of the property to the original owner, to avoid gift taxes, which can get quite substantial once you get over the cumulative exemption. I believe it is at ten million right now, but it changes annually. That's assuming the benefactor lives until the maturity date of the trust, otherwise the benefits are forfeited."

Liz eyed the tall man curiously, and nodded. "That's right. Capital gains and estate tax ramifications are enough of an incentive not to change the ownership structure of my holdings at this time. Luckily, there is enough liquidity for us to live comfortably until we sign out of the program. As soon as we are done here, I will need wire instructions for Martin to transfer the funds. I would like to have this resolved as soon as possible."

"The U.S.M.S. will reach out to Martin and handle the processing for you," Stan said.

Mary exhaled loudly, happy for the meeting to be over, but Marshall knew better as he waited for Liz to react once she found out about the name change her son chose. Eleanor walked into the conference room, carrying new identification documents for Liz and James and a pair of cell phones.

"There you go", she said, "Elizabeth Oren Green, birth certificate and social security card. Jackson Spencer Green, birth certificate and social security card."

The air in the conference room stilled. Liz slowly turned to her son and regarded him for the first time that evening. Refusing to acknowledge the effect his actions had on her in front of the marshals, she turned away from him.

"I would like to have Jackson enrolled in school." She said, her voice steady, but hoarser than normal.

"We took the liberty of reserving him a spot at the Hilder Academy, which is one of the best private schools in the area." Stan said, glancing at Eleanor.

"We obtained all transcripts from Riverdale and assuming you find the academy satisfactory, Jackson can be enrolled there starting Monday."

"Does the academy have a boarding option?"

"Yes, but…"

"Excellent. Riverdale was a day school, and Jackson always wanted to dorm. Please get the enrollment started. I wouldn't want him to miss any more classes than necessary."

"Liz, I strongly urge you to reconsider the boarding option. In a case of a security breach getting to the both of you at the same time in different locations may create a logistical problem." Stan implored, but it fell on deaf ears.

Liz refused to take their issues into consideration. She was livid: her son had the audacity to make a fool of her in front of the marshals. The implications of the name had to be clear to everyone in the room except perhaps, Stan, but she had no doubt he would know soon enough. The humiliation was almost too much to bear. She kept it together, refusing to fall apart, but could not still the tremor in her hands when she reached for her bag and it did not go unnoticed by the marshals.

They took Liz and Jackson nee James to the Hotel Andaluz, as planned, and checked them into adjoining rooms, because Liz refused to share and the hotel did not have two bedroom suites. Liz told the marshals that she wanted to start looking for a more permanent place as soon as possible: she was tired of hotels and did not want to stay in a rental. She intended to buy a house quickly. Mary promised to look into it in the morning, making a mental note to reach out to a broker she usually dealt with because he was good at his job and did not ask questions.

It was close to midnight, when they finally left Liz to get situated. Mary and Marshall walked back to the Sunshine Building through the chilly night, both mulling over the trip, the mountain of paperwork awaiting them and surprises Liz was certain to serve up before getting settled into her new life. Mary enjoyed their stroll: the air was brisk and clear. She looked up at the sky and was once again mesmerized, after all these years in New Mexico, she had never gotten used to the starry sky in this part of the country and it never ceased to amaze her. Unwilling to break the spell, she kept her silence. As a spur of the moment, not breaking stride with her partner, she inched closer, slipped her hand into his and intertwined their fingers.

Marshall was shocked by the contact, but said nothing nor withdrew his hand, reveling in the moment. If Mary was seeking comfort he was more than willing to give it, if only as a friendly gesture. The tension from the assignment finally letting up, he needed her just as much as she needed him.

The following morning, Liz strode into the WITSEC office bright and early. No one expected to see her earlier than ten, but she was there at eight. By then Marshall had already reviewed the report on her laptop from the tech department and knew there was nothing suspect about the machine. It was designed to handle sensitive information and had an ironclad security protocol to prevent unauthorized access and activity tracking. Whoever handled the system design, knew what they were doing. Marshall's suspicions regarding Patricia Stone were confirmed, but he was not worried. His plan to set Liz up with an office removed the incentive for her to go behind their back to contact Martin or Pat. They provided her with the ability to do so without compromising her location.

Marshall keyed Liz in, and then took her downstairs to show the office that they designated for her to use. The whole process took less than fifteen minutes including the explanation of how to access the web from her computer. She thanked him and turned to her work. Marshall took it as his cue to leave and disappeared.

Mary strolled in around nine thirty, irritated and ready to pounce on anyone and everyone. Before having her first cup of coffee, noticing Marshall's absence, she verbally assaulted Eleanor, and moved on to Stan. Just as she was about to call her partner to unleash her temper tantrum, she saw Liz waiting by the security gate, and reeled in her anger. Mary buzzed Liz in and led her to the conference room to prepare for Tippy Boswell's arrival.

Despite her adamant refusal to admit to Marshall that she despised Tippy for the way he treated Mia, Mary bristled at the thought of seeing the guy every time. She was secretly hoping Liz would knock him off his high horse. Mary grew to admire the woman. Liz took no bull from anyone, including her son. She thought that Liz was a bit harsh on the boy the night before though. Realizing James was nowhere to be seen, she asked, "Liz, where's Jack?"

"At the hotel, sleeping, I'd imagine. He is a big boy: should be able to occupy himself for a couple hours." Liz kept her cool, but Mary saw she was still furious, but then who would not be in her position.

"Liz, I'm all for tough love, but don't you think…" the icy look Liz gave her stopped Mary from finishing the sentence.

"No, I don't. He is lucky I haven't shipped him back to his brothers. I still might." Liz picked at one of the bangles on her narrow wrist. "Exeter or Andover isn't off the table either. If he does well at Hilder this semester, that is."

"Were you dropping random names of fancy schools just to annoy me?"

"Did it work?"

"Nope. I couldn't give two shits about schools."

"No kids, huh?

"That obvious?"

"Very." Liz eyed the marshal, as if evaluating whether Mary was worthy of her trust.

"Listen, Liz, we have less than five minutes before Boswell gets here. Would you like some coffee?"

"No, thanks. I do need something else though."

"What?" Mary saw the hesitation, but was unprepared for what came next.

Wordlessly, Liz handed her the gun license and registration papers for her 60LS Magnum. After seeing recognition in Mary's eyes, Liz said, "I need you to transfer my license from New York to New Mexico, and re-register this gun under my new name. I wouldn't want to break any laws."

Mary was rendered speechless for a split second.

"Not break any laws?" her tone was incredulous. "Where is the gun now?"

"At the hotel. Locked up in a safe. Before you ask, it was stowed in my roller board luggage during the trip." Liz lied.

"You have it in your handbag, don't you?"

"Like I said, I would not want to break any laws."

"Goddamn it, Liz. You do not make anything easy, do you?"

"I found that most things in life that are worth anything are difficult."

The security gate chimed: Tippy Boswell had arrived early.

"This conversation is far from over," Mary said, before turning to greet the A.U.S.A.

Tippy rolled into the conference room wearing a smug expression. Liz stood with her back to him, and turned as he called out his greeting. Mary stifled a laugh. She would never get tired of watching men fawn over Liz. Even Stan deserved a nice smack upside the head for his behavior at the meeting yesterday. Mary had to give it to her witness: so far, it appeared there was only one man able to withstand her charm. It was Marshall, although Mary was not quite so sure of him lately. It was not like he told her what happened at the Opera.

Mary smiled, beating down a pang of jealousy of the witness: she enjoyed seeing that Tippy was not immune to the siren's call either. In a few minutes, he regained his composure and proceeded with his usual modus operandi of trying to ferret out issues with the witness' background and potential holes in her testimony. Liz was patient in the beginning, having a proper rebuttal for his every question. The woman held her ground well under pressure, but Mary saw Liz's patience wearing thin.

Finally, when Tippy implied that Liz had benefited from her partner's demise, Liz smiled tightly and said, "May I remind you, Mr. Boswell, that I am under no obligation to continue in the WITSEC program? I am not a criminal, yet you insist on treating me like one. I witnessed the murder of my best friend, and agreed to testify in the honor of his memory. You may want to start treating me like a valuable resource, because I can easily change my mind about testifying. Unlike most witnesses I am sure you deal with, I have certain resources at my disposal that would allow me to disappear without the help of the government. For now, I chose not to, but the option is available."

Boswell took his arrogance down a notch.

"Ms. Green, I prefer to have all my bases covered. This conversation is going to feel like a walk in the park by comparison with the cross at the trial."

"Mr. Boswell, while this would be my first appearance in a criminal court, but I can assure you, that my ample experience in the corporate realm will serve both of us well when I am deposed. I can promise you to wipe the floor with the defense attorney."

Liz was a formidable opponent, and her last words effectively ended the meeting. Boswell left shortly after saying that he would be in touch once the trial date was set. Mary was thrilled: she could not wait to tell Marshall that Liz handed Tippy his ass on a platter. As they walked out of the conference room, her smile faded: Marshall was still nowhere to be found. Mary tried to find out from Stan where Marshall went, but the chief kept mum.

Mary and Liz decided to get lunch before heading out to look at the properties for sale. Liz had her mind set on buying as soon as her holdings cleared U.S.M.S. processing. Before walking out of the office, Mary narrowed her eyes at the witness and said, "That thing we talked about earlier: once the paperwork is done, you and I are going to the range. Non-negotiable."

"Excellent idea," Liz said with a smirk, "I wish I had thought of it myself."

Marshall picked up a call from Phillip Andrews nee Ashmore shortly before Mary came into the office that morning. The man was out of sorts: the consulting firm he was now working for was retained to perform due diligence work by a major law firm that provided services to his fund in New York. Phillip was concerned that he may have to work with attorneys who had known him as Phillip Ashmore. After the trial, Phillip and Camille settled and adjusted relatively well to their newly middle class life style. The marshals did their routine quarterly check-ins, but the threat assessments came in clean.

There was no criminal family seeking revenge and no murderer with a score to settle looking for the Ashmores. The economic downturn and governmental bailout of Wall Street provided a sufficient distraction for those who might have contemplated violence against them otherwise, refocusing their energy on targets not whisked away into the desert, in short, those closer to home. The Andrews' were nearing the mark when they would be taken out of the actively protected status.

Given Phillip's concern, Stan decided that Marshall had to meet with the man face to face before filling Mary in and determining whether relocation was required. The witness visit ran longer than he anticipated, but was worth the time: Marshall concluded the situation needed to be monitored closely, but immediate relocation was premature.

By the time Marshall returned to the Sunshine Building, Mary and Liz were long gone to look at houses in the Sandia Heights, one of the more affluent neighborhoods of Albuquerque, which was quite a drive from the office. Instead of chasing after them, Marshall decided to catch up on his paperwork. Around six he figured Mary would not return to the office and called it an early night, stopping at his favorite Thai place on the way home. Marshall was grateful for the foresight to pick up enough food for two, when Mary showed up at his door later that night with a six pack of Belgian beer.

"Where the hell were you all day?" She asked.

"It is nice to see you too, Mare."

"I asked you a question, you douche."

"Something came up with the Andrews. I took care of it. Tough day?" He was baiting her against his better judgment.

"Phillip and Camille? Never mind. I don't want to know right now since you already dealt with it." She opened two beers and set his on the counter. "I should kick your ass for keeping me out of the loop though."

"Ah, Mare, you won't bite the hand that feeds you, now will you?"

She noticed the discarded cartons by the sink and food heating in the oven: catching sight of pad thai and spring rolls, she smiled with a sigh.

"Hand over the beef satay and no one gets hurt."

They ate in companionable silence for a while. Mary took a long pull from her beer bottle and studied her partner. He was tired too, she realized. Lately, Marshall looked somehow worn out, frayed around the edges, and more reserved than usual. Her partner had always been a private person, but there was something else now, something new about his demeanor. She had noticed subtle changes before this grueling assignment, but now they seemed more pronounced, or, maybe, she had paid closer attention. She remembered her thoughts in Liz's kitchen, and immediately felt guilty for feeling jealous that night. Although they still worked well as a team, their banter was off and the tension between them was new. It was not entirely unpleasant, she decided.

Marshall was looking at her too, quietly, mulling over something: his blue eyes were intensely focused on her, but lacking their usual sparkle.

"So you want to fill me in on the situation with Liz?" he asked.

"Here's the beauty of it, Marshall: there is no situation. We looked at a dozen houses today and she hated every single one of them."

"That bad, huh?"

"As I expected, actually. You didn't think she would buy the first house she saw, did you?"

"Of course not. Honestly, I would have thought your patience would run out before she found the one she liked."

"Why?" Mary was immediately on the defensive. "Am I not allowed to like her?"

"Ordinarily, Liz would be the last person you would like. You have to admit, affluent witnesses tend to rub you the wrong way."

"So? She is an entitled bitch. A self-made one, at that. What's not to like?" Mary smirked. "But, you should have seen her this morning: she made Boswell cry Uncle. It was priceless."

"Uh-huh."

"What?"

"Mystery solved. Elizabeth redeemed herself in your eyes by verbally beating up your arch nemesis from D.O.J. And little does she know, but that action alone earned the support of the fiercest protector of the US Marshals Service. I would commend your change of heart, but in this case, I feel the need to warn you against getting too attached."

"Don't be ridiculous. When do I get attached to people, Marshall?"

"All the time. That is what makes you so good at this, Mare. On that note, I believe you owe me an explanation for the other night."

Mary had hoped he would not go there tonight, or ever, for that matter. She was starting to come to terms with her feelings for him, feelings she was uncomfortable admitting to and definitely not ready to share with him yet.

"There's nothing to explain. Remember Sabrina Jordan? She got drunk, almost raped by her punk of a boyfriend, and I slapped the cuffs on her before dragging her into the office?"

"I remember, but what does she have to do with this?"

"Do not interrupt me. I'm trying to tell you something."

"Okay. I'll be quiet."

"Still talking, numb nuts."

It was getting awkward between them, and she hated it. Why could not she act like a normal person and spit it out? He was silent now, waiting for her to finish her thought.

"Anyhow, after Sabrina threw a bunch of insults at me in the conference room, I asked her to tell me what she needed. And it was like someone flipped a switch: her defiance evaporated and she was putty in my hands. I tried it on Brandi too... on more than one occasion, actually. So, your technique works, okay? I admit it. Are you happy now?"

She did not know how to pay him a compliment, without lashing out. She wanted to hug him, or bed him, but instead resorted to the familiar pattern of snapping insults.

"You made it sound like I would mind your being kind to someone. If anything, I am happy you found something I say useful." His voice was soft.

She saw he needed to hear something from her, perhaps wanting reassurance, which he did not get, and was defeated. The conversation did not provide him with closure; he and she did what she had always done when things got emotionally tense. The urge to flee was overwhelming, and she did not fight it.

"Listen, Marshall," she skipped a beat, "I am dead on my feet. Liz and I are going to look at North Albuquerque Acres tomorrow. I'll see you at the office in the morning. Thanks for dinner."

Mary leaped up from the couch, pulled her boots on and was out the door in five seconds flat.

Marshall walked over to the door, leaned against the jamb and listened to the sound of the engine of her Mustang fading. She did not even realize in her haste that she had thanked him. He sighed. His resolve faltered at some point today, he realized his conviction to nurture a futile hope of getting romantically involved with Mary was hurting them both. Perhaps, it was time to make a real effort to move on. He had a decision to make: living like this was pure torture and it almost derailed his career in the Service. If not for Stan, his assault on Scalavino could have severely tarnished his service record. Without a doubt, he would do it again for Mary, but he was not sure he should be in that position any longer. Shelley was right to point out he was overly protective of his partner.

There were a multitude of questions he had to consider before ripping off the band-aid. Should he give it one last shot? Did dare telling her bluntly how he felt and have the stones to take it like a man when she rejected him? Would it do irreparable damage to their friendship? And what did the future hold for them if it did? What would he do if she transferred? Could he live without Mary in his life?

---

Chapter 11: Baggage Claim

---

Mary stared blankly at the screen of her computer, having finished searching through the MLS database for the umpteenth time that day. There were no new listings she could show Liz. It had been a week since they returned from New York. Liz settled into a routine of showing up at the downstairs office in the morning and riding around with Mary looking at houses in the afternoon. Thankfully, Mary was able to talk her out of setting Jack up at the dorms after the woman put her anger aside. It was one less thing for the marshals to worry about.

Two days ago, Liz's funds went through the clearing house of the U.S.M.S., and she told Mary that she was wrapping up the deal for Graham Stone Developers. As she eloquently put it, "she was ready to become gloriously unemployed and carefree" by the end of the month. Mary did not buy the act, though. After spending close to two weeks with the woman, she knew that one was not the idling type. Mary wanted Liz to think about finding something to do in her free time; but so far all conversations on the subject had been shot down.

Mary rubbed her temples and looked over at Marshall. Ever since that dinner on their first night back, things had been tense between them. He still brought coffee every morning, did her paperwork and held his own against her barbs, but did not engage her. Not once had he offered to join them on the house hunt: always had a reason for staying in the office or a witness visit. Yet, there was nothing in his behavior, on which that she could call him out. It was nothing like the cold shoulder he gave her after she returned from her ill-conceived vacation with Faber, or the fury he unleashed when she had revealed the true nature of their job to Raph, or the disdain when he found out she had slept with Eps. This was different: for once, she knew, it had nothing to do with a guy, because there was no guy in her life. Her best friend was avoiding her, and it was on her and her alone.

Mary looked away from him, and her thoughts drifted to the last Saturday afternoon that she spent with Liz at the shooting range. The gun paperwork cleared that Friday, and she needed to make sure Liz could handle her weapon. Mary was pleased with what she saw: Liz was a fine shot for a civilian. If the situation escalated to her needing the gun, Liz could probably hold her own. Mary hoped it would not come to it, but realized some things were beyond her control. After the range they stopped at a Tex-Mex place for lunch, and Mary had to ask the question that had gnawed on her since their conversation at the hotel bar in Tulsa.

"Liz, can I ask you a personal question?"

The woman studied her with a smirk, and responded, "Only if you promise to answer a personal question."

"Deal." Mary said. "Shoot."

"Today is a Saturday. It's your first weekend back from the trip. I know you are off the clock, because your weapon and your badge are locked in the car, and you ordered a beer. Not that I am not enjoying your company, what are you doing here with me, Mary?"

Mary fed Liz her concern about Liz's ability to handle the weapon. But in reality, Mary found herself at a loss of ideas how to occupy her free time since she returned to Albuquerque. Marshall had turned her down on more than one occasion deferring to weekend classes he was taking at the UNM. Since she had no desire to choose wedding or bridal party dresses with Brandi, who has gone off the deep end in a bridezilla way, it left her with few options. Spending time with Liz at a range was a decent way to blow off steam without resorting to the prowl for cowboys at a local bar, which Mary lost taste for since her Mexican voyage. Liz did not push for a different answer, just smiled knowingly. Anxious to get off the subject of her personal life, Mary asked Liz her question.

"Did your relationship with Robert change after you slept together?"

Liz sighed, took a swig from her beer and told her that the relationship had been strained before they got involved. It was the birth of her son that nearly undid them, but she sometimes wondered how her life would have turned out if she had left her husband after the affair.

"So, why didn't you marry the guy after James Sr. passed away? You did say he proposed…"

The woman's reply still rang in her ears. It was as though a bucket of icy water hit her when she heard the words. The thoughts the response evoked gave her chills for the rest of the weekend and drove her to dive head first into the bottle of tequila as soon as she returned to her house from the range. The rest of the weekend was but a blur.

"I did not want Rob to marry me because he thought that Jimmy was his. I loved Rob, but believed he did not love me back. Or at least, not like a man should love his wife. Fifteen years is a long time to be living in denial… embracing change is not easy. But, on the bright side, I salvaged a friendship. I'll have the rest of my life to figure out if that was enough."

Liz took another pull from her beer bottle, as if trying to decide whether to speak her mind.

"Mary, it's rare that you get a chance to get it right with the one you love. When the opportunity presents itself, you ought to be prepared, otherwise it is gone before you know it. I missed my chance: my train had left the station. If I had been brave enough to embrace it, my life would have been different now, Rob might have been alive."

Mary pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. The question she had avoided all weekend weaseled its way back into her mind like a proverbial bad penny.

"What if I missed my chance with Marshall?"

She knew she was not ready for a relationship with him when he had laid his heart bare in the middle of the office the afternoon before her trip to Mexico. She was uncertain if she was ready now, but the thought of having missed her chance terrified her.

Mary shook her head to snap out of the mood. Staring at the screen, she reran the property search in hopes of finding a property that Liz would care for enough to buy. She needed to get this woman out of her hair for the sake of keeping her sanity. Before she could ponder anything else, her phone rang. Seeing Brandi's number on the caller ID, Mary grimaced, but picked it up.

"Mary, Mary, Mary!" Brandi's voice vibrated through the phone as a chipmunk tripped out on acid. "I closed a huge deal. Gigantic. We have to go out and celebrate!"

"Brandi, I'm working. I can't just…"

"Mary, please, this would mean so much to me. I want to treat you to drinks and dinner. Come on, it'll be fun. I've missed you. I promise, I won't mention the wedding and I won't invite mom."

"Okay, Squish," Mary let out an exasperated sigh, "How about, we meet at the Two Fools Tavern around six?"

"Really, you will come? This is so great! Mary, I'm psyched!" She ended the call and caught Marshall eyeing her curiously.

"What? I can't have dinner with my sister?"

"Sure you can, but you usually don't. And you look disgusted."

"She's buying." Mary said and rolled her eyes, "She duped some schmuck into buying a ridiculously expensive foreign car."

"You know, Mare, despite your disdain for the profession, you may want to count your blessings: Brandi has evolved quite a bit in the last few years."

"If you mean selling cars is a huge step-up from peddling crystal meth then yeah, sure. In the grand scheme of things, though, I wish she would find something better to do with her time. God knows, what she is going to do with her life after she marries Peter."

"I can understand that, but in the interim, she is seeking your approval and support. It would behoove you to offer some, unless, of course, you would rather her relationship failed and she moved back with you, so you would have to deal with her problems rather than your own."

Marshall knew he made a mistake, as soon as the words left his mouth: something inside him snapped and he could not stop himself. The demons he was battling with for the last week finally caught up with him and he lost all sense of self preservation and restraint.

"What the hell, Marshall? Where do you get off…" she started, but her voice cracked. "Never mind."

She grabbed her jacket off the chair, and hollered on her way out of the office, "Stan, I'm going to check on Sabrina Jordan. See you tomorrow." She stormed out the door, before either of the men had a chance to respond.

"Marshall, what was that all about?" Stan asked walking out of his office.

"Mary was… being Mary." The younger man shrugged off his disappointment, unwilling to share the turmoil raging inside with his boss.

The witness visit did not take long: there were no fires for Mary to put out. Mary had to regroup after her fight with Marshall so returning to the office was not an option. She took a leisurely stroll on the streets of Old Town, to clear her head and lost the track of time. Walking around, she caught herself rolling her eyes at her sister's excitement.

"You'd think she's won the Nobel Prize, not sold a Mercedes."

But, Marshall was right, as much as she hated to admit it. Last thing she wanted was for her sister's life to be derailed again. If that meant Mary had to suffer through car salesman success stories, she would. It definitely beat bailing Brandi out of jail.

Mary walked into the Two Fools Tavern fifteen minutes late. Brandi was waiting, having taken over a table in the back, and nursing her first beer. As soon as she saw Mary, she jumped up and waived drawing too much attention to herself for Mary's taste. The marshal scowled and the slightly inebriated patrons of the establishment went back to minding their own business. Mary nodded a silent greeting to the guy tending the bar.

Brandi beamed at her sister. "Mary, I'm so happy you made it!"

"Hey, Squish." Mary forced a smile. "I guess congratulations are in order?"

Brandi was so giddy she missed the strain in her sister's words. The young woman gushed about the sale of a Mercedes G-550, the Geländewagen, to a really nice lady from the East Coast. She rattled off the specs of the SUV much like she would the latest trends in a fashion or gossip column, which Mary happily tuned out, sipping her beer and wondering how she missed her sister changing so much in such a short time. Peter was a good influence, she decided. Mary remembered Marshall's words about being supportive, and resisted the temptation to roll her eyes, nodding and smiling instead.

They ordered dinner, and then Brandi dropped a bomb that she intended to when she asked Mary to join her at the bar.

"Mary, I know how much you hate formal occasions, but please, I beg you, hear me out first. Alpert Autoplex is sponsoring a black tie benefit for the UNM Children's Hospital, and it would mean a lot to me if you came. We have a table, and I don't want to spend the entire night talking to Peter's mother and sister. And you know our mom will start gushing. She's quieter when you're around."

Mary took a bite out of her burger and studied Brandi. "I knew it," She muttered.

"Why is it every time I get suspicious, Marshall manages to convince me things can change in my family? The moment I start thinking you want to spend time with me without an ulterior motive, you prove me wrong," she said, clearly frustrated.

Brandi opened her mouth to respond, but Mary raised her hand, haulting that attempt.

"Shush, let me finish. You know how my work can be. If something comes up I will drop everything to go take care of whatever it is that needs taking care of, otherwise, I'll be there. But you will owe me. And when I call it, you'll deliver. I mean it."

"Mary, you are the best! I won't ask you for anything else, I promise."

"Brandi, please, don't make any promises you can't keep. You know as well as I do, you suck at keeping promises."

The sisters finished their meal and parted ways after Mary promised to go shopping for gowns the following weekend. As Mary got into her Mustang, she wondered how she not only managed to get suckered into going to the event, but a shopping trip with her sister as well. Her brain must have checked out after she had that ridiculous fight with Marshall. She was still mad at him. God, she was still mad at herself. She wanted their easy relationship back: not having to think about how her words or actions made him feel, and his being there for her no matter what.

Marshall sat at the office past his usual time for a regular work day. He did not have a backlog of paperwork to complete, but did not feel like going home. There was no one waiting there for him, just an empty house. He was tired of brooding in the confines of the four walls; it was not like he was accomplishing anything or getting closer to making up his mind about Mary. So far all he managed to do was to piss her off. That was not his intention, far from it. All he wanted was some distance to figure out what to do next, but as oblivious as she was to his feelings, she immediately picked up on the tension and his outburst this afternoon did not help.

Marshall wanted a sign from her: something to tell him that she might be open to hearing what he had to offer. He was so used to loving her from a distance, it made him pause. What is it that he wanted from her exactly? He knew her conclusion would be that a physical relationship was what he wanted, but he was uncertain if that was entirely true. Sure, the physical attraction was there, his partner being a stunning woman, but for him it was more than that. He wanted to build a life with her, to stop waiting and start living. Neither of them was getting any younger, and it occurred to him the other day that if his life had turned out differently, he could have had a son or a daughter of James' age. Marshall Mann wanted kids. He was a traditionalist in the sense that he hoped marriage came first, but at this point, he would be willing to compromise on that one. But the way things were, he could not see having children with anyone other than Mary, and that was a problem in itself.

Sighing, Marshall signed off the system and killed the lights in the office. Instead of heading home, he decided to stop somewhere and grab a bite to eat. He had the Kindle with him, so he would be able to catch up on his reading and enjoy a meal outside of the house. He needed to pick a new place: last thing he wanted was to run into the Shannon sisters, so he could not go to the Two Fools Tavern. Walking by the Library Bar and Grill, he popped in without giving it a second thought.

Marshall settled at the bar and ordered two fingers of scotch, Jameson, straight up. Taking out his Kindle, he was prepared to wait: the bar was packed tonight. In a few minutes, the bartender set the drink in front of him. Marshall took a sip, and ordered a burger with fries. Just as he was about to pick up his reading, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a vaguely familiar silhouette. The woman had her back turned to him, so it took a while for the recognition to hit, and only when she made her way over to his side.

"Marshall, fancy meeting you here. I have not seen you in a few days," she said, taking a sip from her glass.

"Good to see you, Liz. Work piles up at the office when you are out. You know how it is." He gave her a tight smile and got up with a clear intent to leave. Drinking with a witness while off duty was far from ideal. He had no reason to be rude, but wanted to be alone.

She put her hand on his forearm. "Don't leave on my account. I can return to my stool and pretend I did not see you here. Although, I have to say, you do not look like you should be drinking alone tonight. Or at all for that matter."

Marshall saw her studying him and felt his jaw clench. He really did not need this. He was not inclined to share his issues with anyone, much less with her. He needed a good reason to leave, but could not come up with one.

"I like your new hair," he said to break an awkward silence, "It suits you."

"Thank you. I really didn't want to cut it, but needed to change something. Seemed fitting for the new life." She twisted a lock of her auburn hair between her fingers. "Mary did not approve much and bluntly told me so."

"Ah, well, you know Mary. She does not do subtle." He glanced at his phone, wishing for an emergency.

"Yes, yes, that she doesn't. But that's why you love her, right?"

"Say what?" he stuttered, unprepared for an assault on his personal life. Apparently, Mary was not the only one who could use a tact lesson.

"I'm neither blind nor stupid, Marshall. It takes one to know one, I guess. How long has it been? Four years? Five?" She knew exactly what she was doing: shock him first, and then soothe. She felt the ripple effect from the rift between the partners over the last week, and knew it was time to bring out the smoking gun.

"Seven." His tone was dark. The tall lawman sank back onto the bar stool. He had no idea why he was entertaining this conversation. What did this woman want from him? Why would not she leave him alone? He drained his glass and set it on the bar with a thud. Liz did the same and gestured to the bartender for another round. Marshall's food arrived from the kitchen.

"Would you like to order something?" he offered, making peace with being sucked into the conversation.

"Ah, always the gentleman. No, thank you, I'm fine with this." She chuckled mirthlessly. "Do not mind me. Please, eat before your food gets cold."

He polished off his burger, while she finished another drink. They passed some time making small talk: the book he was reading, the houses she saw but didn't want to buy; skirting over the issue she brought up when she ran into him. Finally, after finishing his third drink, Marshall decided it was time for payback. If Liz wanted to get personal, two could play that game.

"Liz, what were you doing here alone?" he asked.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Liz questioned him in turn.

He nodded in agreement.

"I had to live in different hotels for six months, when I started in the business. I've despised them ever since." She shrugged in disgust. "And if you want to know the real reason? A bar is a perfect place for self-flagellation, Marshall. But, I can tell, you already knew that."

She reached into the back pocked of her jeans. "Ever write one of these?" she asked pulling out a piece of paper.

"I have to tell you, I tore up my version of it into pieces after reading this one. The pain from reading a letter like this is beyond excruciating."

Marshall furrowed his eyebrows at her, evidently missing the point.

"Here," she said, shoving the piece of paper into his hands.

"See for yourself. Burn it when you're done, for all I care. I wanted to read it a few times as a reminder of how dumb and blind I've been. But, I'm done with it now. The original is back East, and if I had it, I'd feed the damn thing through the shredder."

Liz rose from the bar stool, her gait slightly unsteady, slid a Ben Franklin under her now empty glass on the bar and picked up her coat.

"Tell her, Marshall. She needs to hear it from you."

She disappeared behind the door, before he had a chance to respond or offer to walk her back to the hotel. Just as she intended.

Marshall sat stunned, staring at the letter. The intricate scrollwork around the monogram at the top of the page left little doubt on whose stationery the original letter had been written. Marshall ordered his fourth and last drink; he was in no shape to drive anyway. Liz made an accurate assumption: he wrote Mary a similar letter in the aftermath of his shooting by the Horst posse. If something happened to him, Mary would receive it at the reading of his will. It stood to reason, that this piece of correspondence was handed to Liz by Robert's attorney. Marshall sighed: he did not like prying. His mother raised him better than to read other people's mail. Despite having explicit permission from Liz to do just that, he hesitated, holding the paper in his hands.

Marshall took a sip and unfolded the creased page. In the dim light of the bar he ran his fingers over uneven ridges of dried water drops. No, he realized, not water, tears. He skimmed over the lines, finished his drink and sighed. Nothing he read in the letter was earth shattering: there were words of contrition, declaration of love and absolution laced with regret. The last words of a man were written on an eight by eleven page of fine stationery, copied onto plain office paper to be read over and over again. The words Rob wanted Liz to read when she could no longer hold him accountable or make him step up to the plate. And then Marshall recognized the letter for what it really was: a final act of cruelty. Robert unloaded his own burden on Elizabeth at the time she had to grieve and rebuild her life without him. The letter in his hands brought pain, not closure to the woman the man claimed to love.

Liz was right. If he was going to take the plunge, Mary deserved to hear the words from him, not read a letter after it was too late. He made a mental note to call his attorney. That letter had to be destroyed. If he did not garner the courage to tell her while he was alive, she did not need to know. Armed with newfound resolve, Marshall called a cab and left the bar: he made it home in fifteen, to his bed, asleep in thirty.

---

Chapter 12: Trouble with Junior

---

It was getting late, Marshall realized. He lost track of time finishing paperwork from an emergent witness transfer that took him out of the office for the rest of the week. He had not seen or spoken to Mary since he ran into Liz at the Library bar on Wednesday. At first he decided against calling Mary, having assumed she would call him after having cooled off, and then, when she did not, decided to postpone the conversation until he returned to the office. In hindsight, that was not the best decision he could have made, but the past could not be undone.

On this last assignment he was partnered with Charlie: Mary had her hands full with getting Liz situated and Stan refused to let Marshall handle it alone. Charlie was eager to learn, following him around like a lost puppy. The junior inspector listened to everything the marshal said as if it was gospel. The tall lawman was only mildly amused at the thought that his temporary partner might be taking notes while he was not looking. He missed Mary's acerbic sense of humor, ordering him to "shut his hole" when he digressed into a discourse on a subject only remotely related to the one at hand.

"Habits acquired over eight years are tough to break", he mused. He needed to clear the air with Mary, knowing she would not listen to what he had to say until she was ready. In all fairness, he was unsure he was prepared to reveal his feelings to her yet, but definitely wanted to resolve the tension he was at least partially responsible for creating. They needed to patch up their friendship before he could broach the subject of attempting anything more.

When Charlie and Marshall returned to the office late Friday afternoon, Mary was long gone. Stan told him that Liz had finally found a house to buy, which put the stress of dealing with the inspection and closing paperwork on Mary. At the same time, Mary entrusted Delia, albeit reluctantly and under the watchful eye of Eleanor, to run background checks for the housekeepers Liz intended to interview. Mary had made it sound as though the woman could burn water if left to her own devices. The chief was surprised Marshall did not know any of it. Stan assumed the partners kept in touch while one of them was out of town. The chief's apprehension did not go unnoticed by Marshall. The inspector opened his mouth to explain, but changed his mind and went back to his desk to start on the paperwork. Glancing at his watch, Marshall realized the conversation had taken place over three hours ago.

Marshall's Blackberry dinged in its cradle. He tore his eyes away from the monitor and checked the caller ID. The call was from the main APD switchboard. "That's peculiar," he thought, "There is only one person who calls me from the main APD line, when it was unrelated to a case. Abigail." He had no pending cases with APD and really did not feel like talking to the perky detective. Dating Abigail was not one of his finer moments: he had been pissed at Mary for running away with Faber, and used the detective as a distraction. It worked for a while, but after she arrested Brandi, he could not bring himself to explore the relationship any further. He remembered hearing through the grapevine that she transferred out of APD shortly after their breakup. The decision had to be an easy one to make: even though detective Chaffee was doing her job, her career at APD was doomed once she crossed Dora Alpert. The woman did not take kindly to her future daughter-in-law's arrest on circumstantial evidence and made her displeasure known to the APD Chief. "Not Abigail then," Marshall decided and picked up the call.

"Marshall."

"This is Jack Green."

"What can I do for you at this late hour, Jack?"

It did not take a nuclear scientist to figure out that Liz' son got into trouble. But Marshall wanted the boy to confirm his assumption. The inspector had done this job long enough to know that he was looking at another long night.

The boy sighed. "Remember, you said I could call you with anything? So, this is me calling. Not to talk actually, but I kind of need your help. I seem to have gotten into a little trouble."

"Define 'a little trouble'?"

"I'm at the APD precinct, I mean the station. I went to a party at UNM Greek house with a few guys from the academy. Things got blown out of proportion. Can you come get me?"

"I'm on my way. Do not talk to anyone." Marshall stressed the last phrase.

"Thanks, Marshall." The boy paused, "Please, don't call my mother?" he pleaded, but the marshal had already ended the call.

Marshall logged off his computer, checked his weapon and badge, grabbed the keys to his truck and was out the door of the office in less than thirty seconds. He opted for the stairs instead of the elevator and hit the speed dial for Mary while running down the steps. Despite their unresolved issues, he knew she would string him up for not calling her pronto. She picked up on the fourth ring, just as he was pulling out of the garage. Marshall heard Mariachi music in the background before she spoke.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this call, oh, partner of mine?" she asked in a sticky sweet voice. "You finally hauled your sorry ass back to town?" Her tone turned acerbic to contain the excitement she had felt seeing his number popup on her caller id.

"Mare, now is not the time…"

"Did you need something, Marshall?" she interrupted, exasperated. "Or was the point of this call to continue the pissing contest?" She was not letting him off the hook.

"Are you at a bar, Mare?"

"Unless you have a good reason to ask me that, it's none of your business."

"If you've been drinking, I'll handle it and update you in the morning."

"Hey, asshole, you called me, so stop beating around the bush and spit it out."

Marshall resigned himself to not getting a straight answer out of her. He should have known better than to leave town without patching things up with her first. When Stan had called him at the crack of dawn with the emergency on Thursday, he was forced to tell him that Charlie had to pick him up from his house, with his truck being in the garage of the Sunshine building. Marshall had no time to bring Mary coffee that morning, although he was certain she expected a peace offering. When he did not show at her house or at the office, she had to have unleashed her wrath on whoever was closest at the moment. Marshall sincerely hoped it was not Eleanor. A full blown fight between the two without him at the office to run interference was a scene to be avoided at all costs. At the moment, though he had more pressing matters to consider, such as how long she made him pay for calling her on her bullshit this time."Goddamn woman," he swore inwardly before continuing.

"Please get a hold of Liz and stay close until I figure out what's happening."

"Marshall, what the hell is it? Don't make me find you and beat it out of you."

"I just got off the phone with Jackson. He's being held at the APD. I'm on my way down to the station right now."

He heard a muffled curse, and indistinct conversation. Mary must have put her hand over the phone. She was not alone.

"Great," he thought. "She is back to her old modus operandi. And I'm left out in the cold… again. I should have known better than to listen to Liz." But before he could get himself worked up, Mary was back on the phone.

"We'll meet you there."

The lack of sleep, the emotional upheaval, and the never ending shit storm the Green family continued dishing at them finally took its toll. Marshall was close to losing control over his emotions. He took a deep breath to steady himself, before saying something to Mary that he would regret later.

"Mare, taking Liz to APD is not the best idea. By the time you get to her, there is a good chance that I've made this go away. I'll call you later," he said, his voice tight with irritation.

"I'm with Liz, numb nuts." She stressed every word, but her voice softened with the realization that he was still trying to take care of her, despite their fight and his evident exhaustion.

"You are with Liz?" he echoed, dumbfounded, chastising himself for jumping to conclusions.

"That's what I said. After spending some quality time with the lawyers this afternoon Liz and I were going to get some dinner. I guess that is now shot to hell. Is the cheerleader running the show?" There was a hint of something in her voice, practically indiscernible, but he caught it.

"Was it possible that Mary Shannon was jealous of Abigail?" He filed away the thought for careful consideration later.

"I'd imagine it would be rather hard for her to do, seeing how she transferred out of APD two months ago. Other than that, I don't know anything yet. I will as soon as I hang up this phone. I am about to walk in. Call you later." He did not wait for her response and disconnected the earpiece.

Walking up to the officer on duty, Marshall flashed his badge and asked to see the detective in charge of the investigation of the UNM case.

"You're in luck," the officer said, "I just saw him go out for a smoke. If you go through the double doors on the left, you will see him in the courtyard. Not many places left around here for the smokers…" the wistful tone and the raspy voice revealed the officer's own affinity to nicotine. Marshall nodded in thanks and went to find the detective.

As soon as Marshall opened the door, he saw who was standing next to the ashtray and grinned.

"Bobby D., brother, what are you doing back in town?"

"Marshall, my man! Great to see you!" They bumped fists. Bobby was excited to see the marshal.

"I called you Thursday night; thought I would catch up with you at the Two Fools." Bobby chuckled.

"I was out of town." Marshall was happy to see Bobby, but wished it were under different circumstances. "So, you went from homicide to narc by way of Chicago?"

"You could say that. Or, you could say I'm getting the lay of the land until Bell retires next month."

"So, Captain Dershowitz, eh?"

"Uh-huh." Bobby could not contain his smug expression.

"Congrats, that is great, man. Two Fools tomorrow night, then?"

"You got it. No date tomorrow night?" Bobby bated his friend.

"You've heard, huh?"

"Yeah. Pity that, she was hot." Bobby smirked, and then turned serious.

"Now that we have got that out of the way, why are you here? Wait, don't tell me. Some things don't change. One of the punks is yours, right? Damn it. I'm back a week… They don't pay me enough for this shit."

"You know I can neither confirm nor deny..."

"Cut the crap, Marshall. Which one am I cutting loose?"

"Jackson Green. What do you have on him?"

"Nothing major: possession, but not enough for intent to sell. He is a recreational cannabis user if that, but one entitled brat. We wouldn't have taken him in if he hadn't mouthed off."

"Did you book him?"

"Not yet. Took his personal effects to sweat him a bit: he's all yours. But," Bobby raised his right index finger, "You owe me one. Do me a favor: talk some sense into the kid. I won't be as lenient next time."

"I have a better idea: Habitat for Humanity. I don't think Jack held a hammer once in his life. He is sixteen, so he meets the criteria to work at the site. It will do him good."

Marshall smiled, pleased with his idea.

"Manual labor? I like it. Let me know when you get it together, I wouldn't mind lending a hand."

They walked back into the building: Bobby led Marshall to the interrogation room where Jack was fidgeting in anticipation of his fate. Marshall contemplated slapping the cuffs on the teen to make a point, but decided against it. Once Liz heard the trouble junior got into she would be livid. Jack was acting out to get attention, but Marshall could see that the teenager was petrified he might get more than he bargained for from his mother.

As soon as they got to his truck, Marshall noticed the shift in Jack's demeanor from sulking to defiant. The kid was preparing for the fight with Liz, Marshall realized. As entertaining as that would be, his plans for teaching the boy a lesson did not include Jack getting slapped in the face for making smart remarks to his mother again. The woman had a limited arsenal of tools to deal with her son. Marshall supposed she had not done much disciplining of Jack when he was growing up, leaving it to her cousin Edith. As a result, there were few patterns for her to follow.

Marshall hoped Liz would get on board with his plan so he could steer the boy in the right direction. Community service would serve the boy well. He sighed and called Mary. He was not looking forward to talking with her, but needed to let the women know they were heading back to the hotel. Mary was short with him, but clearly concerned for Liz and Jack. She was not thinking about their fight. If anything, Mary possessed an uncanny ability to compartmentalize her life. The job and personal life did not mix. Marshall suspected she would revert to being mad at him as soon as the situation with Jack was resolved. He had no problem with it per se: they had things to say to each other, and sweeping their issues under the rug would not help matters.

The drive was short. Marshall kept his silence, wanting to run his idea by Liz before having his conversation with Jack. Assuming things settled down, he could devote some time to mentoring Jack as he intended on the trip from New York. Otherwise, Marshall was certain, there would be more calls to the station and more trouble for them to clean up. Bobby let it slide the first time, but giving Jack a wrong idea of not being punished was a recipe for minting a delinquent.

When they arrived at the hotel, Marshall walked through the door first and had a silent conversation with Mary. He was happy she picked up on his intent and hurried Jack out of the way and into his room before Liz could get a word in to her son. Marshall described the situation and his plan for getting Jack to clean up his act. When Liz agreed asking for few clarifications, Marshall was surprised because he expected her to protest. Instead, she seemed thrilled with the prospect of her son building houses for the community. Marshall explained that walk-in volunteers were not accepted at the project, but he would sign Jack up for four Saturdays starting with the next, assuring her that he would supervise her son's work. She asked him what sins he was paying penance for, but Marshall did not entertain that conversation. He had his fill of her thoughts on the subject at the bar a few days ago. He had not had the chance to tell Mary that he was out drinking with her witness, and knew there would be hell to pay once his partner found out.

A/N: So, Bobby D. is back with a bang and a promotion. And Marshall is going to sport a tool belt working for Habitat for Humanity for four Saturdays straight (It's a great organization, by the way). One of those Saturdays is the day of the Benefit. But Marshall doesn't know anything about the Benefit because Mary hasn't told him.

Do you want to see these guys swinging hammers, or should I skip that part?

Hit the button. Let me know what you think.

---

Chapter 13: Actions Speak Louder than Words

---

Gleb sat in a dingy room at an hourly rate hotel in the Meatpacking district. It had been a week since he found out the Superior Vor wrote him off at the summit, and he left his posh apartment facing the ocean to lay low at a string of dive hotels, switching the location every day and settling up in cash. On the upside side he had plenty of cash stashed for a rainy day, on the downside there was a hit man looking for him. He avoided popular restaurants, choosing small eateries scattered all over town, staying away from the neighborhoods where he could be recognized. Americanec was not oblivious to the NYPD detail trailing him around the city and took comfort in the protection it offered. The uniforms would be of little help if the sniper was involved, but with them on his heels he was safe from a fake mugging gone badly. He was cornered, cut off from his associates on the inside. There was no one in the organization who would risk helping him in the fear of being considered guilty by association and taken out in a box. This left his contacts outside of the organization, although finding one among those who was not connected to the inside was tricky.

Mulling over his predicament he swore violently. Every action he had taken so far to manage the situation blew up in his face, metaphorically for now. Gleb winced at the memory of the explosion at the Park Avenue building: it was still fresh in his mind. The idea belonged to an overzealous former associate of his, God rest the idiot's soul. Gleb abandoned his own car at the apartment building to spare himself should the cleaner sent after him get a similar idea.

Americanec considered his options: there was not much he could accomplish in New York. The only chance of surviving this ordeal was to return to Moscow and present his case before the summit. Under Gleb's watchful eye, the treasury increased rapidly and the Vors were happy with his performance. Before the incident with Stone, Americanec ran a tight ship, and if he proved his ability to dissolve the situation to the majority of the Vors /thieves/ Filin would have no choice but to call off the dogs. The summit could put pressure on both Filin and Sedoi to deal with Baron's daughter. After all, Baron had been dead for years, how important could she really be? After he secured his position with the summit, he would be back to fight the charges, or deal with Lizzy on his own terms. He knew he could still rely on Advokat for support: he might help him plan his comeback and take the old crew out of business. Gleb chuckled at the thought. It was time for the novy zakonniki /new thieves-in-law/ to take the reins of the organization. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Before leaving, Gleb still needed to take care of a few things in the States. There was the matter of locating Elizabeth Graham, since the enforcer he sent to St. Louis was just as incompetent as the rest of the men he chose for the effort to clean up the mess with Stone. The schmuck managed to get arrested in St. Louis on a drunk and disorderly, and found nothing better than to call Gleb on his cell phone to report on his shortcoming. Gleb had no doubt his LUDs were studied by the NYPD, and ditched the phone as soon as he dropped the call. The situation left much to be desired and was deteriorating rapidly. Gleb also had to put a lid on his source in the District Attorney's office. The guy was a loose cannon and a pervert. Plus he knew Gleb's identity and his interest in locating Elizabeth Graham.

Gleb needed a private eye specializing in locating people and a cleaner. The classifieds for both were posted in a certain paper; all he had to do now was wait for prospective consultants to reach out to him via the burn phone he picked up to deal with this nasty piece of business. As soon as he was able to put the help to work, he would leave the country. He would lose the tail, alter his appearance and disappear for a while. They would never know what happened to him. Happy with his plan, he pulled his briefcase off the bed and headed out: it was time to put it into action.

The damn car would not start. No matter how many times Mary turned the key, there was a deafening silence. She slapped the steering wheel in silent rage. She would not unravel in front of Marshall, not tonight. Her partner stood ten feet away, leaning on the hood of his Japanese import and looking at her futile attempts to start the Mustang. Peter gave her this car as a trade up: it was supposed to be reliable, but turn out to be just as much of a piece of junk as her old Probe, the both of them.

"Well," she thought bitterly, "at least with the Probe I was prepared for it to choke and die on me. This one was an unexpected letdown."

She assaulted the steering wheel again as though it would magically coax the car back to life. And then she saw it: the culprit of her trouble was of her own doing. Amidst the night's insanity, she left the headlights on, draining the charge out of the battery. The irony of the situation did not escape her tired mind: her fight with Marshall was just as much her fault as the trouble with the car. Mary had more than enough time on her hands while Marshall was out of town to figure out she practically pushed him to that outburst at the office, not that she would ever admit it. Her rage had long since tapered off, quickly morphing into regret. She was reluctant to show it to Marshall, lacking the ability to admit being wrong and her pride getting the best of her. Mary was snapping at him, unsure how to get past the situation.

As with most fights, and theirs was no exception, the reason for the fallout was trivial, it was the underlying cause that truly mattered. It was not the first time he had given her grief about mocking Brandi's occupation, and she had always nonsensically brushed it off. This time it was different: her exaggerated reaction to his words came from the conversation at his house. Marshall saw through her inability to tell him what she wanted to say and perhaps what he needed to hear and it infuriated her.

"Who gave him the right to read me like a book?"

"You did," her inner voice responded. "It never bothered you before."

"He had never made any demands before."

"Did he start now? No, it is you who now sees him differently. He has not changed the way he acts toward you one bit."

"But I hardly see him outside of work anymore."

"Again, this never bothered you before. His reluctance to talk about his personal life was always there, and it served you fine. Maybe it is time to consider why it started bothering you?"

Getting out of her car, Mary shook her head to silence her internal dialogue and kicked a tire.

"Are you going to assault your vehicle, or will you let me take you home now?" Marshall asked with a smirk.

"I need to do the incident report for the stunt Jack pulled tonight." She tried to sound nonchalant.

"All right, office it is then." Her partner offered, gesturing to the passenger side door. He was going to do the paperwork for her, as he always did, but since she was still lashing out at him, decided against it.

"Come on, Mare. Unless you would rather walk?" Marshall intended to go to the office to finish his own paperwork, having gotten a second wind after the long discussion with Liz on the subject of Jack's behavior. Doing paperwork would give him a chance to wind down before calling it a night.

"It's only a few blocks." Mary grumbled, expecting him to persuade her.

"Suit yourself." He shrugged, getting into his truck.

She rushed over and pulled open the door.

"Fine," she huffed, climbing inside. "But, do not assume this gives you a free pass for that outburst of yours the other day."

"I would not dream of it." He said, smiling.

"Asshole." she muttered.

"I heard that. Perhaps I ought to make you walk."

"Just drive, numb nuts, unless you want to lose a limb."

"That's my girl," He murmured.

Mary heard him, but refused to acknowledge the term of endearment. There was a lump in her throat threatening to erupt in a wail. She ordered herself not to cry, choking back the tears as her partner pulled into the garage of the Sunshine Building.

Marshall keyed them in and held the door. She stumbled at the threshold, and he caught her by the elbow. She shivered from the contact: as impersonal as it was, it sent goose bumps down her spine and into her toes.

"I will go put the coffee pot on," She croaked out, making a beeline for the kitchen.

Her partner followed her retreating form, perplexed. He did not miss her reaction to his touch. Marshall did not know what to make of it: he was well aware of her aversion to human contact and did not initiate it often. Reaching for her when she stumbled was instinct, his training taking over to keep her from falling, nothing more, and yet, she jumped as though his fingers stunned her.

Mulling it over, Marshall walked to his desk and booted up his computer for the second time that evening.

"Technically, it is first time this morning, but who is counting?" he thought to himself. He pulled up the draft forms he had worked on before leaving the office, and started a new set to document his account of Jack's incident. Engrossed in the process he did not notice Mary approach before she set his mug in front of him with a thud.

"Here, nitwit, you look dead on your feet."

"Thanks, Mare."

"That was not a compliment."

"Well, you did bring me coffee."

"Right." She looked mildly alarmed by his observation and walked to her desk shaking her head.

An hour passed, Mary sat at her desk, sipping her second cup of coffee. She could not focus on the forms on her computer screen. Her mind kept replaying the bits of the conversation she had with Marshall earlier that night. He was but five feet away, yet she felt as if he was in a parallel universe.

"How did we get here? The one relationship that means something to me is going to hell and all I seem to manage is to screw it up more and more with every word I say. I am digging a hole fit for two and he is not doing anything to stop me… Why would he not talk to me? Just tell me what he needs to hear? Does he not realize there is very little that I would not do for him? After all these years he should know better than keep things from me... Abigail transferred from APD two months ago. Why did I not know that? Am I that worthless of a friend? Did she leave Marshall? Is that why he has been sulking? No," she decided, "That was not it. He was fine two months ago. Did he leave her then? Does it even matter now if he did not bother telling me? Then what? When did he start treating this, us, differently?" She backtracked the last two months. "He started pulling back after being reinstated to active duty. The Scalavino incident…" she slapped her forehead, missing a quizzical stare from Marshall. He had completed the forms a little while earlier and sat in silence observing her covertly, trying to decipher her body language. "The psych evaluation. Shelley. The witch is the culprit. I bet she is still pining for him. She used her position to keep him hostage for his badge. That little bitch. I knew she had an angle. I should really talk to Stan..." Mary's fists clenched and unclenched: she slammed her keyboard and dashed outside onto the terrace. She refused to have a jealous fit over her partner in front of him.

Mary flopped on one of the metal chairs, punched the side table and exhaled deeply. The air was crisp and clean, just like it was the night they took a stroll from Liz's hotel to the office their first night back in Albuquerque. Her breath steamed in the chilly air: having stormed out wearing only a sweater she shivered. In early April, the temperatures climbed steadily during the day, but the nights were still too cold to be sitting out without a coat. Despite freezing her butt off, she was not ready to return to the office. Wrapping her arms around her midsection, she stubbornly sat on the chair and stared up into the cloudy sky. The low clouds were shielding the moon and the stars from her eyes. The door chimed and she felt her jacked drape her shoulders. She shoved her arms inside the sleeves without turning to look at Marshall. She knew he stood next to her, waiting. She sighed.

"Hey," he spoke softly, "what has been eating at you?"

Mary rose from the chair and silently stalked over to the corner of the balcony. She had no idea what to tell him. She felt things were changing between them, and was torn between embracing the change and fleeing scared. Stripped of the comfort of living in denial, Mary wondered what it would be like to be with Marshall in every sense of the word.

When she kept silent, he tried again. "Hey, where did you go? Talk to me, Mare."

She was so preoccupied by her thoughts she did not see him move. She felt his breath rustle the hair on top of her head: Marshall stood half a step behind her, careful not to touch, but close enough to comfort if she accepted it. She inhaled his scent, bracing herself for a difficult conversation.

"What is happening to us, Marshall?" she asked, not moving a muscle, too afraid to lean into him, but unwilling to drive him away.

"Why would you say something is happening? This is hardly the first disagreement we have had over the years." He was playing it down, intent on restoring the delicate balance in their partnership.

"I do not mean the fight. It is true, we argue all the time, but this is different."

"Different how?" She was making it increasingly tough for him to gloss over the situation, not to mention her proximity was muddling his brain function.

"Do not do this, Marshall. Please." She dropped her voice to a whisper.

He strained to hear her words.

"I miss you. I want my best friend back," she said, turning around.

"But, Mare, I was gone less than three days."

"I do not mean that. Jesus, Marshall, how did this get so damn hard?"

Mary looked up at her partner. The sky over his head cleared, the moonlight flooded the terrace with pale light. Marshall's face was mere inches from hers and she was taken by the play of light in his deep dark eyes. She knew they were smoky blue, not that she could see it now. Mary studied the familiar chiseled planes and angles of his face: the high cheekbones and the full lips, the laugh lines and the prominent eyebrows; as though committing each to memory, feeling pent up tension in every fiber of her taking over all rational thought in her head.

Marshall saw his partner's eyes fill with tears. Even in her obvious distress Mary was absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. A lone tear slid down her cheek, and before he could stop himself, his right hand darted up, wiping the tear off with his thumb, palm resting on the side of her face. His hand was warm and comforting. She leaned in to his touch, her lips parting slightly and eyes fluttering closed. The invitation was unmistakable.

Marshall brought his left hand up to frame her face, and slowly lowered his lips down to hers. She gasped from the tender contact, her hands coming up to grip the lapels of his jacket, and then slipping up to wrap her arms around his neck. His lips were warm and soft, moving over hers tentatively, as his right hand tangled in her hair cradling the back of her head, and his left slid down to the small of her back, pulling her close. She sighed into his mouth, opening hers slightly to invite more contact, while her hands gently caressed the nape of his neck. His kiss became more fervent: he slid his tongue in to meet hers with gentle but urgent strokes, exploring and tasting. The feel of her, pliant in his arms, was intoxicating, driving him mad with desire. He could not get enough of kissing her, but knew they had to stop. Marshall pulled away, while he still had a shred of self-control. He rested his forehead against hers, giving them both time to recover their breathing. Mary's eyes flew open in surprise, but she quickly regained her composure. Fitting that they would share their first kiss at the Sunshine Building.

"Come on cowboy, I seem to remember you promising to drive me home." The sass was back in her tone.

He quirked his eyebrow at her with unspoken question: uncertain how to interpret her words.

"Mind out of the gutter, Pervis. I know you finished all the paperwork: time to pack it in. It is Saturday, for crying out loud."

"Your wish is my command, Milady." He was used to the mood swings, although her reaction or lack thereof puzzled him. The conversation they had could be described as odd at best, and the rest, well, his lust addled mind was simply not equipped to process.

They rode the elevator down quietly, each trying to make sense of what happened between them on the balcony. When they got to Marshall's truck, Mary did not reach for his keys, wordlessly climbing into the passenger seat and patiently waiting for him to leave the garage. Marshall drove through the empty streets of sleepy Albuquerque, quietly humming to the smooth jazz station, while Mary stared out of the window, curiously chewing on her lower lip, oblivious to the longing glances he shot her way at every traffic light. She was so preoccupied by her thoughts she did not notice the SUV come to a stop at the curb next to her house or her partner climb out.

Marshall walked around the truck, opened the door and offered Mary his hand. She took it reflexively instead of slapping it away. She did not let go until they were at her front door and the lawman wondered if she had noticed they walked over holding hands. Most likely she did not, otherwise, she would have ridiculed him already, he reasoned dejectedly.

Mary turned to the door, fumbling with her keys. Pushing it open she walked in and turned around to see her partner walking down her front steps. Marshall was leaving. "Wait," she wanted to call after him, but the word got caught in her throat. She had to stop him. It took her a split second to make a decision.

"Um, would you like a cup of coffee?" she offered softly, her tone uncharacteristically hesitant.

The question sounded ridiculous in the wee hours of the morning, after all the coffee they had already had, but Marshall was no fool. He knew what she was really asking and threw his reservations to the wind. Mary Shannon liked things easy. If that was what it took for them to be together, for now, this would have to suffice.

He stood in the hallway of Mary's house completely motionless, holding her tightly against him. Waiting for her to make the first move, Mary realized. She looked up at him and licked her lips, watching as his darkened eyes followed the movement of her tongue. He raised his hand and ran his long index finger down from the bridge of her nose to her mouth, and she leaned into his feather light touch, seeking more contact. Tracing her jaw with the back of his hand, he tilted up her chin.

Her hands slid up the lapels of his jacket, briefly pausing at the western stitching at his pectoral muscles. She felt their light tremor under her palms. Running her hands up higher, she looped her arms around his neck. "Good Lord, he is tall," a thought flickered in her mind before it went completely blank, as she closed the distance between their mouths. The first touch of his lips on hers had her head spinning and warmth spreading down to her toes. Mary leaned closer into him, slipping her hands into his hair; the sensation from his hands rubbing her back heightening her desire to drag him into her bed right at that moment.

"Wait, this is Marshall..." The reality of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. "I am about a hairbreadth from banging my partner through the mattress."

She felt panic rising inside and broke the kiss, panting. The emotional intensity of the encounter was not something she was used to. This was outside of her comfort zone. Sex she knew, but this… this was definitely more than that. She did not know what it was they were about to do, and yet, did not want to analyze it; afraid the moment would slip away from them. Absolutely certain that she did not want miss out on this opportunity, she buried her head in the crook of his neck, unwilling to share the conflict she was grappling with, knowing that he would see it in her eyes.

Marshall did not rush her or question her reaction. His cheek came to rest on top of her head as he held her close, giving her time to recover, to back out if she had changed her mind about crossing the line they had danced around for the last nine years. He felt her ragged breath hitting his collar bone. He had dreamed about this moment for years, but nothing he had imagined prepared him to feel what he did when she had first kissed him. He was in heaven and hell: torn between the desire to rip her clothes off to have her right then against the door hard and fast; and to take his time to slowly remove each garment, piece by piece and explore her body with his hands and mouth. But he held back his desire, putting her first as he always did, ready to follow her lead to wherever she was willing to take him. He waited for her to make a decision. Did they move forward into an uncharted territory or step back into a familiar one?

Her fingers trailed short paths at the nape of his neck and her lips nibbled a path on the underside of his jaw. "Looks like she's decided then," he thought with relief. He did not know if he could take her rejection tonight. When her tongue swirled around his Adam's apple, all rational thought left his brain and he could not contain a growl.

Marshall felt her smile against his skin. "Two can play this game," he thought, sliding his hand down her hip to hike her leg up over his waist. Mary gasped in surprise, but instead of pulling back, lifted her other leg, wrapping it tight around him. He looked into her bright green eyes, searching for any remnants of doubt, but saw only sparks of mischief.

No matter how much he wanted this, wanted Mary, Marshall was not about to have their first time happen in the hall of her house. He carried Mary into her bedroom, his mouth never leaving hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He lowered her onto the bed and helped her ease out of her jacket, trailing kisses along her jaw. Mary's head fell back to give him better access. He took her earlobe into his mouth, sucking gently. She moaned and he took it as encouragement to continue placing small kisses down her throat, seeking sensitive spots.

"You are so beautiful, Mare," he whispered, and her breath hitched in response to his ministrations. Her skin tingled and her eyes closed in anticipation of the things to come.

"Something tells me you're overdressed for the occasion, Marshall," she said softly, peering into his eyes. He was knelling in front of her, carefully undoing the zippers of her tall boots.

"As you wish, Milady," he said, standing up to remove his jacket. He hung it neatly on the back of a chair before turning back to Mary.

"Fussy," she said, sliding off the bed. Her eyes twinkled, as she stalked over to his side, stopping inches away. "Let me see if I can help with that."

She reached for the top button on his shirt to undress him.

"Sweet," she thought, realizing the button was a snap, "less work, more play."

She slipped her hand between the second and third one and popped the entire thing open in a single downward motion. Her fingertips grazed his stomach and her hand came to rest on his gigantic belt buckle."This thing has got to go, Marshall," she said, undoing it.

He caught her hands and pulled her close. His lips were on hers again, fierce and demanding. This time there was no hesitation in his kiss, no pause. He backed them up to the bed. Mary tumbled on top, but he flipped them over in one smooth motion.

"What are you waiting for, cowboy, an engraved invitation?" she asked, struggling to catch her breath as they broke apart.

He rose over her, quirking up his eyebrow. "I live to serve, Milady."

He wanted to feel every inch of her, to remember this moment of becoming one with the woman he had loved and longed for, for the woman he thought he would never have. She was not to be denied, not by him. Marshall would never dream of restraining her in life, and most definitely not in her bed. He leaned down kissing her fiercely, so she could no longer think, only feel. And then she was plunged into toe-curling oblivion, her moan turning into a scream, crying out his name. He followed her over with his own release, his hands gripping her tightly as his world exploded. Rolling to his side, he held her until she came down, unwilling to pull apart, to lose that contact that was so precious to him, the memory of which he would cherish no matter what happened come morning. He kissed her slowly, taking his time, before making a beeline for the bathroom.

Marshall stared at his reflection in the mirror. "What now? Do I stay the night, or do I leave?" he thought, trying to make sense of what they had done. For the first time as far as he could remember, he did not have a plan to deal with a situation.

"She hates when her cowboys stay over… so I should probably leave. But then again, she wouldn't put me in the same line as her disposable men, would she?"

Mary stretched like a cat, feeling relaxed for the first time in days. She let her gaze wander over her partner's well-toned back as he disappeared behind the bathroom door, and wondered why she had not taken him out of his clothes earlier. Maybe that touchy feely business was not as scary as she imagined it to be. Of course who knew what the morning would bring. But for now, she had no desire to think about tomorrow.

"Marshall has been gone for a while now," she thought, "he is over-thinking this."

"Marshall, come back to bed," she called. She usually did not care to cuddle, but while he was gone, she missed his weight and warmth.

Marshall returned to bed and stretched on his back, uncertain what to do next. Mary sighed, pulling the covers up over both of them, then scooted over and nestled into his side.

"Sleep, Marshall. You're exhausted," she said, sleepily reaching behind with her hand, found his and dragged it across her waist. She was asleep seconds later with his arm draped over her, their fingers laced.

---

Chapter 14: New Beginning

---

Liz tied back her hair, put on a tracksuit and left her hotel room shortly after sunrise. Over the years, she had gotten used to waking up early and going for a run in Central Park. She had always caught her favorite trail at Central Park West, by the softball field, then went around the playground and emerged by the Carousel. In an effort to reestablish a semblance of control over her life, Liz started with her daily morning run. It had always helped her clear her head in the morning and prioritize the things she needed to accomplish during the day.

Martin had taught her that getting settled in a new place was about finding ways of building a new routine around old habits. Liz had no idea how long she would stay in Albuquerque: her resolve to keep things temporary fizzled out at some point during the trip from New York. She had not abandoned her plans to learn who was behind her biological father's untimely demise or how Rob got involved with the Russians, but for now, she was determined to put herself back together away from her old life.

Liz took off in the direction of Old Town, as she had done every day for the last five. After a week in Albuquerque, her biological clock was still on Eastern Standard Time and the two hour difference between the time zones reinforced her habit of running just as the sun came up. Thinking over how everything had changed in the last few weeks, Liz ran up Second Street. The irony of that did not escape her: back home, and she would always consider New York City her home, she hardly ever ventured below Forty Second Street unless she had a meeting downtown. Yet, in Albuquerque she had found herself on Second every day. She passed a familiar food truck on the corner of Fourth and Lomas Boulevard.

"Morning, Randy," she yelled, waiving to the vendor. She had seen him every day since she started running. He would have her morning coffee ready by the time she was heading back to the hotel.

"Morning, Liz," he said, popping out of the back door. "How many miles today?"

"Going for five," she said, focused on keeping her breath and her pace steady.

"See you in an hour then."

Randy watched her head up the street until she disappeared from view around the corner. Liz ran on the outer loop of Tiguex Park and headed up the street in the direction of her future house. She found the architecture of Old Town so appealing, that she decided to limit her search to that neighborhood, despite the real estate broker's assurances that the sprawling estates of Sandia Heights suited her better. She seldom paid attention to unsolicited advice, especially when she knew what she wanted. And this time she was certain that she would find her place in the Old Town. She remembered Marshall telling her, that "Good things come to those who come to Albuquerque," and smiled. A few days ago, on her run, she spotted a 'for sale by owner' notice in a courtyard of a Mediterranean style house and scheduled a tour for the same afternoon. Her hunch paid off: it was love at first sight. The owners were thrilled that she wanted to close quickly and did not haggle over the price; and yesterday, they drew up the papers for the closing.

Liz wanted this house. There were things that she would have to fix to make it her own, but she saw it as an advantage. She would have something to do with her time while she planned her future. Keeping busy kept her grief at bay. In New York, everywhere she looked, there were reminders of Rob. In this town, she was safe from the onslaught of her memories. If she tried hard enough, she could almost forget seeing his lifeless body sprawled on the carpet of his office and pretend he was busy working on a deal in New York, while she was starting fresh in Albuquerque. Some days were still more difficult than others, nights more difficult than days, but she found strength to carry on as long as she did not idle. She picked up her pace, pushing these thoughts out of her mind, while running around the cul-de-sac to head back.

Liz focused on taking in her surroundings: the neatly trimmed hedges of her future neighbor on the right, the odd design of the paving stones in the driveway on the left, and the tree lined yard by the road ahead. She sprinted down the sidewalk back to the park, with a hint of a smile on her lips. Old Town Albuquerque gave her the ability to get around without having to drive, and it felt just about like home, only with warmer weather and cleaner air. She loved the proximity of her new house to the Rio Grande Botanic Garden and Albuquerque Country Club. She was looking forward to working on her handicap once the disposition of Graham Stone Developers was completed.

Liz decided to check out the driving range that afternoon, knowing she would need a break from analyzing the documents, which she had received from Pat late Friday afternoon. She would have to run the numbers before sending them back with her signature. Martin needed the papers back no later than Tuesday to put the final phase of the deal in motion. The sale of Graham Stone Developers was coming together: due diligence on the assets was moving faster than she had anticipated.

Running up to the food truck, Liz remembered her decision to take up hiking. Having bought a truck that offered her the luxury she was used to and the ruggedness to get her to the trails of the Sandia Mountains, it was next on her list. Driving around with Mary, she saw a few signs for ranches offering riding lessons. She would not mind spending some time doing that as well. It had been a while since she went to the stables in the Hamptons. As she considered her future in Albuquerque, she decided she was turning a corner; Martin had been right, after twenty years of working herself to the bone, she deserved a break to regroup and do things she loved, yet, for which she had never seemed to have the time.

Sunlight streaming through partially closed blinds awoke Mary from her peaceful slumber. She burrowed under the covers and snuggled against Marshall. For the first time in years, she felt happy. And that happiness had not been buried under a pile of anything. It was just there. She had not forgotten what it felt like, although the last time she had experienced such a pure state of contentment was before she was seven years old. She realized she was still holding Marshall's hand against her chest. She had voluntarily tangled herself up with another. That spoke volumes about her mindset last night. She slowly turned in Marshall's arms and studied his face. He was sleeping soundly: his breathing was even and features relaxed; the expression of apprehension, which had been etched on his face for the last few weeks, was finally erased.

Mary suspected that she had been the cause of his distress as of late, and could not help but hope that she had not ruined their partnership with her actions. She had made her share of mistakes when it came to dealing with men, but for some reason, could not bring herself to think that last night had been among those. She felt his hesitation afterward, but was reluctant to dissect its cause. Having come to the conclusion that Marshall had not really shared much of his concerns with her, she was determined to get to the root of his discontent. "Now that we are… What exactly?" It occurred to her, that she was at a loss to define their new relationship. "Partners? For sure. Friends?" Unless this new development proved an insurmountable obstacle she saw no reason for them not to be friends still. "Friends with benefits?" She was certain she was uncomfortable with that concept when Marshall was the friend in question. In fact, as she thought more about it, it became more disconcerting not to be able to lay her claim on Marshall. She had no idea what she wanted her claim on him to be, but she knew she wanted something more than what they already had. She was certain of one thing: she had absolutely no desire to share this man with anyone.

Absorbed in these thoughts, Mary inched closer and buried her face in the crook of Marshall's neck. She wanted to reclaim the feeling of pure bliss, with which she had awakened. She inhaled his scent, so familiar and comforting, and relaxed into him, resolving to play it by ear. Her relationship with Marshall had never fit in the realm of conventional. There was no reason to force it into that realm now. She contemplated going back to sleep, since they were off duty this Saturday. Her intention was thwarted by annoying buzzing of her phone from the nightstand. She reached for the gadget with a muffled curse, hoping the sound did not rouse Marshall. "Stan" showed up on the caller id. Mary reluctantly untangled herself from Marshall's embrace and slipped off the bed. Walking out into the living room while jerking on her bathrobe, she answered the call.

"Stan, this better be a witness emergency…"

Mary stopped herself midsentence, before telling her boss that Marshall needed time to regroup after the transfer. Explaining why Marshall was asleep at her place would have been interesting, to say the least. She was not ready to tackle that conversation. Her brain must have checked out completely after going into overdrive analyzing her relationship with Marshall. She made her way into the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. She heard Stan's voice through the fog of her thoughts.

"Where are you?"

"Burger King."

"Well, grab me a Whopper Jr., no pickles; don't forget to bring your mitt."

"A: get your own Whopper, B: I don't own a mitt, which follows since I don't play softball."

"Mary, it's Marshals versus APD!" He tried to convey the urgency with his tone, but it was lost on Mary.

"I'm not a team player, Stan, and that's a direct quote from last year's performance appraisal. Besides, my Saturdays are sacred."

"Since when?"

"It's a recent development. Look, team sports with coworkers isn't fun, it's work. And I don't work on my one special, blessed day. Good bye, Stan," she said, severing the connection and walking back towards her bedroom.

Marshall had woken up as soon as Mary started to stir. He kept his eyes closed and breathing even, determined to hold her in his arms for as long as she would let him, before having to face reality again. He felt her eyes search his face and tense from her thoughts. Resisting the temptation to open his eyes and offer her comfort, he focused on his breathing; lest he give away he was awake. If she wanted his comfort, she would reach for him. She was still in his arms, was she not? Though, if she continued moving against him much longer, he realized, it would be difficult for him to continue his ruse, as he felt his body reacting to her movements. It took all his self-control not to groan, when she buried her face in his neck. He would have to come clean in short order, if by some miracle she had not noticed he was awake yet; she undoubtedly would in a moment. He was relieved, hearing the buzzing of her phone. "Saved by the call," he thought, catching her hesitation in tearing herself away from him.

Marshall needed a moment to gather his thoughts before facing Mary this morning. He had operated on instinct the night before and was unsure if he wanted to question her motives. She was not ready to have a conversation about their changing relationship and he decided not to push her. For the first time in months, he was close to his dreams becoming reality. Well aware of Mary's aversion to change, he had to tread lightly. He had no desire to fumble their friendship by hurrying her into something for which she was unprepared. He had to ensure she knew he would never leave her, no matter what happened between them and then nudge her in the right direction. His best chance of getting the outcome he wanted was for him to follow her lead. Any time he had tried to rush things, she had run. Patience was the key to making this relationship work.

Marshall listened to the sound of her voice coming from the living room. From her tone he could tell she was snapping at Stan. Mary was in her protective mode and if his suspicions were right, it had something to do with him. He heard her ending the call. Her footsteps in the hall were intentionally light: she was doing her best not to wake him. He smiled at the thought. There was hope for them yet.

Mary walked into the bedroom and saw that Marshall was awake, sitting up against the headboard.

"Good Morning, Sunshine," he drawled with a grin. "Are we being summoned?"

As if hypnotized with his gaze, she was unable to tear her eyes away from his. She saw as they darkened from cerulean blue to almost black, following her slow movement toward the bed. She let her robe slide off her shoulders. The naked want in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Nah, unless you'd rather partake in a softball game," she said, casually shrugging off the robe and letting it pool at her feet.

"No, I'd much rather do this," he said, reaching for her. She went into his arms willingly, sliding into bed next to him. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow and tracing her jaw with his hand. "And this." He leaned in and sucked on her bottom lip.

She chuckled in response, threading her fingers through his thick hair and pulling him in for a kiss. When they parted for air, she whispered, "You sleep okay?"

"Yeah, you?" he asked softly, placing small kisses up her jaw.

"Uh-hum." Her response was somewhere between a whisper and a moan.

"You have plans today?" he asked, before suckling on her earlobe.

"Fuhgettaboutit," she said, turning and taking his face in her hands. Running her thumbs along the stubble on his cheeks, she breathed against his lips, "And kiss me."

Marshall was only too happy to oblige. If Mary had worked through her reservations on her own, he certainly was not going to question her.

When she broke away, he asked, "Want to jump in the shower?"

"I like the way you think," she said, pulling him off the bed.

Half an hour later, clean and relaxed, Mary walked over to her dresser and rummaged through the bottom drawer. Marshall followed her out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"There, cowboy," she said, tossing a pair of Corona Board Meeting pants and a faded UNM t-shirt on the bed. "I doubt your clothes from last night are wearable."

"Hey, Mare, how long have you had these?" he asked, peering over her shoulder into the drawer. Inside, he noticed another pair of his pajamas along with U.S.M.S. sweats he knew all too well. "I've been looking all over for them."

"What? They're comfortable. And now you have something to wear. See, win-win?"

"I was going to get my go bag from the truck," he said, grinning widely. It pleased him somehow, that she had borrowed his clothes. "I should have something clean left from the transfer."

"I made coffee," she said, walking into the kitchen. "I have to…" she did not have a chance to finish her sentence. Her phone went off again.

Glancing at the caller id, she answered with a grimace, "Brandi, I'm late." She did not lie exactly; she had plans later that day, but not as soon as she had made it sound to Brandi.

"I've got a surprise," her sister said, bubbling over with excitement.

"And you know how much I love those," Mary said, rolling her eyes for Marshall's benefit.

She watched him approach her, mischief sparkling in his eyes. He handed her a cup of coffee, and snaked his free hand around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Mary relaxed into his embrace, indulging her sister in a conversation she had no patience to have. She had just made up her mind to tell Marshall her plan to bust his witness, Ronnie McIntire, for running another con, when Brandi interrupted. Their morning had started so well: she was in no mood for her sister's version of a soap opera.

"It's Mark." Brandi's giddy voice came through the phone.

Mary froze. She hoped Brandi was not saying what Mary thought she was saying. "What's Mark?"

Marshall felt Mary tense in his arms and studied her quizzically. Whatever news Brandi was relaying, did not go over well with his partner. He made a move to step away, but Mary clung to him, reluctant to let go.

"Mark… he's in town and he wants to see you." Brandi continued, and Mary's hand balled into a fist on Marshall's t-shirt. Then she relaxed her hand and smoothed the wrinkles out of the fabric.

"Hey, I'm going to get my bag," Marshall whispered in Mary's ear, making his way to the door, thinking she wanted to finish her conversation with Brandi privately. It was one of those rare occasions, when he misread her wishes. Mary did not know what Brandi was scheming, but suspected that she would not like it. She needed Marshall's support for this conversation, although she did not want to voice it. She set her coffee mug down on the counter and followed him into the hall.

"Just because he's in town, doesn't mean I need to lay my eyes on him," Mary said into the phone and moved it away from her ear. She reached for Marshall as he put his hand on the doorknob. She really did not want him to leave her right now, even for a moment. He half-turned to her, realizing she needed him to stay. Her arms encircled his neck and she nipped at the corner of his mouth. Marshall pulled her to him, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back, and kissed her.

"I'll just be a minute," he said, pulling back a little. Mary mock pouted in response, but loosened her hold, allowing him to open the door.

Brandi and Mark stood at the threshold about to knock. They watched, astonished, as Mary untangled herself from Marshall and turned to face them.

"Well, isn't this awkward," Mark said, breaking the silence.

"Brandi, what the hell? Do you not understand the definition of calling first?" Mary asked, glaring at her sister.

Marshall gave the man standing next to Brandi a stern look, then grinned widely and extended his hand.

"Hi, I'm Marshall, Mary's partner."

"Hey... I'm Mark, Mary's ex-husband." Mark shook the offered hand, feeling strength of the grip of the other man.

Marshall let his hand drop and turned to Mary, eyeing her curiously.

"Mary's what?"

"Um, yeah. I was married for five days when I was 17," Mary said, looking away to hide her discomfort. "It was no big deal. We were young and stupid. Well, we were young and he was stupid."

"Still standing here, Mary," Mark said, realizing that showing up unannounced was not their best idea.

"How has this never come up?" Marshall asked Mary, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

"You know me. I don't like to brag."

Brandi tugged on Mark's sleeve. "We should probably go," she said, uncomfortably. "Mary, I'm sorry for interrupting. I didn't think…"

"Yeah, Brandi, that's the problem right there… you seldom think. We'll talk later." She looked at Mark. "I'd say it was good to see you, but… it really wasn't. Bye, Mark."

"Well, this was interesting," Marshall said, returning from the truck with his bag after Brandi and Mark finally left.

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "Do you think she'll ever start minding her own business and stop messing up my life?"

Mary was rattled by the visit and sulking in the kitchen. Seeing how this could potentially damage what they had started, he needed to diffuse the situation.

"Mare, I'm sure she had nothing but the best intentions in mind."

"She always does though, Marshall." Mary hated that her family was always meddling in her life. Even after moving out, her mother and sister wanted to participate in every facet of her existence, like she was their pet project or something.

"Hey, they're gone right? Mare?" He came to stand next to her. Reaching out, he pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Weren't you going to tell me something before...?" he asked, as though trying to recall the conversation they started before the interruption.

"Um, yeah. That douche bag witness of yours, Ronnie…"

"The affinity scammer?"

Mary spread out the files on the kitchen counter, giving Marshall time to look them over. She had put them together while he was on a witness transport and put together a plan with Everhardt to bring down the con artist. Her intent was to prove to Marshall that guys like Ronnie never changed. But when she had found her proof, she was not nearly as satisfied as she thought she should have been. Somehow, being right had lost its appeal.

Mary popped their cold coffees into the microwave and waited for the fallout. But none came. Her partner never ceased to amaze her. Marshall said nothing about her going behind his back and was studying the documents she gave him.

"I figured he would get back into his old game," he said after he finished reading through the information. Accepting his mug from Mary, he took a sip of coffee. "How do you want to do this?"

"Didn't you have something to take care of this morning?"

"I have a first edition of Elmer Gantry on reserve at the rare book show, but I can pick it up on my way to Two Fools. Are you sure you don't want to come with me to meet Bobby?"

"What? No. I have my own thing… You and D. can catch up without me." She was not planning to tell him anything else, but the words kept pouring out of her. "I wanted to check on Liz tonight. I didn't like her mood yesterday. I expected her to rip Jack a new one and… You were there; you saw her reaction. Something is off."

"Start with the Library bar, then." He fell silent, looking into his mug.

"Why? What do you know?" Mary stepped directly in front of him, so he could not avert his eyes.

"I ran into her there last Wednesday. The bartender acted like he knew her. You know what I mean?"

"What were you doing at the Library bar on Wednesday? And why am I only hearing this now?"

"Mare, we weren't exactly on speaking terms, remember?"

She was immediately contrite. Pensive even. He realized, unintentionally, he had hit a new sore spot, which was not there before. What do you know? His stepping back from their relationship may have given perspective not just for him, but for her as well. She bounced back from her thoughts, looking at him defiantly.

"Okay, back to the op with that tool. I'm running it with Everhardt. You show up after Stan calls you."

"You're not going in without backup," Marshall said, keeping his tone flat and his voice low.

"He's a scammer, not an arms dealer or a gang banger."

Looking up at Marshall, she knew he was not going to budge on this one. After her shooting, the question of her working without backup was non-negotiable. But she would not be true to herself if she did not try again.

"Honestly, Marshall, I didn't have to tell you anything and just because we…"

"Mare, stop right there," he said, prepared to fight out this battle. "Number one, what we have has nothing to do with the job. Number two, we're partners, remember? Number three, last I checked, Ronnie is my witness."

"Fine, numb nuts. But we're still doing it my way. You'll get your book, and I'll get my guy." She gave in reluctantly, watching a smirk replace his concerned expression.

"Then go get dressed, missy, I'll pick up the book on the way and won't show my face until you're ready to bust, deal?" He was expecting a comeback, and gave her a playful shove in the direction of her bedroom.

"Missy? Yeah, call me that again, Doofus, I dare you, and see if all your appendages stay attached afterward." She tossed over her shoulder, conceding that she had to change her clothes if she wanted to proceed with her plan to take Ronnie out of his game.

"Um, something tells me you'd hurt yourself just as much by doing damage to that particular part of my anatomy."

She walked away muttering something indiscernible. He chuckled. Things were definitely looking up for him: not only did he get away with a nickname, but Mary unknowingly confirmed wanting to continue whatever it was that they had started.

---

Chapter 15: Disappearing Act

---

Liz sat in a small office in the accounting department a floor below WITSEC. She turned away from her laptop to the window and watched dusk descend on the Albuquerque skyline. Her laptop's ventilator whizzed, processing the final set of assumptions she loaded into her database. As soon as it finished, she would have a complete set of documents to send to Martin. She rubbed her temples, waiting. Trying to finish her analysis quickly, she had forgone going out for lunch or the driving range as she had planned that morning. It was not unusual for her to choose work over everything else. She did not really feel like eating.

Jackson, she frowned at the new name again, was lashing out at her and she did not know what to do about it. Grounding him did not seem like a good idea. Edith undoubtedly would know how to handle the situation, but it was not as though she could fly into Albuquerque to clean up the mess and go back to New York. The problem with Jackson was partly her own fault, Liz conceded. She had always been one to discipline him, while Edith did pretty much everything else. Rob and the Graham brothers had no concept of child rearing, so they expressed their love by showering Jack with gifts, trips or game tickets ever since James Sr. passed away. Liz could not fault them too much for that either. She had resorted to the same means in lieu of showing up to school events, not having enough time to be a proper mother to Jackson. Edith had taken that role upon herself so Liz could focus on the business.

The business. Her life's crowning achievement and Rob's legacy was three weeks short of becoming history. She may have gotten a new lease on life, but had no idea what to do with it. Rob was gone and it was not as if she could make up for the lost time with Jackson, although she had to try before their relationship suffered irreparable damage.

Liz sighed, burying her face in her hands. On days like this she missed her mother more than ever. Helen would have known what Liz could do to bridge the gap to Jackson. Liz's life had been one loss after another… She felt her throat closing up and took deep breaths to compose herself. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. This was just another situation to handle. She turned back to the desk, pulled the codes Mary had given her to access a secure phone line and dialed Martin.

"Papa?" she asked, twisting the cord in her hand. "How are you holding up?"

Martin had always been her source of comfort. She worried about him, especially after Doris was killed. If it had not been for Edie, he would be all alone now. Liz heard the repressed pain in his voice because he would never admit to hurting, never worry her. But she heard through the words of reassurance that he was not doing as well as he claimed to be. There was something in his tone that had her thinking about jumping on a plane and heading back east.

"Liza, I spoke to Andrew this morning." She heard him say and tensed, waiting for bad news. Martin would have never brought up the D.A. over the phone otherwise.

"Detective Morris, who is in charge of the investigation…" Martin paused, trying to pick the right words.

"Yes, I remember him. You can say it, Papa. Rob's murder. No reason to tip-toe around it. We've never minced words. No reason to start now. What did Detective Morris tell Andrew?"

"Americanec, Gleb Stolov, is at large. The NYPD lost him at the Grand Central Station this morning. Bubeleh, please be careful."

"Papa, I'll be fine. He doesn't know where I am." Liz reached for her bag and pulled out her Magnum. She checked the cartridge and slid the gun back into her purse. "Don't worry, I won't do anything rash."

He seemed convinced by her reassurance, or at least did not let on that he was not. Instead he talked to her about the details of the impending deal and asked when she would send him the documents.

"You should have them on Monday," Liz said, logging off her computer. "I love you, Papa."

She hung up the phone, knowing where she needed to go. Food and golf once again were forgotten.

Marshall walked into Two Fools, scanning the space for Bobby. His friend perched up by the bar, nursing his beer. It had been a rollercoaster kind of a day. Having started on a real high, it went downhill from there. Marshall had known it was bound to get worse: there was nothing better than waking up in Mary's bed with her in his arms, but he did not expect the day to turn into such a cluster.

"Hey, D," Marshall said, slapping Bobby's shoulder and waving over the bartender.

"You look like you could use a drink, Mann," Bobby said, watching his friend land on the bar stool.

"Long day," Marshall said, taking a swig from his beer. Both men sat in silence for a while, drinking their beers and watching the game on the screen above the bar. Isotopes were playing the Omaha Storm Chasers.

"Yeah!" Everyone at the bar cheered as the Isotopes hit another homerun.

"Here," Marshall said, reaching into his jacket pocket. "I have two tickets for the game on Thursday. Mary and I were going to go, but something's come up." He could not shake off an uneasy feeling since the meeting with Dana Taylor from FBI Financial Crimes. The undercover operation they were roped into was bad news. Being there as Mary's finance guy gave him some reassurance, but he was uncomfortable with her having to take on Julian Conran on her own. They did not have much time to plan the operation either. Four days to pull off a sting of that scale was opportunistic at best. Reckless was more like it, he thought bitterly.

Bobby took the tickets, watching the contemplative expression of his friend's face. It did not take him much time to see the change in his friend's demeanor when he mentioned his partner's name.

"So, you and Shannon, huh? Took her long enough. Good for you, man."

"Huh? What?" In his pensive state, Marshall missed the implication of Bobby's question.

"Never mind, thanks for the tickets," Bobby said, grinning.

Before Marshall had a chance to respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Marshall," he said, seeing Mary's name on the caller ID.

"We have a situation…" There was tension in Mary's voice.

"Hang on, Mare," he said into the phone and turned to Bobby. "Give me a minute, D, something's come up."

Marshall walked out of the bar. "What happened?"

"Jack called. He did not see Liz all day. I tried her cell, she's not picking up."

Mary had told Marshall that morning Liz was not acting like herself last night. He had hoped that for once Mary's instinct was off the mark.

"Meet you at the office?"

"I'm already here. No reason for you to come up too," Mary said, clicking through the recent credit card transactions on Liz's accounts. "She did not use her cards today. But she did buy a car last week. I'll give you the make, model and plate in a second."

"You're not thinking of driving around, are you?" Marshall asked, taking out his card and a pen.

"Crossed my mind, yes," she said, pulling up the registration.

"Mare, that's ridiculous and you know it. We need a plan."

"Can it, numb nuts. She drives a silver Mercedes G-550, 2011, license plate 795-RBG. We start my way and if it fails we will plan. And when we find her, you're going to slap a GPS on her."

"Good luck getting that approved," Marshall said, after writing down the information and pocketing the card.

"Did I say anything about getting it approved?" she asked, annoyance clear in her voice. "I'll start with the Library Bar. You check the driving range at the club. Jack mentioned she was planning to work on her handicap," Mary said before ending the call.

Marshall walked up to the bar, and pulled out his wallet. "I'm sorry, D. I have to cut this short. Duty calls."

"Hey, I can help look for one of your miscreants," Bobby said, noticing the change in his friend's demeanor.

"Thanks, D. Not that I don't appreciate the offer, but no can do. We're on our own with this one," Marshall said, putting a few bills down on the bar. "You still game for Habitat for Humanity next Saturday?"

"You bet," Bobby said, thinking he should have brought a book. Getting up to leave, he saw a card with the U.S.M.S. insignia on the floor. It must have fallen out when Marshall paid the tab, Bobby thought. His curiosity piqued, Bobby decided to find out what the fuss was all about. He flipped the card and headed out, contemplating the situation.

Ever since he figured out which branch of U.S.M.S. Mary and Marshall worked for, getting information on their people had become an amusing hobby. He remembered the look on Marshall's face when he told him that he knew that Joe Thomas was really Joe Tancredi. Whoever Mary called about was either missing or in trouble. The later was unlikely, since Bobby had not gotten any calls from the station.

Once in his cruiser, Bobby woke up his laptop with a few keystrokes. After punching in the license plate, he let out a whistle. "I'll be damned," he mused, looking at the picture of a woman who, judging by the last name and a striking resemblance to the teenager he had in custody the other night, had to be Jackson Green's mother.

Wondering what trouble Elizabeth Green had gotten herself into, Bobby drove through downtown. Passing the largest indoor range in Albuquerque he recognized the SUV. Pulling into the lot, he parked next to the brand new silver Geländewagen.

Bobby walked inside, greeting the owner whom he knew fairly well. As always, Roy was perched on a stool behind the counter, dipping. After catching up, Bobby asked where he could find Elizabeth Green. Roy spit out his tobacco into a cup before speaking. Bobby cringed inside. Despite picking up smoking in Chicago to kill time during endless stakeouts, he found the habit revolting.

"Liz closed down the place for another hour: she's been unloading cartridge after cartridge tonight. One hell of a shot for a broad, this one," Roy said, spitting tobacco out again. "You'll find her in the last lane."

"Thanks," Bobby said, picking up a pair of ear guards and glasses before heading inside. Just as Roy said, he found Liz in the back, reloading her Magnum. He leaned on the wall and watched her change the target before taking a firing stance. She unloaded the entire cartridge in back to back shots.

"If you lean forward a bit, you won't need as much effort to control the recoil," Bobby said when Liz turned around and took off her ear guards.

"And you are?" she asked, reloading her gun once again.

Bobby took a few steps toward her, extending his hand. "Robert Dershowitz, friend of Marshall's."

"But of course. Pleasure," she said, tilting her head to the side, regarding the man in front of her. She shook the hand he offered, surprising him with the firmness of her grasp. "What can I do for you, Mr. Dershowitz?"

"Mrs. Green, your friends are looking for you," Bobby said watching for her reaction.

"I did not realize I had to check-in," she said with a shrug, casually glancing at her phone.

"I see where he gets his temper," Bobby said when she made no move to return any of the calls he was certain were there.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Actually, it's Detective Robert Dershowitz," he emphasized his rank. "I had the pleasure of meeting Jackson last night."

"Ah, I see. Then I ought to thank you for not filing any charges against my son… no matter how much he deserved them." She smiled, but Bobby saw it did not reach her eyes.

Bobby ran his hand over his chin, thinking what to do next. He walked into the range without much of a plan, curious to meet the mystery woman who was giving his friends a runaround. Elizabeth was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Who was she? She did not strike him as a criminal. How did she land in WITSEC?

As much as he was enjoying the conversation, Bobby knew that Mary and Marshall were searching for Elizabeth all over Albuquerque.

"Perhaps… But first, why don't you call Mary and let her know you are fine?" Bobby said with a smile, looking forward to ribbing Shannon over finding her witness. For some reason he was sure that Elizabeth was Mary's witness, not Marshall's. She would hate it, and he would relish every minute.

Bobby was somewhat surprised when Elizabeth did not put up much of a fight, graciously allowing him to escort her back to the hotel as a safety precaution.

As soon as they walked into the lobby, they were greeted by the sight of Mary, pacing like a caged panther. Marshall had the foresight to hustle them away from prying eyes and let Mary lay into Liz for not picking up her phone. Liz patiently waited until Mary finished and promised flatly to do better next time. She showed no remorse. It was clear to everyone: Liz had no intention of following through with the promise. But Mary's resolve to continue the uphill battle wavered. The events of the day had worn her out and she allowed Marshall to cajole her into leaving. Liz was in no apparent danger, so they had no reason to stay.

Marshall had always loved to watch her sleep. He had watched her sleep for years when they shared beds in rundown motel rooms, after stakeouts and transports. He had cherished those rare moments when her expression became unguarded and took his time to study her features, hoping that some day she would open up to him, accept what he had to offer and let him love her. She did not know what it meant to be loved unconditionally since she had turned seven years old. Lying in the darkness of his bedroom next to her, he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to change that.

Marshall took in the soft lines of her face, her hair splayed on the pillow and the curve of her shoulder peeking from under the covers. Her chest rose and fell: her breathing even and soundless. His fierce Mary. He had started thinking of her as his long before having that right. He did not think of her as his in a sense of possession, because only a fool could presume to possess her. And he was no fool. Mary was his to protect, to take care of, and to love, even if from a distance. Mary was his as much as he was hers. Friends. Partners. Lovers. A new dimension added to their friendship. The line they had crossed was bound to change things. But they had not talked about these changes. It was too soon to have that conversation. They both needed time to adjust and figure it out. It would happen naturally, when they were both ready.

It was too early to celebrate just yet, but they were making progress. She did not retreat into her shell after their insane day, but came to his house. She had told him that she had every intention of spending a lazy Sunday with him with no interruptions. Not from the job and certainly not from her family. He smiled at the recollection. Before succumbing to the song of Morpheus himself, Marshall lay next to Mary, watching her sleep, her features illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the vertical blinds on his bedroom window, thinking of possibilities the future held for them.

Eleanor liked to get an early start on Monday mornings. Every week, she arrived before anyone else and put together a plan of things she needed to accomplish during the week. Since she started working at the Albuquerque WITSEC office she got used to planning for contingencies, but lately, her ability to gage the amount of time required to handle emergent situations surprised even herself. She patted herself on the back; God knows, the inspectors did not appreciate her enough. She had no doubt she was valued by everyone, including Mary, despite her assurances to the contrary. Since she had returned to the office, she noticed subtle differences in the ways her coworkers treated her. Eleanor smiled. It was good to be back. "Indeed, you don't know what you've got 'til it's lost," she mused. The year she spent working at the FBI was a total waste and she imagined it was tough on everyone. Although no one admitted it to her, she knew things were not the same at the office while she was away.

Eleanor walked into the kitchenette and lingered in front of the new espresso machine. The delivery man had left after setting everything up, and all she needed was to decide whether she wanted a latte or a cappuccino. She smiled, mulling over her earlier conversation with Liz when she got in this morning. Short of two weeks in the office, Liz knew Eleanor's habits better than most inspectors who had worked with her for months. Liz paid attention to details most people missed, considering them unimportant.

As expected, Liz found Eleanor at the office alone. The office manager keyed her in, and Liz told her she had ordered a coffee machine to improve the quality of their caffeine intake. It was the least she could do for them for the extra mile they had gone for her, she explained. Eleanor pushed the button for a latte. The machine whizzed and in a few seconds an amazing aroma of freshly brewed Arabica filled the office. Eleanor picked up her mug and rushed over to her desk to pick up the ringing phone.

After hanging up with her contact on the East Coast, some twenty odd minutes later, Eleanor furrowed her eyebrows. The news was bad. The official reports would come down the wire shortly, but she needed to get the information to either Mary or Marshall as soon as possible. The security gate chimed, and as she expected Marshall walked in with a tray of coffees in hand. He looked genuinely puzzled by the new contraption in the kitchen.

"Good Morning, Eleanor," he said, unspoken question lingering in the air.

"Good Morning, Marshall," she said, taking a sip from her mug. "Apparently, Liz watched a Castle marathon on Sunday and was inspired, as she said, to do something that she thought everyone at this office would enjoy."

"Hence the super automatic espresso machine on the counter." Marshall lifted one of the cups out of the tray. "This doesn't mean you'll skip this one, right?"

"Never. Thank you, Marshall." Eleanor smiled, watching her favorite inspector study the machine. "Let me take Stan's too, I will put it in his office." Marshall absently ran his finger over the sleeve of his coffee.

"Marshall, anything you need?" she asked, watching his expression. He was working through something she said.

"Eleanor, did I understand you correctly? Liz told you she watched a Castle marathon on Sunday?"

"Yes, now that you mention it, I found that odd myself. She didn't seem the type…"

"Uh-huh," he said, opening his phone to send a text message. "If, by chance, either Jack Green or Detective Dershowitz calls the main office line when I'm not around, please find me," Marshall said heading to his desk. But before he could walk away, Eleanor stopped him.

"I am sending you a few reports from HQ and NYC. This," she said, handing him a plain manila folder, "has the information that would be difficult to obtain through official channels. Let me know if you need anything after you've had a chance to review."

Marshall knew better than to ask questions before looking over the information. He booted up his computer, reached for his coffee cup and opened the folder. He was looking at the service record of an NYPD detective first grade, shield number 5649, from the 18th precinct. Leonard Morris. The name seemed oddly familiar. Marshall flipped the page. The moment he saw the picture, he recognized the man. Pit bull, as he heard the uniforms refer to the detective, was in charge of the investigation of Robert's murder and Elizabeth's attempted murder.

Marshall skimmed through the investigation reports and focused on the last one, which outlined Gleb Stolov losing the NYPD detail at the Grand Central Station at 11:48 on Saturday morning. Up until that point, all his movements around New York City were accounted for and meticulously documented: from nights spent at seedy motels to meals at restaurants. From the time he left his posh apartment until the NYPD lost him, he did not meet with anyone. His behavior could have been considered erratic, if not for Marshall's absolute certainty that Gleb had known he was being followed and lead his tail on a wild goose chase around the city. He had to have been waiting for something and the moment he had obtained it, he disappeared. Another report caught Marshall's attention. According to an informant, there was a hit on Gleb Stolov originating from the good ole motherland. After skimming through the information, Marshall had doubts that Gleb remained in the country. If his life was in danger his first priority would have been to take care of the threat before going after Liz, which meant she was safe for the time being.

As soon as Marshall put aside the folder with the information Eleanor had given him earlier, she walked by with a watering can.

"Gleb Stolov's picture is at every Tristate area airport, but there is little chance that they will have any luck finding him. I'm sure he has more than one identity and plenty of cash. It has been almost 48 hours since NYPD lost him. Most likely, he has left the country already," she said, pouring water into the plant by Marshall's desk.

"I was thinking the same thing. I need to make a few calls," Marshall said, picking up his phone. "Mary is not going to be happy."

"Pfft, when is Mary happy? Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question. But I should have some more intel for you shortly," she said, making her way back to her desk.

---

Chapter 16: Poker Face

---

The conversations between Gleb Stolov and Advokat are assumed to be in Russian.

---

"Welcome home, Mr. Thompson," said an immigrations officer at the Heathrow Airport, stamping the passport of a British National, David Thompson, and returning it to Gleb Stolov.

Amerikanec thanked the officer, slid the passport inside his jacket pocket, and headed to the gate for his connection. An hour later, as Mr. Alexei Petrov, he sat in a window seat of a business class flight to Moscow, drinking tea with a splash of cognac. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips after taking a small sip of the beverage. It was nice to know old school methods still worked: classified ads, forged documents and cash saved for a rainy day still made all the difference when one needed to vanish seamlessly. The element of surprise gave him an advantage in the otherwise lousy hand he had to play.

Gleb's luck turned after he had decided to call off the hit on his source at the New York District Attorney's office. The guy was petrified that his extracurricular activities would be exposed and procured a fairly accurate description of the marshals assigned to move Elizabeth Graham from New York City. Gleb had hired a private eye in St. Louis, where her trail had gone cold, and gave the retired detective the pictures of the woman, her son and the marshals with which he was provided. According to the most recent E-mail from the private eye, he located the car rental agency, which rented a truck to a woman who fit the description of the female marshal. Gleb smiled contentedly: there was hope for him yet.

Now, he needed to convince the Summit of Thieves of his worth, so they would put him back in the game, free to return to the States to take care of the uppity bitch and return to his post as the treasurer over the Obschak (Thieves' fund). The most difficult part of Gleb's plan was convincing Advokat to call the Summit despite their disagreements as of late. The relationship Gleb and Advokat had cultivated over the years had been a mutually beneficial one: they needed each other equally and that gave Gleb confidence that the old fox would not pawn him off unless backed into a corner completely. Other than Filin, there was no one else who would put Baron's wishes above the financial gain for the Obschak. The organization needed returns on their investments, which Gleb had delivered reliably year after year. The thieves would have to be scrambling to find his replacement. There was no one as fluent in English, had his connections or was as qualified to produce the returns he had had. If Advokat agreed to back him, Gleb would have little trouble convincing the thieves that Baron's daughter was nothing but an unfortunate casualty for the greatest good of the organization as a whole. With Sedoi back in Switzerland, Gleb was willing to bet the majority would repeal their initial decision of replacing him.

Gleb was generally pleased with himself. Losing the NYPD detail at the Grand Central Station was not particularly difficult: he walked into the Oyster Bar where Belinda, a waitress with a keen appreciation for post-coital hits of blow, pretended to take his order, and then led him out through the kitchens after he made his way to the men's room. A stop at the Chase branch on Fifth where he had a safety deposit box to pick up a few sets of documents and untraced cards, and two hours later he was boarding a plane at the Newark Liberty Airport. He checked into the St. Regis in North Miami for one night and took perverse pleasure in strolling through the Bal Harbor Shops mere steps away from Filin's domain, but did not push his luck by showing up at the Riviera Grill on Collins Avenue. He was daring, but never reckless about his safety. The following morning, less than twenty four hours after ditching New York's finest at the Grand Central Station, he was on a plane to London.

Once landed in Sheremetevo Airport on the outskirts of Moscow, Gleb picked up an SUV at a car rental counter. A young woman in a tight skirt and a pair of Gucci pumps flirted with him shamelessly. Under different circumstances he would have taken her up on her not so subtle offer, but on this trip he could not afford to be distracted. If his plan was successful that would be another story. Then he would take the time for some well-earned stress relief.

After almost fifteen years in the States, Gleb had forgotten what spring felt like in these parts of the world. There was something different about it, a contrast between seasons perhaps, which was often lacking in New York, seeped through every air molecule from the trees waking from the bitter cold of the winter to fields still partly covered with snow. Gleb inhaled deeply, walking out into the parking lot to get his ride. Unlocking a graphite BMW X5, he made a call. As soon as the line was picked up, he said, not bothering to greet the man who answered, "Ya v Moskve." (I'm in Moscow).

Advokat walked into the kitchen of his apartment on Novy Arbat. The place took up the entire penthouse floor of a building constructed during the Stalinist Era and completely remodeled to please the most discerning homeowner. The space was largely open, with few rooms. Advokat cared little for walls and confined spaces after spending a quarter of his life in penal colonies. Despite the enormity of his apartment, he lived alone, despising live-in hired help. He was no genteel: he preferred to take care of himself.

Advokat put coffee on the stove in an old-fashioned Turkish cezve. In his opinion, which he often adamantly voiced, when it came to coffee, being technologically advanced was a grave shortcoming. Waiting for his brew, he flipped on a flat panel television in the living area. The glare from the sun did not allow him to see the hockey stats. Impatiently, he pushed the button on a wall panel to draw the drapes. He poured his coffee into a cup and lit a cigarette. As smoke filled his lungs, he briefly closed his eyes and let it out from the corner of his mouth, revealing a row of white perfectly aligned teeth. The age of golden caps had long been replaced with brilliant, yet artificial smiles. He took another drag from his cigarette, "Breakfast of Champions," he thought, grimacing.

Advokat felt out of sorts this morning. Unable to quite put his finger on what was bothering him, he tried to shake off the sticky feeling of apprehension, but it would not let up. Inexplicable and annoying, like a buzzing insect on a nice summer day, it weighed on his consciousness, as though anticipation of something going wrong. Advokat reviewed his plans for the day, yet nothing clicked: an ordinary day awaited him.

"Quit moping around," he thought to himself, "and get your shit together. There are more important things to consider than sixth sense." Not that his instincts had ever let him down. Determined to get to the bottom of his apprehension, he forcibly put the ruminations on hold. Epiphanies often came to him when he shifted his focus onto other things. He lingered in the kitchen for another minute, finishing his second cup of coffee. Then he put his cup in the dishwasher, emptied the ashtray, clicked off the television and headed into the master bathroom. He ran the water until it came close to a scalding temperature. He had acquired a habit of taking impossibly hot showers after his release from the penal colony in Magadan. Years after his last stint, he still felt the cold that settled bone-deep in the barely heated barracks. He shook off the memory as the bathroom filled with steam. He hung up his plush robe and lathered his face for a shave in front of a frameless mirror. Reaching into the medicine cabinet, he took out a straight razor. No five-blade swivel head came close to his standards. Just as with his coffee, he preferred to shave the old-fashioned way.

After the shower, Advokat got dressed and paused at the mirror in the hall to adjust a platinum tie bar on the steel basket weave Hermes silk and slipped the collar stays into his crisp shirt. He looked his broad frame over: the Zegna chalk stripe charcoal three-piece showed it off nicely. Advokat took great pains to keep his body in peak shape. In his late fifties it required more effort than it did just ten years ago, but he was happy with the results of his conscientious training. He smirked at his reflection: he still could give most forty-something's a run for their money. The feeling of unease that he had felt all morning abated some and he was ready to face the day.

Just as he was about to leave the apartment, his phone rang, bringing him out of his reverie. Advokat glanced at the caller id: the number was restricted. He frowned. Only a handful of people knew this cell phone number and even fewer dared to call it before noon.

"Damn it," he swore before hitting the answer button and then silently put the phone to his ear.

"I'm in Moscow." He heard a rough voice on the other end of the line. This voice could only belong to one person.

Restraining the urge to smash the phone against the wall, Advokat asked, "The fuck? What are you doing here?" His tone was dripping with disdain. "Never mind, not over the phone."

"We need to talk. Your place? Gleb asked, and Advokat heard the sound of the ignition.

Advokat skipped a beat, and then said, "You got wheels. Good. The house where we had shish-kebabs ten odd years back. You know where I keep the key. I'll see you there in two hours."

Gleb waited for Advokat to say something else, but the other man kept silent and severed the connection.

"All these years later, and I still remember this shack in the middle of the woods," Gleb thought, flying down the highway towards Istra Lake. Half an hour later, he drove up to the house number 12/3 Krasnoznamennaya. Gleb had found the place looking as though ten years has not gone by. Places like this one stayed unchanged for decades: immune to the passing of time.

Glancing around to make sure he was not followed, he killed the engine and left the Beemer. The reinforced concrete staircase was clean, as if it was swept daily. But the house itself was dark, clearly unoccupied for months. Gleb raised his hand and found a hollow spot behind the top of the right doorjamb. He removed the key from its hiding place. "Check this out." He smirked at the intricacy of the cut, "the old fox had changed the locks."

Gleb slid the key into the lock and heard three soft clicks as it turned. The door opened quietly, revealing a familiar hallway. He made his way inside, only now realizing how exhausted he was from the trip, and collapsed into an old leather chair by the bar. Glancing sideways he was impressed, but not very surprised by the variety of labels on the bottles resting against an antique mirror in gilded frame. Rising up with a grunt, he reached for Remy Martin XO and filled a hand-cut crystal double old-fashioned to about the middle. Not giving the beverage time to rest or bothering to swirl, he tossed it back. He let the air out of his lungs with a huff and slammed the glass on the bar. All he had to do was to wait for Advokat to show. The warmth from the alcohol spread through his body to his fingers and toes. Gleb fell back into the chair and before he knew it, his eyes drifted shut.

A sound came from nowhere. Gleb was instantly alert; trying to figure out what had awoken him. The click of the lock, offered his subconscious. He tensed, reaching for the absent shoulder holster. He left his new Beretta, which had replaced one he had tossed after shooting Stone, at the safety deposit box at the Chase branch. The risk of taking it with him on a plane was too great.

"Fuck", he swore in English through gritted teeth, and jumped from the chair. He was unarmed, at the mercy of Advokat and his crew. Advokat entered soundlessly.

"Chill, Amerikanec. Sit, have another drink." Gleb easily recognized Advokat's overconfident tone, as the older man entered the room. Gleb stood, watching Advokat pour a drink and settle in a chair across from him.

Two men regarded each other silently. Advokat had changed since Gleb had seen him last: neither the sharp suit nor impeccable shave could mask the effects of time. The frown lines on Advokat's forehead had gotten deeper and the temples had become more gray then black. Although, Gleb had to admit, Advokat was still in his prime, and just as dangerous as he had been back in the day, maybe even more so now with the power he had been able to concentrate in his hands lately. There were rumors that Advokat was poised to replace Filin as the Superior when the time came. But there was no reason to contemplate Advokat's future, when Gleb's own position was as precarious as it was.

"Time does not spare us," Advokat said, taking note of the appraising glance Gleb had shot him.

"Especially those who do not possess it," Gleb said firmly, easing back into the chair. "I need your help."

"Not going to bother asking me how I'm doing? Getting straight down to business?" Advokat's face stretched into a phony smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Cut the shit, you know I'm in a hot seat," Gleb hissed, narrowing his eyes at the older man he once considered his mentor, and leaned forward.

Advokat's smile morphed into a primeval grin. A rage contained solely with self-control cultivated over the years, flared up in the stone cold eyes. There was nothing left from the polished businessman who had walked into the house only minutes earlier. The man Gleb was facing off was vicious: the danger radiating from every fiber of his being was palpable. Unlike Gleb, who had earned his thief's stars with money and a meager juvenile record without ever setting foot in the colonies up north where wintery night lasted more than half the year, Advokat had gotten his the traditional way. His stars were inked on the plank bed of a cell, not an underground parlor. This was the man who had been crowned into law before he had barely hit thirty. Many a man had cowered under the icy glare of those steel gray eyes. But Gleb did not back down; cornered, he truly had nothing to lose. Without Advokat's help he was as good as dead.

"What the hell were you thinking flying out here?" Advokat hissed back. "Your number's up. I told you we're done. I took a risk, warning you, and this is how you repay me? Showing up at my Goddamn door?"

"What, did you think I was just going to roll over? Play dead?" Gleb asked, gripping the armrests. "We had a deal."

"You voided that deal. You want to live after that stunt you pulled? I hear Australia is nice this time of the year. You've stashed enough dough to last three lifetimes for you, the bitch and the brats," Advokat said with a smirk, taking pleasure from Gleb's paling at the mention of his family. "Your American Dream isn't as much of secret as you thought, huh?"

"Leave them out of this, Advokat. I'm not the first and certainly not the last to break that rule of the code," Gleb said, trying to keep his temper in line. Advokat was deliberately provoking him, counting on his inability to control it to make a point. If Gleb snapped now, the conversation would be over. "I need to stay in the game. You're my last resort. If I had any other options, I would have used them."

"You should have thought about this when you iced that wasp," Advokat said, taking a sip from his glass.

"What's done is done. But… I can fix it. You going to help me or not?"

"Fine," Advokat ran his hand over his forehead. "What do you want?"

Gleb paused, studying the other man and took out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting up, he inhaled and let the smoke out slowly, before speaking.

"I need you to call the Summit on my behalf."

"Come again?" Advokat said, his hand with the drink freezing in midair. He had expected the gamut of demands, but nothing remotely similar to what he heard from the younger man. "A Summit? Are you out of your mother-fucking mind?"

"No, I'm not. I'm all in on this one. Have Filin call a second Summit. Assuming I live long enough to show, I will prove that I'm not some lowlife thug. Upside for me, you know I always repay my debts. If I fold, what better place to tie-up a loose end? Clean. Cheap. No one but you even knows I'm here. And you'll be one up over them, having brought me in."

"I'll think about it," Advokat said, evaluating Gleb's proposal and realizing no matter how he sliced it, he could not lose. "You know, I can't promise anything… But it comes together, you'll owe me…"

"No worries," Gleb said, feeling tension leave his shoulders.

"Now… lay low. Watch TV. Grub, booze… stocked. Cigarettes are in the top drawer of the desk in the study. Help yourself. Two-three days, I'll swing by if the thing came together. Or the crew with my apologies." Advokat finished his instructions with a mirthless joke.

"A regular jester, aren't thou." Gleb's face contorted into a grimace. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

Advokat rose from the chair and left without saying another word. Gleb heard the soft sound of the front door closing and the three clicks of the lock. He left his chair and walked over to the window. The dusk had fallen on the yard, and he watched Advokat's black Geländewagen drive off until its headlights disappeared in the distance.

Mary flopped on her bed, bounced up with a grunt and ripped the boot off her right leg. She tossed it into the corner of her bedroom and heard it land with a thud. She swore, and then repeated the action with her left boot. Another day from hell was done with. After kicking Jinx and Brandi out of her house along with their seating charts and grand wedding plans, Mary felt relieved and annoyed at the same time. She had the house all to herself and time to contemplate everything that had happened in the last few days. None of the thoughts were particularly happy, and she found the stillness of her house unnerving. She almost picked up the phone to call Marshall, but remembered that he had acted uncharacteristically aloof all day, and decided against it. Whatever his problem was, she had no energy to drag it out from him tonight. He would have to tell her eventually, or so she hoped.

Mary realized with a jolt that for the first time in her life, she cared that the guy with whom she was sleeping, was going through personal issues and she was uneasy not knowing what those issues were. But then again, they were not just sleeping together. This was Marshall. Falling in bed had been easy, and so was pretending that nothing had really changed between them. Only it had, and it did not matter that they had not talked about anything or told anyone. Brandi's walking in on them did not really count, not until Mary chose to admit it to her when they were going to shop for dresses next weekend. But things were different between them. She was sitting in her empty house, alone in her bedroom, wishing to hear the familiar sound of the heels of his ever present cowboy boots hitting the floor of her hallway. She had to find something to do with herself.

Mary ambled back into her kitchen and poured a glass of water. Then she took out her phone and stared at the screen, willing it to ring. A text came through instead. She clicked the message.

"Got word from Roy. Your girl is back at the range for the third time this week. Is she training for something I should know about?"

Mary sighed. Bobby was sticking his nose where it clearly did not belong. She beat down the urge to go to the station and rip Bobby a new one… She had a sinking feeling Bobby was looking into Liz's identity, as he had done numerous times when their people were involved, and that did not bode well for anyone involved. She had recognized the predatory gleam in his eyes when he was gloating about getting to Liz first. She had refrained from anything then to avoid spurring him on. Evidently, that was a tactical error on her part. She should have gotten Marshall involved. If someone could get Dershowitz to back down he could do it. Now, she had a legitimate reason for calling Marshall. She paused before hitting the speed dial. She needed a reason to call Marshall? "Oh, crap," she thought with irritation, "When did I become a girl in this relationship?" She drained her water in one gulp.

Shrugging off the thoughts of Marshall, Mary contemplated calling Liz instead. Bobby's text raised a few questions, to which Mary needed answers. "Why would Liz need to go to the range for the third night in a row? Did she know that Gleb was on the lam? Wouldn't that mean Liz had the information two days earlier than Eleanor did? Was that even possible?" But, when dealing with Liz it was best to come prepared. She had to go back to the office to pull the records for the secure line she had given Liz and take a look at the activity on her cards. Maybe something would come to her then. Mary pulled her boots back on, grabbed her car keys, badge and gun. Thankfully, the Mustang's battery had been replaced and the car started without a hitch.

Mary drove on the evening streets of Albuquerque, recounting her morning conversation with her witness. It seemed, Marshall was right when he said that she needed to take a step back. She allowed herself to get too close to Liz in the last few weeks. Riding her emotions that morning, she had a feeling that she had missed something important.

The news that NYPD had lost Gleb on Saturday, but that the information did not make it through the channels until Monday morning, grated on Mary's nerves. She came downstairs looking for Liz, poised to lay into her for not answering the phone on Saturday night. Liz was focused on the screen of her laptop, her fingers flying over the keyboard and did not hear Mary walk in. Mary cleared her throat. Liz swiveled around in her chair and smiled.

"Good Morning, Mary. Did you try the coffee?" she said, taking a sip from her cup.

Mary splayed her palms on the wraparound desk and leaned into Liz's space.

"Coffee's good, Liz… Marshall and Eleanor are over the moon about it. But me? I'd be happy with your taking my calls," she said, glaring at Liz.

Liz slid her rimless glasses down her nose and studied Mary curiously, as though trying to decide whether to strike back or placate the furious woman in front of her.

"I did not ignore your call intentionally, Mary. I did not hear my phone," she said, keeping her voice low and tone even. Diffusing the situation was wiser than getting into an argument over a missed call. "I would have called back when I saw your voicemail."

"Liz, you cannot afford take this situation lightly. On Saturday, I got a frantic call from Jack that he did not see or hear from you all day."

"Mary, just because my son has a sudden urge to spend time in my company, does not mean you have to unleash the cavalry," Liz said pinching the bridge of her nose.

"When I call and you don't pick up, I have to assume the worst. And then, I use all the resources at my disposal searching for you, while you are blowing off steam at the range. Answer the phone when I call – that's all I ask." Mary said, slowly sinking into a chair across from Liz.

"If there comes a time when I don't answer because he had gotten to me, there would be no reason for you to rush. He won't be coming to talk… even you can't stop the bullet."

"Liz, it's my job to keep you safe…" Mary interrupted Liz's diatribe.

"I know and I appreciate it," Liz said, raising her hand to stop Mary from continuing the speech she had heard a few times during the trip from New York. "But as long as he doesn't know where I am, I'm safe. I have not broken any of the program rules and have not reached out to anyone other than Martin via the secure line that you've given me and Patricia via E-mail. I haven't told either of them where I am. Unless you believe there was a breach of security, I don't see the reason for your vigilance."

"No, I have no reason to believe there was a breach," Mary said, watching Liz lean back in her chair. Her posture was relaxed: a polar opposite to Mary's. "But it doesn't mean you can let your guard down."

"You don't have to worry about that, Mary." Liz let out a forced chuckle.

Mary pulled into her spot at the garage at the Sunshine Building and turned off the engine, when it clicked.

"If there comes a time when I don't answer because he had gotten to me, there would be no reason for you to rush. He won't be coming to talk…"

Liz said "he", not "they". It sounded as though Liz found out that Gleb had lost his ties with the mob. Mary locked her car, not stopping to question what Marshall's truck was still doing in its spot, and rushed inside. She needed to look at the records of calls Liz had made to her father and ask the geek squad if they had access to any of Liz's E-mail.

---

Chapter 17: Set the Stage

---

The overhead lights in the office were turned off, leaving only the security lights blinking through the entire space to alert the Marshals Service personnel to secure sensitive materials for the presence of the cleaning crew. Maribel made her way through the bullpen, emptying the waste baskets, Jorge followed with a vacuum and Anna cleaned up in the kitchenette. At the sound of shuffling, Marshall looked up from his laptop and dimmed the flat screen over the conference room table.

"Evening, Maribel," he said, smiling at the petite woman who ambled into the conference room rolling a large bin in front of her.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Inspector. I'll leave you to your work as soon as I take these out." Maribel gestured hurriedly at the recycle and trash bins by the window. She looked at him sheepishly as though they did not have this conversation every night when Marshall stayed late at the office to catch up on paperwork or play virtual chess.

"Don't rush on my account." Marshall tiredly raked his fingers through his hair. He locked up the laptop and rose from his chair, cracking his back. He should have gone home hours ago, when Mary left the office, but instead, he stubbornly kept running through contingency plans for the undercover operation in Scottsdale rather than return to his house. He justified it to himself for being short on time. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee," he told Maribel before walking into the kitchen. He saw Anna finish wiping down the counter and make a beeline for Stan's office to dust.

Marshall refilled his coffee mug. He tried to put the source of his discontent out of his mind, but failed miserably for the umpteenth time that day. Inevitably, his thoughts returned to his partner.

They had spent a lazy Sunday together: the morning in bed, which he tried not to think about at the office, then after running a few errands, they cooked dinner and watched a movie. But Mary went back to her house that night, rendering his barren. It would not have been much of an issue, had he not had any doubts about the future of their budding relationship. He had thought that when the time came, he would jump into a relationship with her in a heartbeat. But to his chagrin, he realized his reservations prevented him from opening himself up to Mary. He had to be realistic. After almost ten years of partnership, and yes, he was rounding up; he had no illusions about his partner and her issues. With her, there was always a chance that she would run away from him, leaving him broken and alone. He had to take a step back from whatever it was they had, for both their sakes. So after she had left his house that night, Marshall watched Sport Center until he dozed off on his couch and crawled into his cold bed around 4 a.m. with a kink in his spine and a thorn in his heart.

Staying true to his resolve to reel in his commitment-philic tendencies, Marshall kept his distance from Mary on Monday no matter how much it killed him to watch her brooding over his withdrawal. Planning the operation together took Herculean effort on his part. But his real trouble was curbing the instinct to protect her. His fingers involuntarily clasped around the handle of the mug, when the Saturday afternoon meeting came to his mind.

They were sitting at the same conference room table, when Stan stormed in, just as bewildered by the turn of events as both Mary and Marshall.

"Okay, the Attorney General approved the operation. Congratulations, you're still a protected witness," Stan said to Ronnie, pulling out a chair.

Mary could not resist sticking it to Dana for buying into Ronnie's scam to stay in WITSEC.

"Gosh, you know what would be awesome? If the FBI could just do its job and gather enough evidence to raid Conran's place without using this tool." Mary pointed to Ronnie.

Undeterred by Mary's contempt, Ronnie smirked and added his two cents.

"But Julian never gets his hands dirty and you'll never get a warrant. That said that guy's got problems." He leaned back in his chair, waiting for someone to ask him for information.

Mary was the first to cave and asked, "What kind of problems?"

"The kind where his armed route to Mexico stalls out."

Ronnie's smirk became a full blown grin of contentment. He looked like a cat that had swallowed canaries by the dozen, not gotten busted by the US Marshals Service.

"It's stalled because we just shut down two tunnels under El Paso," Dana said, waiting for the acknowledgment. She looked quite proud of her team's efforts, much to the dismay of the marshals. Marshall resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but Mary did not.

Meanwhile, Ronnie was eager to join the conversation.

"I got an idea. Ooh, this is gonna work. Trust me!"

Mary looked at him as if he was the eighth wonder of the world. "Trust me? What is that – a reflex?"

Ronnie all but ignored her outburst. "Julian throws these parties for high net worth investors at his place in Scottsdale. You guys get me in there; we'll nail that bastard on fraud and arms dealing. Just gotta give him what he wants and reopen those tunnels."

Stan saw it was time to interfere, before Mary bit both Ronnie's and Dana's heads off.

"Is that doable?" he asked, watching Dana's indifferent expression change to interested.

"Sure, just need to liaise with our colleagues on the ground. You'll consent to wearing a wire?" Dana said, leaning into Ronnie's space.

"I'll wear anything, except jean shorts." Ronnie snickered, pleased with his own joke.

"I'll get our team up and running." Dana turned to leave.

Stan and Marshall spoke up at the same time.

"No, Dana, the thing is…" Stan stopped, letting Marshall finish quoting the Program regulations.

"A witness going undercover is a nonstarter unless his inspectors are there to secure his safety."

"And when was the last time you worked undercover?" Dana asked, sizing them up.

Mary scoffed.

"We're always undercover. That's the job. Seriously, in my real life I'm a total bitch."

Marshall laughed, cracking his knuckles: a feeling that he was not going to like where the conversation was heading, nagged at the back of his mind. Much like Mary's, his instincts were rarely wrong. He had his confirmation in less than sixty seconds.

Dana flattened her palms on the table.

"We need to get Conran making the deal. Not some flunky who may or may not flip. Conran."

It looked as though Ronnie was going to jump out of his chair.

"Good news is, oh, and this is perfect, Julian's got a thing for blondes. With big tits."

Marshall cracked his knuckles again to regain control of his emotions. He was a hairbreadth from snapping the douche bag's neck. Expecting this guy to act with any kind of decorum was clearly asking too much. Marshall focused on his breathing to avoid slamming Ronnie into the nearest wall. As much of a welcome stress relief that would have been, the disciplinary actions and Mary's wrath was not worth it. Marshall smirked at the mental image of sending Ronnie flying through the conference room window like a rag doll.

"That is good news," Mary said, training her eyes on Marshall. He heard her snicker and hoped she did not pick up the vibe he had to be projecting. Neither of them was ready for that conversation. The emotional turmoil from the Scalavino incident had not yet completely abated. He had an inkling Mary would not take kindly to a second display of cave man behavior in two months.

So Marshall chimed in to focus back on the conversation. "If lacking in originality."

"Little bit." Mary played along, not letting him off the hook.

Ronnie took back the spotlight.

"Here's the game, gang. I vouch for the Texas hook-up. Marshall is there as your what?" Ronnie smiled, coming up with the answer to his own question immediately. "Financial adviser! And Mary? You're my new lover."

Marshall was happy he had swallowed his coffee before hearing Ronnie's last words. He had a hard time keeping himself in line without choking on hot liquid. Mary's reaction did not disappoint him. If anything, he was reminded of the kind of woman he was in love with. Oh, hell. There was no point in denying it. It was not as if he had admitted it to the room full of people, he was just being honest with himself.

"Say lover again, I dare you." Mary's tone left no doubt that she would maim Ronnie, if he tried again.

The racket of the rolling bin Maribel hauled out of the conference room brought Marshall back to the present. He topped off his mug and made his way back inside. After unlocking the laptop, he flipped the overhead screen on. The blueprint of Conran's mansion Dana had sent them with the rest of the pre-op intel came back on the screen. Marshall zoomed in on the bedroom, where the camera had been planted and analyzed the location of the windows. He was meticulously going through the layout of the house and the position of everyone involved in the op at any point in time. Since he was lined up for a financial pitch for the carry trade fund, he would most certainly be separated from Mary when she arranged the gun buy, facing off with Conran without any meaningful backup. Ideally, Marshall would have preferred to stay close enough to interfere if the op went pear-shaped, but he doubted it was possible. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he did not hear the chime of the security door.

Mary blew into the office, flipping on the overhead lights and powering up her computer on her way to the kitchen. Scowling, she stopped in front of the new coffee machine and waited for her coffee to brew. Marshall tore his eyes away from the screen, casting an appraising glance at the way Mary first assaulted her computer, then the coffee maker. Wondering what had brought her back to the office at this late hour in a sour mood, he rose from his chair and ambled out of the conference room. He should have known better: any time the decision to put space between them came at odds with the desire to come to her rescue whether she needed his help or not, the later had always won out. Tonight was not going to be any different.

"Hey, Mare?"

The sound of her partner's voice startled her. She whirled around and saw him leaning against the doorjamb of the conference room.

"Geez, numb nuts. Ninja much? You scared the living daylights out of me." She hid her surprise with a halfhearted attempt at a snarky retort.

Marshall watched her jump with wry amusement. Mary had missed the twinkle of mischief which usually shone in his bright blue eyes. This was her Marshall, not the pod person she had to deal with today. Torn between the urge to jump him on the spot and beat him with her shoe, Mary turned her attention back to the coffee. The day they had, she felt as though they were back to square one, not as bad as it had gotten after their last fight, but two months before that… and she never wanted to go back to that place where her best friend acted like a stranger, she needed him too much. She had gotten so used to sharing her life with him; she could not fathom it without him… especially not now, after they had fallen in bed together… and she had allowed herself to believe there could be more to their relationship then just friendship. His voice broke through her disjointed thoughts.

"There must be an excellent reason for you to be here at this hour. Anything I should know about?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. He was not remotely contrite for startling her; on the contrary, he appeared quite smug.

"Why are you still here?" she asked, turning back to him and glancing over his shoulder into the conference room. She saw the plans they had spent the better part of the day poring over. She should have known he would stay behind and run through all the details until he was sure he covered everything.

Marshall pushed away from the doorjamb and took a few steps toward her, curious at the tone of her voice. If he did not know her better, he would have thought he had flustered her.

"You won't derail this conversation, Mare… and since I asked first, I'd like to hear that answer. What brings you back here so late?"

Mary did not want to share anything with him. Would suit Marshall right for startling her and turning her brain to mush with a simple look… She forced her mind out of the gutter. She had bigger problems than her unruly libido. She had rushed back to the office to get to the bottom of Liz's plotting. At this point, she had no doubt Liz was up to something, although Mary had no tangible proof to that effect. And she could use the help of his quick wit and technical expertise. But before she could bring herself to talk about Liz, the aggravation took over and the angry words she held back tumbled out from her mouth.

"What? I won't what? You've got some nerve, buster. You've had a pole up your ass all day. And you went to lunch with Charlie! And you ask what's my problem?"

"Mare, don't twist the facts. Technically, I didn't go to lunch with Charlie. We went to pick up lunch for everyone. As I recall, you had no interest, I quote, in being a delivery boy for idiots who can't get their own food. And I did not say anything about you having a problem."

Talking slowly, he made his way into the kitchen. Stopping in front of her, he rested his hip against the counter, and waited for the outburst. Mary did not disappoint.

"Oh, come on, Marshall, you think I'm stupid? Care to share why you ignored the first thing I said?"

She slammed the mug down, splashing hot coffee all over the counter and folded her arms across her chest. He wanted to fight? She was only too happy to oblige. Might actually get somewhere by yelling, since they were clearly unable to communicate any other way. Marshall ripped off a paper towel to mop up the mess, when finished he balled it up and tossed it into the trash.

"Mare…" he said, turning back from the counter and reaching out for her.

"Don't you dare Mare me! Answer the damn question!" she bit out, feeling angry tears creep up into her eyes, and took a step back, turning away from his reach, hoping Marshall did not see her eyes misting.

"What is happening to me? I'm not a crazy weeping mess. Get yourself together, Mary. You're just fine on your own. You don't need anyone… Damn you, Marshall…"

She felt her nails biting into her arms as she blinked back her tears. Pulling herself together she glared at him.

"What the hell is up with you?"

Marshall dropped his hands to the counter and leaned back against it. It looked as though he had struck out with his earlier decision to put distance between them. Mary was upset with the amount of space he had given her. He never wanted to be the reason for her tears, and yet, a feeling stirred inside that he recognized as satisfaction. For once he was not alone in his misery. He did not want to like this feeling because her pain had always been his, and if his withdrawal had led to this fallout he had been hurting them both… even if he was not being intentionally cruel. It seemed he had been failing spectacularly in reading her lately. It was time to man up and talk things out.

"Hey, Mare, I'm sorry. Nothing's up with me."

He took another step closer to her and rested his palms on her arms, letting his thumbs run up and down her biceps in slow motion.

"I just needed to process a few things," he said softly, looking into her eyes, hoping she could see how much he regretted his earlier behavior.

"Is any of it about me, Marshall?" she asked barely above a whisper. For someone who appeared completely self-involved to most people, Mary could be incredibly astute when she was so inclined.

"You'll have to promise to hear me out before jumping to any conclusions. Please, let me finish, Mare," he said, when she opened her mouth to speak.

"There… hum… has been a change in our relationship… that we really haven't talked about…"

She had to play it down. If he was going to tell her it was a mistake, she had to keep it together long enough to leave, at least appearing detached to preserve her dignity. She could handle his rejection, as long as he did not leave… She needed him in her life too much to allow sex to come between them. She tested his grip on her arms by taking a small step back: he held on firm and followed her.

"Geez, Marshall, we had sex."

"Mare, please let me finish," he said in a tone that barely concealed a warning.

"This isn't how I imagined we'd talk about it, but looks like we're long overdue. What we have, this partnership and friendship, is important to me."

She let out a sigh of relief. This did not look like he was going to tell her it was a mistake. Quite the opposite, actually…

"Well, duh!"

"Mare!" His fingers froze on her arms.

"Okay, okay. Go on." She uncrossed her arms and dropped them to the table behind her. Marshall's thumbs resumed their soothing movements up and down her arms.

"I do care for you, Mare, deeply, and to me, this makes a difference. Sex with you is more than just sex per se. But if we are to go any further, I need to know what this relationship means to you. Do you understand? I have to know where we stand."

It sounded as though he wanted more from their relationship just as she did, and the way he looked at her right then, as though she held the key to his happiness thrilled her. This conversation had turned out to be one hell of a rollercoaster ride.

"Can I talk now?" she asked, feeling the dread that had settled in her chest fade away.

He nodded wordlessly, continuing his ministrations with his thumbs and unable to break their eye contact.

"Good lord, Marshall! That's it? Why didn't you say something sooner? You know how I am. I suck at the touchy feely stuff and don't buy into the romance shtick as you do. But, I care about you and what we have is important to me too. And even though I'm scared that I'll screw this up, I'm willing to give it a chance if you are."

"Give what a chance, Mare?"

"You need me to spell it out for you? Us. I want us to be together. I don't know how to define it, or if we have to… feel free to jump in at any time, Doofus."

"Uh…?"

"Verbal impotence again, Marshall?"

He closed the remaining distance between them: his hands slid up her shoulders and his head ducked to fuse their lips together. Her eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the feel of his mouth moving over hers, hot and demanding. He was pouring every emotion he felt for her, but was not ready to say, into this kiss. He nipped her bottom lip and swept his tongue over it to soothe the sting. She moaned into his mouth, her lips parting in invitation, her tongue seeking his, to right the wrongs they had generously inflicted upon each other. The urgency had yelled its way to slow exploration. He followed her lead, gently sucking on her tongue in acquiescence. She pressed herself flush against him, as her fingers found their way into the hair at the nape of his neck. He responded eagerly, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. She tore her mouth away from his and moved along the line of his jaw grazing it lightly with her teeth until she settled on a sensitive spot by his ear.

"Talk to me. Don't put that genius brain of yours into overdrive. I don't have the best track record with relationships, but I need us to work," Mary whispered, rushing to get the words out before she could chicken out and hold back. "I can't lose you, Marshall."

"Never." His breathless response sounded like a groan when she sucked his earlobe into her mouth. She felt his body's reaction and tingled all over. "Mare, we have to stop, or I will have you right here, right now…" His self-control was about to snap when her teeth found his Adam's apple. "Mare!"

"Spoilsport." She mock pouted, before ghosting a feather light kiss on his lips and releasing him. "Later... After we take care of this nasty piece of business. Tell me that the nerds have access to Liz's e-mails."

Marshall furrowed his eyebrows in an unspoken question. Mary ignored it and turned to head over to her desk, leaving her cold coffee forgotten on the counter. Marshall poured it out and refilled both of their mugs and followed her to her desk.

"Your coffee, m'lady. Now, will you tell me what's going on?"

Mary showed him the text message she received from Bobby a few hours earlier and explained that it looked as though Liz was getting information about the situation with Gleb even before it made through the official channels. Mary pulled the records for the secure line she had given to Liz while Marshall went back to his computer to check on the image of Liz's laptop. He had the foresight to have his buddy in IT clone Liz's hard drive with an hourly sweep for new information. Since her laptop was hooked into the U.S.M.S. network she had no implicit right to privacy. Granted, they were stretching the regs a bit, but it was for the safety of the witness and the solution with the office they had offered her was unprecedented. If anything, they would probably get a slap on the wrist for not getting a signed consent from Liz, but she had not exactly been forthcoming with them, so Marshall could not bring himself to feel bad for snooping.

Mary scanned through the phone calls Liz had made since arriving in Albuquerque. They seemed innocuous enough: a daily call to Martin, skipping two Sundays and a Saturday when Mary and Liz had gone to the shooting range. All calls lasted approximately the same time, except for a call made Saturday morning before Liz went off the radar. On a hunch, Mary pulled up the gun registration records.

"Uh-huh!"

"Did you find something?" Marshall asked looking away from his screen, where the proprietary software was searching through Liz's e-mails.

"Remember, I registered Liz's 60LS Magnum when we brought her in? And now, would you look at that? Liz added a Beretta 3032 Tomcat. Funny, she didn't mention a thing about it this morning. Any hits on your end?" Mary swiveled in her chair and looked at her partner.

"I've tried a few things, but nothing out of the ordinary so far… Never mind. Got something."

Mary was out of her chair in a flash and leaning on his shoulder and glued to his computer screen before he finished his sentence.

The marshals read the first e-mail, triggered by the word "Vanya", recognized by the software as a Russian name.

Liz,

Your house on Lake Leman is gorgeous. You will love it. Uncle Vanya sends his regards and a care package. Edith helped me pack it up. We should plan a girl's night on the town, I need new shoes. Let me know if that's doable. Give Jimmy a kiss for me.

Take care of yourself,

Spence

Marshall pulled up a response from Liz, which she had sent on the following day.

Spence,

Thank you for doing this for me on such short notice. I will have to check with my friends about a shopping trip. Will let you know.

Much love,

Liz

"As if we need this shit right now," Mary said, straightening up and leaning her hip against his desk. "Where does she get off pulling a stunt like that?"

"Mais bien au contraire, ma chère, Liz hasn't done anything yet. But she will ask you to arrange a shopping trip and you'll have to go with," Marshall said, trying to hide his amusement.

"Oh, hell no. I'll send you instead."

"Not going to happen. The trip will be a bit of a nuisance, but I'm more concerned with this package. Mare, did you know that Lake Leman is better known as Lake Geneva? And that it's one of the largest lakes in Western Europe, formed by a retreating glacier?"

"And your point, Wikipedia?" Mary rolled her eyes.

"Patricia flew out to Switzerland, met with someone in Geneva and picked something up for Liz. Edith packed it with the rest of Liz's stuff, which U.S.M.S. shipped to Albuquerque, and tomorrow, when the movers unpack everything at her new house; Liz will have it in her possession."

Any further speculation from Marshall was cut off by the ring of Mary's phone. She glanced at the caller id and sighed.

"Brandi, I'm working."

"With Marshall?" Brandi snorted. "It's nearly ten p.m., Mary."

Mary rolled her eyes.

"Tell me something I don't know. What do you want?"

"To remind you about lunch with the Alperts at the club."

"And so you did. I'll be there."

Mary ended the call and looked at Marshall. He was staring at the screen, pretending that he did not hear the exchange between the sisters. He sent off an e-mail to Eleanor, and then turned to Mary.

"I'm having lunch with the Brady Bunch on Wednesday. Wanna come?"

"As much as it would please me to meet Peter's family, I think I'll pass... we should keep this between the two of us for a while, don't you think?"

Mary had to concede he was right. They needed to figure out how to avoid being split up before announcing the change in their relationship to Stan.

"Sounds like a plan," Mary said, walking back to her desk, with the intent to shut down her computer. Glancing over her shoulder, she gave Marshall a sultry smile and asked, "So, your place or mine?"

After lunch at the club, Brandi and Jinx headed to the reception area to wait for Mary. She had picked up a call from the office and ushered them off, promising to catch up once she was done. But when they walked away it did not look as though Mary was hanging up any time soon.

"The job always comes first," Jinx sighed.

Brandi nodded in agreement, hiding an all-knowing smile. Her sister was on the phone with Marshall. Even though Mary had not admitted anything, Brandi was absolutely sure her sister was now involved with her partner. It was about time she noticed what had been right in front of her all these years. But the thoughts of her sister's relationship status were the last thing on Brandi's mind at that particular moment. She was still reeling from the realization that Mary and Jinx had conned the Alperts into paying for the wedding reception.

Walking into the stylishly furnished foyer, the women saw Dora engaged in an animated conversation with a tall redhead about Mary's age. Mrs. Alpert noticed her future in-laws enter the room; beaming, she waved them over.

"Brandi, Jinx, I'd like to introduce you to Elizabeth Oren Green. Liz, this is my future daughter-in-law Brandi and her mother, Jinx Shannon."

Liz laughed uncomfortably.

"Dora, please, I insist, it's just Liz Green."

Smiling, she turned to the Shannon women and said, "Jinx, it's very nice to meet you. And Brandi, I believe, we know each other."

For a split second, Brandi looked perplexed, but then her face cleared in recognition.

"Oh, that's right," she chirped, "A few days ago you bought the Geländewagen. Isn't it fabulous? Don't you just love it?"

"Yes, it is a lot of fun to drive. I am looking forward to taking it off road. I was thinking of hiking in the Sandia Mountains next weekend. Do you know any good trails?"

Brandi chuckled. "I am not exactly the outdoorsy type, if you know what I mean, but I think I know someone who can help."

Dora intervened, anxious to change the subject.

"Brandi, darling, do we still have tickets for the UNM Children's Hospital Benefit? I was just telling Liz about this amazing event you and Peter have been putting together."

Brandi wrinkled her forehead, thinking.

"I can check with him, but I am pretty sure we do. It is a few weeks away, so there is still a handful." She giggled. "I talked Mare into going." Brandi looked genuinely pleased with herself.

Dora gave her a tight smile. "That is wonderful. Would you set a pair aside for Liz?"

Eager to diffuse the situation that was turning tense, Liz interjected.

"Brandi, why don't I stop by the Autoplex tomorrow afternoon and pick them up?"

Brandi nodded in agreement, and Liz continued.

"Ladies, I should get going. Hal was gracious to invite me to his Wednesday game; I would rather not be late for the tee off." She smiled. "Jinx, Brandi, it was good seeing you. Dora, I'm looking forward to the luncheon on Sunday."

Walking away from the women, Liz made a call.

"This is Liz Green. How is it going? She listened for a few seconds. "Do you have plans for the evening of April 30th?"

---

Chapter 18: Up the Ante

---

Warning: strong language advisory.

The thieves-in-law have their own language, learned in the correctional camps, otherwise known as 'fenya', which I did my best to translate and turned off the 'filter'. All dialogue is assumed to be in Russian, unless explicitly stated otherwise.

A few translations to help you navigate this installment:

Filin – Owl

Advokat – Lawyer

Classic – slang, assumes a person of refined taste in music and literature.

Amerikanec – American

Maloy – Tiny

Taras – a first name. Fairly common in the Southern Ukraine.

Venik - traditionally, a bunch of leafy birch tree branches tied together to be used during a steam bath to improve circulation.

---

The hands of a vintage wall clock seemed to move at a snail's pace. Sleep had been elusive. He had no taste for either food or alcohol, which was stocked in abundance at the house. He smoked and drank strong tea to pass the time, avoiding alcohol, cognizant of the necessity to keep a clear head. Every time he had heard a car engine outside, he had to repress a shudder. Gleb glanced at his Breguet for the third time in the last half an hour, trying to fight the fear that had sunk its claws into him. He hated feeling trapped, but could not do anything to help his situation. Unable to control his destiny and forced to wait blindly for a decision, he had spent the better part of the last two days pacing the living room of the house, which Advokat had generously offered him as shelter, but felt more like a cage. Gleb grimaced at having to wait blindly.

Two days that passed since he had spoken with Advokat, felt more like two years. Around six in the evening on the second day, the lights from a passing car did not move beyond the edge of the window as they had every other time, but stopped at the ceiling.

"The hour of reckoning. About time they've gotten here," Gleb mused aloud, exhausted from waiting for the inevitable. Slowly pushing a thick velvet drape away from the window, he looked at a Silver Lexus LX570, which pulled up to the house.

"Tinted windows. Figures. Can't see a damn thing," he continued, studying the scene unfold as though he was watching a movie.

The right front and the back left doors of the sport utility vehicle swung out simultaneously, letting out two guys with identical cropped haircuts. Judging by their build, they were either former wrestlers or mixed martial arts fighters. The men bounced onto the road, favoring their left sides, so the loose-fitting black leather jackets they wore would not flare out to reveal the heat they were packing.

"Finita la comedia," Gleb muttered, fighting a chill creeping up his spine. While he was trying to find a way to go down with a bang, he saw the right back door open slowly. Advokat got out of the vehicle in a leisurely dignified move.

"Son of a bitch! The old fox had to know I'd be watching… so he took his goddamn time to leave the truck…"

As though having heard Gleb's thoughts, Advokat looked up at the window. Their eyes met. With a sly grin, he winked at Gleb and headed for the house.

"Ready to go?" Advokat asked with a barely concealed smirk, forgoing the greeting as he walked into the living room. Not giving Gleb a chance to respond, he continued. "Those two," he pointed at the guys outside, "are here for your protection. Skedaddle, I'm right behind you."

"You're not comin' with?" Gleb asked, raising an eyebrow. The wet work would not be done at this house: too much hassle to clean-up the fancy furnishings. If Advokat was not joining him in the car, there was no guarantee that this was not going to be Gleb's final journey.

"I made the summit happen. Don't sweat it. You'll be heard."

Gleb stood stock-still, studying Advokat through narrowed eyes for a hint of deception. Advokat leaned against an ornate bureau by the door and dropped his voice an octave.

"I said… Don't fret. Get going." The order sounded like a growl.

Gleb shrugged, pulled on his cashmere coat and walked out to the vehicle. Oddly enough, the typical chanson was not blasting through the windows of the car. "Ordered to keep everything on the down-low," Gleb guessed. As soon as he got in, the vehicle took off in a smooth motion, the driver skillfully avoiding the potholes and bumps covering the road.

Lulled by the soundless ride, Gleb looked out the window, banishing his bleak thoughts and taking in the countryside. They were flying by evergreen woods, a dark backdrop to the fields blanketed with glistening white snow, reflecting the moon and the stars shining bright in the still wintry sky.

"Winter isn't ready to give up its rule, but spring is filling the crisp night air… How is that I've never noticed this when I lived in these parts? Life is a gift. A precious gift, which I have squandered like a fucking moron… I've always been in such a rush to get things, thinking I had all the time in the world… As they say, should have taken the time to stop and smell the roses. Have to remember to do that often after I get out of this…"

Shaking off his musings, he focused on the reason for his trip half the way across the world. He had to be at the top of his game tonight. He could not afford to make a mistake.

"Get a hold of yourself. Have you gone soft?" He stole a glance at his so-called bodyguards. "Leave the sentimental garbage to the weak and the needy. You're neither. Mind those two assholes… their task can shift from protecting your ass to icing it in a wave of Filin's wrist. And you're unarmed." Not that Gleb would ever dare to disrespect the thieves' summit by bringing along a gun. He shook his head, refocusing his attention on the road.

The car was completely quiet. Knowing his destination was withheld on purpose, Gleb chose not to ask any questions. In the brotherhood, hierarchy mattered. He would not stoop to their level, at the end of the day, he still had to mind his stature.

Gleb noticed the vehicle accelerating as it entered Ostashkovsky highway. In about fifteen kilometers he glanced at the speedometer over the driver's shoulder, just as the guy slowed down and took a right exit onto a freshly paved road. A large billboard by the exit flashed in brilliant white letters, New Horizons. Grand Hotel, Casino and Traditional Bath Houses.

"A cliché on top of kitsch. How fitting," Gleb thought, trying to recall why the name sounded familiar. "Pirogov Lake. Fancy place." His memory finally served him with a mental image of a map, when the vehicle sped through the ornate wrought iron gates and continued on the main road of the recreational complex. The driver parked abruptly by a sprawling single story brick building on the edge of the lake.

Bold green letters on a large white sign hanging over the building entrance read: Russian Bath House and Spa.

"I just might take a steam later to take the edge off… Too bad I didn't bring my own venik," Gleb smirked at the thought, watching his bodyguards silently leave the vehicle. The shorter one, who had ridden shotgun, opened Gleb's door.

Gleb inhaled the chilly evening air, pausing at the entrance for a moment. The parking lot by the building was completely empty. Either they were the first to arrive, which was unlikely, or all the other cars were parked elsewhere, away from prying eyes. He was willing to bet on the latter.

"Get a move on," he said to his escorts, leading the way inside.

The first thing that he saw walking in was a long bar spanning the wall between the front and the back doors. But instead of a pretty girl with long legs and a nice rack typically hired in places such as this one, the bartender was a muscular guy, who tried his best to blend in with the décor by wiping down pilsner glasses.

"The crème de la crème has most definitely arrived."

Gleb nodded to the bartender, passing through the open space. He walked through the back door with the bodyguards on his heels, huffing and puffing. The long and winding corridor led Gleb into a foyer, where he was met by a scrawny young man, smiling like a barracuda. Gleb dubbed him a weasel the moment he saw him.

"Good Evening, Gleb. Please have a seat," the weasel said, gesturing to a large carved bench by the wall, "I will be back to show you in shortly." Before Gleb could respond, the weasel disappeared behind a side door.

After two days of sitting around expecting bad news another half an hour meant nothing. Gleb settled on the bench, preparing to wait, realizing that he was ready for any outcome at this point. He was tired of uncertainty.

The weasel reappeared in about twenty minutes.

"I'm sorry for the delay. You're expected in the great room," he said, stopping short of bowing to Gleb, and nodded to the large wooden doors at the other end of the foyer.

"No, you're not, you little shit," Gleb thought, but said nothing. He stretched his numb legs and rose up from the bench. The polished wood was not the most comfortable of seats. Walking through the open doors, he squinted: the lighting inside the great room was brighter than in the foyer. Once his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Gleb took an appraising look at his surroundings.

The weasel was not kidding. The room was grand. It could have easily fit a basketball court of a high school. But unlike high school basketball courts, it lacked any natural light. The entire room was windowless. The room was lit with a countless number of crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling.

All sixteen chairs around a heavy oval table at the center of the room were occupied, except for one, with its back to the door, across from Filin. "A damn setup." This was a truth unconditionally acknowledged in certain circles that the last seat in the house, with its back to the door, was least desirable for anyone with a reason to be concerned for his safety. The unsuspecting victim could be choked in his seat quickly, and then quietly removed from the room without much commotion, while the rest conducted their business without interruption.

Despite being chagrined by the seating arrangement, Gleb was not about to make his displeasure known and turned his attention to people at the table. He recognized the faces of almost everyone. There were a couple new guys who had to be crowned after he had left the country, but everyone he knew had not changed too much.

Gleb thought it ironic: if not for the tattooed hands, the gathering looked like a board meeting. The sharp Italian suits, button-downs and silk ties were a testament to the money and power held by those present in the room. He smirked at his thoughts.

"What are you smiling for, Amerikanec? Join us, take a load off…" Filin said slowly, punctuating every word. The older man's bushy eyebrows, which earned him the moniker, furrowed in intimidation.

"He does look like a large owl," Gleb thought, his gaze sweeping the room one more time, before he pulled the chair out from under the table. Lowering onto the seat he locked his gaze with Advokat. "How the hell did he get here before me? The driver must have had instructions to take a long way… Driving slow he wasn't." Gleb's thoughts were interrupted by Filin once again.

"Making busy people wait is unbecoming. Start talking, we're listening."

"The fuck you're doing here, scum?"

The loud words of a younger thief reverberated through the room, which had gone completely still upon the sound. He was sitting three chairs down from Gleb, on the left. The guy had to be one of the recently crowned thieves; with the ink on his stars not having had enough time to dry or his head deflate from the title bestowed on him. The air of superiority radiated from the bastard. Gleb grimaced as though he had a toothache.

Not bothering to look in the direction of the young thief, Filin said through gritted teeth, "Pipe down, Gibbon. One more word… and you won't last 'til another stint at the pen."

"Mind your place, bitch." Maloy, a blonde thief towering over the rest with his six and a half foot frame, built like a tank, reinforced Filin's threat, his baritone kicking the heat up a notch. Amerikanec knew Maloy reasonably well. The threats of this man were never empty. Maloy looked over at Filin and nodded. Gibbon slumped in the chair and lowered his head, as the group turned the attention back to Gleb.

"So Maloy is now the enforcer," Gleb thought, watching the silent exchange between two men.

"Filin, the protocol is slipping on your watch…" He said, deciding to up the ante, and glanced pointedly at Gibbon, who clearly had the stones but not the brains, to speak out of line.

"Tightening of the reigns is in order, it seems." Gleb kept his tone light, bordering on amused. Taunting the superior thief while in a precarious position was not the smartest move, but he could not resist. Gibbon had to be taught a lesson, and Gleb was more than willing to oblige.

Not breaking eye contact with Gleb, Filin asked, menacingly lowering his voice, "Amerikanec, did you request a summit to teach me the virtues of keeping up the protocol? Or you have actual business to discuss?"

"I got a score to settle. Set you straight." Gleb splayed his hands on the tabletop when he spoke abruptly, shifting his gaze to Advokat and then back to Filin. But it seemed, Gibbon was unable to keep his mouth shut and the lesson was lost on him.

"You dense, bitch?" he asked loudly, "You got no score. You're dead meat, stinking up the place!"

"Listen, what's your face, Gibbon?" Gleb asked, speaking slowly as if to a mentally challenged. "You sure it's not your shit that reeks? Change the damn pants."

"Shut it," Filin said loudly, slamming his fist on the table with such force that the water shook in the carafes and the glasses clinked.

Gibbon was livid, but choked on his retort, seeing the icy glare Filin shot him, and refrained from making another sound.

Then schooling his features into an impassive mask, Filin said evenly, "What score, Amerikanec? You fucked up. Got laid up like an amateur. It's not enough the cops are sniffing under your tail, the Feds are now involved."

"I fucked up, I don't deny it. But," Gleb paused for emphasis, "Filin, you know I've proven my worth to the treasury. And so the deal that brought me down was too good to pass up. It was legit. If only the son of a bitch didn't back out at the last moment. Surprised me. I overreacted. Happens to the best of us. Like the contract you put out on me… Rash decision, that. I hold the account numbers and access codes to the treasury. Ice me today… You're next tomorrow. The brotherhood won't forgive the money lost. Tell me I'm wrong."

Gleb finished his speech and looked at Filin expectantly, waiting for his words to sink in.

Filin held Gleb's gaze from under his eyebrows and let silence linger for a moment. The room went completely still.

"You trying to intimidate me, Amerikanec? You've got balls, I'll give you that… I stand for my word. The question is can you stand for yours?"

Filin was a shrewd thief, a tough nut to crack for sure, but Gleb saw that he was able to convey the flaw in the logic of the brotherhood at the last summit.

"That's what I'm here for." Gleb said, glancing around the room. "I'll prove once again that no one will get better returns than I do, if you give me a chance to take care of the case against me."

"For a festering pustule, you ask a bit much…" Taras said, looking up from his water glass at Gleb. An old thief, who had spent most of his life shuffling from one of the penitentiaries up north to another with brief intermissions of freedom, Taras could still remember when Baron had sat at the head of a table not unlike this one. So the prospect of letting Gleb kill Baron's only daughter to clean-up his own mess did not sit well with the old thief.

"Amerikanec is right," Advokat said, seizing the opportunity to voice his opinion before Taras resumed his heartfelt speech about the good old times and the legacy Baron had left behind. If anything could tip the scale against Amerikanec, it was Baron's ghost. Advokat's horses always finished first; as such he could not allow anything to derail his plan, once he decided to support Amerikanec.

"Amerikanec is tied in. We ice him now, plugging the cash leaks could take months. No one here wants to see that. As for the girl… She's his case. No girl. No case. Matter of collateral damage."

Advokat's words split the thieves' assembly into two bickering factions. Watching the argument heat up with the verbal attacks getting vicious and personal, stopping short of taking swings at each other, Filin was forced to make a decision. He hated that he had to go back on his word, but a lack of a backup plan, or a suitable replacement for the treasurer, left him little choice in the matter. Advokat was right: the brotherhood would not look kindly on the cash leaks, which were imminent, if they went through with the decision to bury Amerikanec.

"Enough!" Filin raised his voice to silence the room. "You want another damn chance? You got it. Fuck it up… and you'll answer to a higher authority." He pointed his finger to the ceiling.

For the first time since the beginning of the summit Gleb could exhale fully. His heart pounded in his chest, threatening to break through the breastbone, blood pumping in his ears. Some part of him was still in shock that his gamble had paid off. In a few days he would be back in New York.

"I want to thank the assembly for hearing me out," he said in a calm tone. God only knew how much effort it took him to sound detached, but he succeeded with a bow of his head.

"We're done for today," Filin said, rising up from the heavy chair. The rest of the thieves followed his example. "If you are so inclined, the facilities of this establishment are at your service." He tossed over his shoulder, walking out the side door.

"Blonde? Brunette? Both?" Advokat walked up to Gleb, grinning wolfishly at Filin's euphemism.

"One who uses a razor," Gleb shuddered, recalling an unfortunate incident when he felt the hairy legs of a girl who was servicing him. "And gives good head."

Advokat smirked, loosening his tie, and headed for the door, behind which Filin had disappeared moments earlier. He was able to put his cards into play better than he had anticipated when he agreed to help Amerikanec. All he had to do now was sit back and watch his prodigy deliver.

Gleb followed Advokat, mulling over how he would repay his mentor for the support. He engaged in underhanded politics not out of the goodness of his heart, but for the benefits their arrangement offered him. Advokat had always had a leash around Gleb's neck, but now it felt as though he added a training collar. But, Gleb figured it was the price of staying alive.

Filin sat at the desk of the suite he occupied whenever he stayed at this hotel. Looking at the lake, he was thinking over the assembly with a heavy heart. He took a square decanter from the tray on the corner of his desk and poured a generous drink of Bourbon into a heavy glass. He glanced out of the window at the lake, sighed and tossed back the amber liquid in one large gulp. He grunted as the liquid burned his esophagus, going down.

"Baron, this was not up to me… I have an obligation…" he muttered, looking at the horizon. "If at least a half of what I've heard about her is true, your girl can hold her own…"

Advokat, the cunning bastard, played the brotherhood card, knowing that Filin was old school. The thieves' code mattered more to Filin than any promise. That left the superior no choice. But Filin did not have to like taking back his word or risk having another situation such as this one. It was time to secure insurance. He picked up the old-fashioned phone.

"Have Classic come by," he said tersely into the receiver.

A few minutes later, a lean dark-haired man of about forty walked into the suite. Except for his aquiline nose and piercing brown eyes, his features were unremarkable. Despite a relatively young age and recent crowning, Classic had a reputation among the thieves for being just as smart as he was ruthless. He was a type who blended well with a crowd and did not leave much of an impression afterward. A perfect candidate for the task Filin had in mind.

Classic easily lowered himself into a leather chair, at which Filin wordlessly jerked his chin when the younger man approached the desk. Filin refreshed his glass and poured two fingers into another. Raising his and gesturing for Classic to do the same, he toasted silently, and then took a sip. Classic took the drink, swirled it and waited for the superior to speak.

After slowly polishing off the rest of the Bourbon in his glass, Filin leaned back in the chair, regarding the man sitting in front of him, as though contemplating his worth.

"How's your English, Classic?"

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Chapter 19: Subterfuge in the Desert

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"Mare, I distinctly remember you saying something the other day about Ronnie not being an arms dealer…"

"Oh, shut up, Doofus," Mary said, rolling her eyes.

This early Thursday morning they were heading into the locker rooms to change into their attire for the operation after an early morning briefing with Dana Taylor. Ronnie was just as insufferable as he had always been, so neither of them was particularly thrilled to spend the next forty eight hours in his company.

"Go! Get dressed. Let's get this show on the road." She socked him in the arm and disappeared behind the door to the locker room.

Mary unzipped the garment bag and stared at the ensemble Dana's patsy had picked out for her. If everything in her luggage was anything remotely like this one, Marshall would get a coronary before the op was over and done with. She smirked. A small part of her felt sorry for her partner, otherwise she was amused by the prospect of watching him squirm.

She peeled the backing off the adhesive strips of a backless bra and stuck it on. She was not entirely sure if this piece could even qualify as a bra, seeing how it had two cups and a silicone molding holding it together and absentmindedly wondered if ripping the adhesive off would be painful at the end of the day. Mary shimmied into a red plunging halter top, pulled on a pair of charcoal bootcut jeans and a light gray suede jacket. Reaching for her ankle holster, she swore, remembering she was going into the field with a different gun. She felt almost naked without her badge and her Glock in the hip holster even though she could see the tip of the Walther P99QA handle peeking out from the inside of her open black bag.

Sighing, she opened the jewelry case, slipped on a pair of earrings, three rings and a lariat necklace, sparkling with synthetic diamonds. If these had been the real deal, she would be easily wearing half a million worth of baubles. Although, considering all the silicone and electronics that were packed inside each piece, the value of these babies was not exactly insignificant either. A pinhole camera was set inside the necklace, sophisticated microphones in the earrings: these gadgets were advanced enough to make it into a James Bond movie. Only if she was the one wearing them, she would have to be James Bond… which would make Marshall the Bond Girl. Oh, she would have so much fun with this one.

Looking herself over in the mirror, Mary winked at her reflection. Toeing on a pair of black Louboutin peep-toe red soles, she buttoned two buttons on the draping lapels of her jacket. There was no reason to give her coworkers an eyeful. She could not care less for Armani Collezioni or whatever other label she was wearing, but she looked good. Hell, she looked great, even if she felt naked without either of her holsters. She was no longer U.S. Marshal Mary Shannon, but Donna Freshet, a socialite and a criminal mastermind extraordinaire… and she was ready to rumble.

On the other side of the wall, Mary's partner was studying his reflection in a similar mirror. The man looking back at him had little in common with Marshall. Gone were his ever-present cowboy boots and western style jacket. A charcoal jacket with a pocket square to match his blue button-down with subtle sheen, tailored slacks and a pair of polished Italian leather shoes replaced his normal attire. No tie. Elaborate cufflinks with enough equipment to transmit a pin drop, not just conversation. Shoulder holster. Fancy glasses to record every document he would have to read or sign if they ever got to the financial pitch.

Marshall combed through his hair and mussed it so it fell in place and flashed an arrogant smile. It felt effortless now, not painfully forced as it had been when Marshall started practicing that smile a few days ago.

"Pete Ansel, casually dangerous man of many talents," Marshall thought, satisfied with his once-over. "Chief of security for Donna Freshet. The Donna Freshet."

Marshall had worked with Dana on an elaborate cover story to withstand the scrutiny of Conran's people. He was running point on this op, and the role of financial adviser did not allow him the flexibility he needed to get the job done. They added two undercover ATF agents, Liam and Dylan, to play the role of Donna's bodyguards. At the hotel, the party and at the deal site they would take orders from Marshall. After the takedown, the transport of the guns from the scene would be up to them, enabling the marshals to whisk Ronnie away to safety and leaving the FBI to deal with Conran.

Marshall intended to take full advantage of the definition of his new role. The full-size SIG P226 fit nicely into his shoulder holster. He pulled the gun out and checked it again.

"Fuck the gold… He who has the nickel plating makes the rules," Marshall said to his reflection with a jerk of his chin. "Thanks for the inspiration, Murphy."

Never had he been as happy about having trained rigorously with different types of guns, not just his standard issue, as he was in anticipation of this op. He had to put in a few additional hours on the range to make sure his muscle memory served him well should the situation come up where he needed to use the gun, and was pleased to discover that the SIG fit into his hand just as naturally as the Glock.

Marshall retrieved his cuffs from the locker. He needed them to lock a briefcase, which would shortly be filled with cash, to his wrist. Taking one last look in the mirror to make sure his hair was just right, he walked out of the locker room with the briefcase in one hand and garment bag in the other.

A stretch white Hummer pulled up to the entrance of the Posh Resort and Spa in Scottsdale, AZ. Liam tossed the keys to the valet, and Dylan, who was riding shotgun, left the vehicle to open the back door. The bellhops rushed over to get the luggage, but were stopped by Liam until Marshall stepped out, looking over the grounds, and gave a nod of approval. Marshall then turned back to the door, offering his hand to Mary, who, by that point, had fully embraced the role of a spoiled socialite. She left the vehicle, adjusting her shades, using it as an excuse to scan their surroundings just like Marshall. Satisfied with the results, she unbuttoned her jacket and made her way into the lobby with a slightly exaggerated sway of the hips for as much a part of her cover as her amusement. She knew the four men were staring after her, and although getting Marshall worked up was not her intent, a part of her enjoyed yanking his chain a little.

"I'm just having a little fun. No harm in that." The thought put a spring in her step.

The resort looked amazing. The sun. The blue sky. The cacti. Too bad they were on an assignment. In the middle of the desert. Under the watch of the most dangerous arms dealer in the south west. With a protected witness.

"Oh, Crap."

Mary chastised herself for getting caught up in the moment and focused on the task at hand. Flashing a multimillion dollar smile to the clerk at the desk, she gave the alias and was pleased that the two-bedroom suite was ready. In addition to the suite, three other rooms were reserved for their use: Liam and Dylan headed into their rooms to setup and would join Mary, Marshall and Ronnie in the suite after getting the go-ahead from Dana at the central command center. As anticipated, Conran's people checked into everyone's backgrounds, and kept a close watch on the hotel. According to plan, Mary and Marshall would be staying at the suite with Ronnie at all times for the duration of this assignment, but the third room had been booked for the subterfuge. The personal concierge led them through the maze of the adobe-style casitas to a private entrance to the suite. The rest of the rooms were on the other side of the building.

The bellhop brought in their luggage shortly after they made it into the suite. Marshall tipped the man, who made himself scarce after earning a glare from Marshall for staring down Mary's plunging neckline a bit longer than was polite. Mary only smirked.

While Marshall cleared the suite, Ronnie went straight for the minibar, loosened his tie, dropped into an oversized chair in the middle of the living room and put his feet up on the coffee table.

Marshall got two bottles of water from the fridge, keeping one and tossing the other to Mary. They had another hour to kill before they had to make their appearance at the mansion. Marshall took off his jacket so it would not get wrinkled and settled on a couch across from Ronnie.

"I'm going to change," Mary announced, heading for the second bedroom. "Play nice. I'll be back in a jiffy."

Both men went wide-eyed at her statement, so she added, "You didn't expect me to go to the party wearing the same thing I wore on the plane, did you?" She rolled her eyes. "Men!"

Marshall stared after her retreating form until she disappeared behind the door, processing her words. As often happened on undercover assignments, the change of clothing had revamped Mary's personality. She enjoyed using the acting talent she had inherited from her mother whether to further their investigations or protect witnesses. The woman who had left the room moments earlier was Donna Freshet, not Mary Shannon. Mary was hidden underneath, as she so clearly demonstrated with her patented eye roll.

It was about time Marshall took a cue from Mary and became Pete Ansel for the next forty eight hours. They could not afford any mistakes: a deal to buy a million and a half worth of automatic weapons, with a protected witness in their custody... was no cake walk. Marshall's thoughts drifted to the other man in the room. If it were up to him, Ronnie would have been out of the program like madras pants, just as Marshall had promised when Ronnie signed the M.O.U. three years ago. Unfortunately, Marshall had no say in the matter. Ronnie was back in despite breaking every rule in the book. He was giving Conran to the Feds. And the Marshals Service was forced to participate in an operation, into which they had no business being roped. As far as Marshall was concerned, Ronnie's relocation from Albuquerque after the operation was wrapped up, was the only perk of this op.

"What a minx," Ronnie said with a grin and stretched back in the chair.

Marshall glared at Ronnie's smug expression. Without uttering a word, he rose from the couch and walked over to a window overlooking a cacti-covered hill. He refused to take the bait.

Marshall thought back to the flight on the Learjet. After going through the particulars of the operation, Marshall had spent most of the flight ignoring Ronnie's inappropriate comments and envisioning creative ways for Ronnie to meet his demise. Marshall was as much annoyed with the taunts, as he was entertained by the scenarios he came up with.

Marshall spotted a large specimen of Echinocactus grusonii in the middle of the hill. A disturbing image of a buck naked Ronnie dropped on top of that barrel cactus cracked Marshall up.

"Mary would get a kick out of this one." He smirked. His partner despised Ronnie's line of work, he used the term loosely… and Ronnie in particular.

Unaware of Marshall's thoughts, Ronnie shot a knowing look to Marshall's back, took a sip from his drink and flipped on the television.

In the second bedroom, Mary was looking over the rest of the clothing she removed from the garment bag and spread out on the bedspread. She had to give it to Dana, for the task at hand, her outfits were chosen very well. She did not need much time to change from her revealing travel outfit into an equally tantalizing dark multicolor wrap-dress. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror before rejoining Marshall and Ronnie in the living room.

"Mary. Mary. Mary. I didn't think you had it in you," Ronnie said as she made her way into the living room. He rose from the chair and leaned against a column in the middle of the living room, brazenly ogling her.

Marshall turned away from the window and froze in his tracks. If Mary's first outfit had his blood pressure shoot through the roof when she took off her jacket, this dress was worse. Much worse. He was transfixed. It was as though he was transported back to the night of Treena's bachelorette party… Mary looked… stunning… mesmerizing… enchanting… none of the words that came to his mind were good enough to describe how good she looked. He would turn into a stuttering idiot if he had to speak right now. All he could think of was how he could strip that dress off... He had to look away to collect himself. If there was ever a time where he needed all his restraint this was it.

"You're supposed to call me Donna, you idiot. You want to blow our cover?" Mary asked, glaring at Ronnie.

"Oh, right. Sorry," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Nice tits!"

"Shut your hole, jackass." Mary rolled her eyes.

Ronnie turned to Marshall, who had made his way closer to the column, against which Ronnie was leaning, looking smug.

"You tell me, Pete," Ronnie exaggerated Marshall's alias. "Don't you wish you could get your hands all over that?" he asked with a leer, drawing curves in the air.

Any self-control Marshall had left by that point snapped and he rammed his fist into the column over Ronnie's head.

"Show some respect, jackass, or I won't miss the next time," Marshall said through gritted teeth.

"But, Pete, this no way to treat a valuable asset." Ronnie looked completely undeterred by Marshall's outburst. If anything, he looked happy to get the reaction he did.

"I won't leave bruises, trust me," Marshall growled.

"Geez, Marshall, easy! Forget this asshole." Mary got between the two and pulled Marshall away. "Come on! We're on assignment. Remember?"

"Donna, honey, aren't you worried about blowing our cover?" Ronnie asked with a wide grin.

"Keep at it, douchebag. Give me a reason to call this off. How does platinum plus at the big house sound, huh?" Mary asked over her shoulder, keeping a firm hold on Marshall.

Marshall had stopped struggling and was now breathing heavily, trying to restrain the urge to strangle Ronnie. As time went on, he became acutely aware of two things: one, Mary's body was pressed flush against him, her hands forcibly restraining his forearms to keep him from maiming Ronnie, and two, if she did not release him soon he would have to reel in an urge of a different kind. Since he did not care to take a cold shower fifteen minutes before having to leave for the party, he pulled himself together and said, forcing his tone flat, "I'm fine, Donna, you can let me go now."

The ride to Conran's mansion was made in relative peace. Mary and Marshall were silent, both smarting from the earlier incident, Dylan was driving the Escalade they were given for this part of the assignment, and Liam was engaged with Ronnie in quasi-friendly banter.

Once they arrived at Conran's property, his security frisked them. They were allowed to keep the guns outside with the expectation of surrendering those once they were inside the mansion. As soon as they made it to the lavish grounds, Ronnie asked for Mary's drink preference and disappeared in the direction of the bar.

"Okay, kids, places and game faces," he said, handing Mary her gin and winking at Marshall. Determined to keep his cool, Marshall did not pay him any mind, resorting to scanning the crowd instead.

Mary took a sip from her glass and thought it ironic that lately whenever she was working undercover, she chose to drink gin. Last time she had it at the frat bar in Manhattan, when she had to extract James under the watch of the Graham brothers. She remembered wrestling with the green monster of jealousy, thinking that Marshall was out on the town with Liz. She took another small sip and smiled. Funny how tables had turned on this assignment.

Julian's sidekick approached them. Briefly glancing at Dylan and Liam lingering behind Mary, he grinned at Ronnie.

"Ronnie McIntire, how the hell are you doing, my man?" He guffawed before turning to Mary. "Funny, the uglier you get, the blonder they come!"

"You must be Sam." Mary smiled and held out her hand. "Donna Freshet."

"Charmed. I hope you like Julian's dog and pony show. Ronnie is killing it with this one."

Mary chuckled. "So he says."

"Pete Ansell. We need to go over the security protocol." Marshall said, shaking Sam's hand.

"I like the way you think, but I'm not your guy. Charles is. I'll introduce you. C'mon." Sam led Marshall away, casting another wary glance at the detached faces of Liam and Dylan, who had not moved an inch since he had approached their group.

Marshall returned wearing his high tech glasses, just as Julian Conran ran up the stairs to the stage and turned to the guests.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Ladies and Gentlemen! Thank you all for coming. I hope you've had a drink, or three." He chuckled at his own joke, and a few people in the crowd laughed. "I'm so pleased to offer the next round of investment into our carry trade fund. But I'm not the one to explain that very complicated fund to you, for that I have the magnificent Sam. Sam, come up here, do your thing. Again, thank you all for coming. Talk to you soon!" Finishing his speech, Julian ran down the steps and walked through the crowd, smiling and nodding to everyone he encountered on the way to Mary and her four man entourage.

"And we're up," Mary said under her breath.

"Julian!" Ronnie said, shaking Julian's hand. "This is my friend…" Ronnie did not get a chance to finish. Julian's attention was completely focused on Mary.

"Right, Mrs. Freshet." He smiled, shaking her hand.

"Miss." She smiled in response, and Julian nodded, appreciatively. "Julian, I hope you don't mind, brought my guys with me."

"Naturally. Shall we?" Julian nodded and headed inside the mansion.

They walked through a large open area into a living room with a long wraparound bar.

"You'll have to excuse me, I'm a tad security minded." Julian said, making his way to the window.

"Ah, who isn't these days," Mary said, setting her glass down on the bar and gesturing back to her entourage. "How can I put you at ease?" she asked, rubbing her hands together.

"A little frisking never hurt anybody. Guys, do your thing." He gestured to his guards to proceed, as Marshall, Dylan and Liam surrendered their guns and extended their arms in acquiescence to the search. Ronnie smirked and followed their example.

"Wouldn't want to spoil the mood with a wire." Julian smiled, his lips flattening into a tight line. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Mary said softly, reciprocating with a seductive smile.

Julian's guards completed the search and turned their attention to the pair. Marshall watched Julian put his hands on Mary's waist.

"Would you object to a little petting?" Julian asked, leaning into Mary's space.

"Never," she said, lowering her voice and looking down with a small smile. "Here, let me help. So you boys don't miss anything along the way."

Julian took a step back once Mary put her hands on the skinny belt of her dress. She slowly untied the knot and opened her dress, revealing the skimpy lingerie with a thin smile and looked up at Julian. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Marshall's grim expression. She would have to deal with the fallout from this little stunt later.

"My compliments." Julian said, taking in her semi-naked form. Then he turned back to the rest of the group. "Ronnie, would you please go mingle?"

"But…" Ronnie tried to protest.

"Hush, Ronnie, the adults are talking," Mary said, shooting him a brief glare.

Marshall locked his gaze with Liam over his glasses and jerked his chin in the direction of the door. Without a word, Liam nodded, retrieved his gun from the guard on the left, and left after Ronnie.

"Follow me," Julian said, heading to the large doors on the right. He pushed the heavy wood inside, revealing an office. Marshall nodded to Dylan, and the man stayed on the other side of the doors with Julian's guards.

Julian settled in his chair by a mahogany desk, gesturing for Mary and Marshall to take the chairs across from him. Charles, Julian's right hand man with whom Marshall had had a conversation earlier, took the chaise on the side. Mary started the meeting by bringing up Julian's problem in Tejas, and giving Charles time to verify that she was able to get the tunnels open. Once given the confirmation, Julian sat back and gave the floor to Charles for a demonstration of available.

The man made his way over to the far wall and opened a demo case with a vast assortment of firearms.

"Look at all these toys," Mary said, looking over at Julian.

Marshall rose from his chair and joined Charles at the case. They compared a few models, settling on a light compact submachine gun with a longer barrel and a range of 50 meters.

"So, should we run through this real quick?" Julian asked, after the demo case was closed and everyone was back in their seats. Mary nodded and he continued.

"Five hundred pieces, at Mil and a half. First half upfront, second on the back end."

"Mil three," Mary said in a flat tone, looking out the window.

"Mil four," Julian countered with a charming smile, which did not reach his eyes. The eyes remained cold and calculating.

"Deal," Mary said, nodding to Marshall to take over for the details.

"Tomorrow afternoon too soon?" Marshall asked, unlocking the cuffs from his wrist and then the briefcase, before handing it to Julian.

"No such thing," Julian said, setting the briefcase on the desk and peeking inside.

"Shall we say, two pm at the World Coasters by the Ferris Wheel?" Marshall asked, referring to an abandoned amusement park in Gilbert, AZ.

"Three pm," Charles said after a silent exchange with Julian. "At the House of Mirrors."

"Three pm," Marshall confirmed, adjusting the glasses. "At the Bumper Cars."

"Don't be late," Mary added, narrowing her eyes.

"I have a rule..." Julian fell silent, and then smiled. "Never keep a lady waiting."

They went through the rest of the details of the deal for the following afternoon, covering the number of people who would bring the merchandise, and types of vehicles both sides were to expect at the exchange. When they were done, Mary left the office with a flourish, leaving Marshall and Dylan to collect their guns on the way out. Making their way through the grounds, they walked out into the street, where Ronnie and Liam were waiting inside the Escalade.

Mary rested her hip on a stool by the bar in the cocktail lounge of their hotel, twirling the stem of a martini glass between her fingers. She had a sinking suspicion she would not want to look at gin for months after this op was finished. Taking in the lavishly appointed space, her gaze lingered over a modern painting, which looked more like blots of color rather than a work of art. She knew Marshall would ridicule her lack of appreciation for modern art if she brought it up, but he was unavailable at the moment, having to follow their miscreant of a witness to the men's room. But discussing the merits of the painting with either Liam or Dylan, who were lingering close enough, but not quite in her space, was not an option. It would give Conran's men the wrong impression. She was frustrated with having to wait for a table on her own.

"Was it too much to ask of Ronnie to use the bathroom before we came down to the lobby lounge? Who knew the douchebag had a bladder the size of a… Christ on a bicycle. I did not just think about his bladder."

She needed to think of something else. Smiling, she recalled Marshall's expression when she came out of the bedroom earlier that evening. She had changed into another dress before heading down for dinner. This one was a shimmering black backless number with a knee length pencil skirt. There was a visible sign of relief painted on his face, when he saw the modest neckline of the dress. But then she turned around to pick up her scarf and saw his reflection in the dark window. That look was priceless: worth every minute of the discomfort from wearing her peel-and-stick bra. There were things about this op she really would not mind recreating without the nuisance by the name of Ronnie.

Distracted by the thought, Mary reached into a dish with olives to pick one up with a knotted bamboo toothpick when someone's fingers closed on her wrist. She jerked her hand free, halting Dylan and Liam on approach, and glared at a guy, who dared interrupting her musings.

"Take your hands off me, ass wipe," She ground out though her teeth.

"You must be tired," he said, grinning at her incredulous expression, "you've been running through my head all evening."

"Is this the best you've got? Really? A pathetic line?" She raised her hand, indicating to the boys she would handle the unwelcome advance on her own.

"I do appreciate your callin' off the dogs, sweetheart," he said, unaffected by her insults. He leaned into her space, bringing his lips closer to her ear. "Let's go someplace more quiet. Whadda ya say?"

Mary took a step back from him, wrinkling her nose. She could smell alcohol on his breath, and as much as she hated to cause a scene, he was giving her little choice.

"Learn to speak properly, dumbass. It's 'quieter', not 'more quiet'. Now get lost."

"Ah, you're sophisticated." The guy slurred his words. "Stop playin' hard to get, sweetheart!"

She was about to summon over the reinforcements when felt rather than saw Marshall's presence beside her and heard Ronnie's stage whisper.

"Pete, look, Donna made a friend." Ronnie chuckled. "Nice. Maybe he should join us for dinner."

"Didn't you hear what the lady said, sweetheart?" Marshall's low voice was menacing. "Leave. Now."

Mary glanced up at Marshall over her shoulder. His jaw line was set and his eyes were cold as ice. He was livid. It did not bode well for her unwelcome company.

The guy grabbed onto the bar for support, shuffling a few steps back and grinning sloppily.

"Oh, isn't it great, there's more than two in a pack. But," he said, raising his finger, "I know when to take a hint…" He turned on his heel and stumbled out of the lounge.

"Well, that was one confused cowboy," Ronnie said with a smirk. "Shame to let a catch like that go. Could've been fun."

"Geez, Ronnie, shut your trap or I'll shut it for you." Mary turned to Marshall. "A breach or a setup?"

"Most likely neither. Though his drunken behavior increased marginally with every word." Marshall said, raking his fingers through his hair. "Need to look into it. Better safe than sorry."

After a moment, he said softly, "God forbid you ask for help… A flick of the wrist was too much trouble?"

Not giving Mary a chance to respond he first looked sharply at Liam, then at Dylan.

"And what the hell were the two of you thinking?" Marshall asked, raising his voice, focused on staying in character. "Never mind. Spare me the weak excuses. You heard the question. I needed the answer yesterday."

"Sir, your table is ready," a hostess chimed in after Marshall finished his diatribe. "If you would follow me?"

"Certainly." Marshall smiled the most charming smile he could muster, and stepped aside to let Mary and Ronnie pass. He waited another beat, looking at Dylan, eyebrows furrowed.

"Will do. You'll have the answer after dinner, boss," Dylan said, rushing out of the restaurant after Liam. The ATF agents had to reach out to central command and investigate the unfortunate incident. The Intel was essential for deciding whether to call the operation off.

After dinner, the marshals brought Ronnie back to the suite. They had gotten word earlier about the bug sweep and got the 'thumbs up'. Both decided against letting Ronnie in on that tidbit of information. Marshall cleared the suite and settled on the couch. Mary shoved Ronnie inside, threw on a deadbolt and turned to him with a glare. She was completely wiped from the day and had little patience for his never-ending innuendos.

"Time to call it a night," she snickered.

"The mattress in the master bedroom is fantastic. Wanna go try it out?" Ronnie grinned.

"No, but if I cuff you to the bedpost and gag that flytrap you call your mouth will that stop the endless flow of crap that's coming out of it?"

"I never knew you're into kink, Donna. Ooh, I can work with that." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Marshall was listening to the exchange with his head rolled back against the pillows. At Ronnie's words he looked up at Mary. She sighed.

"Walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"A little bit, yeah." He gave her a feral grin and turned to face Ronnie. "Let me break this down for you. Finish that drink and turn in, so we can wrap up the prep work and get some rest. You don't want either of us tired, lest you accidentally get plugged at the op tomorrow."

"Ah, have fun, kids." Ronnie stretched, yawning. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do… which isn't much." He guffawed and left the room.

The marshals watched him leave until the door to the bedroom closed. Mary dropped to the couch next to Marshall.

"Do you want the first shift? Or rock-paper-scissors?" she asked, wedging her feet under his thigh.

"The latter. Which one are you going to use?" His head was once again resting on the couch cushions, and his eyes were closed.

"I'm too tired for this crap, numb nuts."

Marshall turned his head to her, quirking up an eyebrow in response, waiting.

"Fine. Rock," Mary said, straightening her back and glaring at her partner.

He let his head fall back on the cushion, but was watching her closely, fully aware that she was not above cheating to get her way.

"On three. One, two, three!"

Mary – paper, Marshall – scissors.

"Uh. Two out of three?" Mary asked, narrowing her eyes at Marshall.

"Okay. One, two, three!"

Mary – rock, Marshall – paper.

"Three out of five?" She asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Marshall chuckled.

"Take the second shift, Mare. I have to discuss the Intel the guys dug up on that clown from the bar and touch base with Stan before calling it a night."

"What the hell did you make me play the stupid game for?"

"You suggested it." Marshall's eyes were shining mischievously as he smiled. "A little payback for keying me up all day."

"You've seen nothing yet, buster..." Mary muttered, making her way to the second bedroom and shaking her head, too tired to remember she was offering Marshall a nice view of her bare back.

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Chapter 20: Good Fight

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She drove him to drink. Always did. He supposed it was fitting that their being together changed absolutely nothing. Not that he would ever expect her to change. He loved her just the way she was, fierce and fearless. Like a moth was drawn to a flame, he was drawn to her tenacity and independence. He loved that about her… when he did not hate it. And at that particular moment, he was not fond of either. He had trouble reeling in his anger. Involuntarily, his fists clenched at the thought of almost having lost her again.

The monotonous sound of jet engines usually had a calming effect on Marshall, giving him a chance to regroup and think… but not tonight. He looked over at Mary's sleeping form. She was out as a light as soon as the post takedown adrenalin had worn off. He could have used some shuteye himself, but was too worked up to sleep. If she had toned down her reckless charging ahead… but, reluctantly, he was forced to admit, doing so was not in her nature. Asking Mary to stop and assess the situation during an op was as pointless as getting in the path of a tornado. Her reacting to changing situations at the drop of a hat worked to their advantage most of the time, except when it did not.

Marshall looked out the small window. The sky was dark: the clouds underneath the jet were barely visible. It was getting late. They would be lucky if they made it back to Albuquerque before midnight. Mopping up the operation and handing Ronnie off to another team of WitSec marshals took an obscene amount of time. Not that time should concern him much for the next few weeks. Mary was livid when she had found out, but there was no wiggle room in the regs. A clean bullet hole in Conran's forehead meant Marshall was facing desk duty pending internal investigation and regular visits to Shelly until he was reinstated. He was not looking forward to either.

He swirled the amber liquid in a glass with a sigh. After they were airborne, Stan gave him a pat on the back and poured half a glass of Maker's Mark. The Chief did not have the eyes on the takedown, but had the ears: he knew how close a call it had been. Which is why, Marshall was not all that surprised that the Chief left him alone to his thoughts that evening.

Despite his sour mood, Marshall could not resist a smirk, recalling Ronnie's handoff. The constant barrage of smart-ass remarks was quite amusing once Marshall had become a spectator. And seeing Ronnie rattled was one hell of a bonus after the day Marshall had had.

"You're Stacy, huh? Your parents had a sense of humor," Ronnie said to a tall brawny marshal, who was signing off on the transfer paperwork. "Too bad you're not a hot blonde…"

A thin woman in her late forties with a dark brown coif, turned away from Dana Taylor, the FBI liaison of the op, and headed in their direction. Marshall recognized Lori Donatello. He heard she had accepted a demotion from a Chief Inspector back into the field after a scandal, the details of which he could not recall. She had a reputation for being a hard ass and took no bull from anyone, including higher-ups and witnesses.

Lori walked up to Ronnie and, looking him in the eyes, responded instead of her partner.

"A hot blonde, he's not. But I can be, sugar…"

Her malicious smirk did not bode well for Ronnie. It appeared Lori had even less tolerance for his antics than Mary and they were not winning him any points.

"You'd like my bracelets," she said, patting a pair of handcuffs at her belt and leered. "Are you going to be a good boy or you wanna try them out?"

She hauled Ronnie to his feet, despite his protests. His exclamations that he was a valuable federal asset, not a criminal, fell on deaf ears. No one in the van paid him any mind.

Stacy Andrews followed Lori, moving quickly ahead and passing Ronnie at the van exit, to secure their leave. Ronnie turned back to Marshall for support, evidently forgetting all the crap he had flung at him during the last forty eight hours.

"A little help here," he called out over Lori's head, as she was dragging him out of the makeshift command center. Marshall shrugged in response, fighting back a grin despite his sullen mood.

"He won't last six months," Mary said, glancing up at Marshall, trying to gauge if he was still mad at her. "Bet you…"

"Not a betting man today, Mare. And since I'd like to leave Arizona tonight, there's paperwork to fill out," Marshall said curtly, not letting her finish. He turned on his heel and headed for a desk in the corner of the van.

Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose at the memory. The bourbon did not help chasing away his dark thoughts. His mind kept returning him to the operation that had gone horribly pear shaped. He knew replaying each step of the op did nothing but get him even more aggravated, yet he could not help himself.

Earlier that afternoon, after getting the word from Stan that the snipers were in position at the amusement park, and the SWAT with the helicopter was stashed in the desert five minutes out, Marshall gave the go-ahead for their party of five to move out from the hotel. Liam drove the Escalade with Marshall riding shotgun. Dylan followed in the Hummer with Mary and Ronnie secured in the back. Their small procession arrived at the amusement park quarter before three. They parked their vehicles by the Bumper Cars, waiting inside of the vehicles for Conran to arrive with the merchandise.

Conran did not disappoint. His crew pulled up five minutes before the time of the rendezvous. Charles was out of the vehicle first, opening the door for Julian. Two goons spilled out of the van that pulled up after Conran's Navigator. Marshall noticed they were armed with semiautomatics.

Surreptitiously checking the Sig in the holster, Marshall signaled to Liam and Dylan to leave the vehicles. Mary was to ensure Ronnie hit the floor and stayed down unless she instructed otherwise. The tinted windows prevented Julian's men from seeing inside the vehicle. By the time Mary made it over to Julian, Marshall was half way to the van with Charles to examine the crates with the weapons. The briefcase with the money was securely fastened to Marshall's wrist.

Marshall selected one of the twenty crates to check the quantity and quality of the merchandise, verifying there were twenty-five Uzi-Pros in each. Satisfied with his inspection, he nodded to Liam, who jogged over with the key to the handcuffs. Charles took the briefcase and headed for the Navigator, where Julian stood next to Mary, waiting.

Marshall's thoughts were interrupted by the Captain's voice from the flight deck. They were starting their descent into Albuquerque. Half an hour later they were on the ground and in the truck heading back to the Sunshine building. Unlike Stan and Marshall, Mary had slept through the flight, so she drove them to the office to pick up their cell phones, badges, and guns.

The air in the vehicle was so tense Stan did not try to diffuse the atmosphere, thinking it would work itself out. Stan had enough of his own headaches to deal with, such as the possibility of putting Marshall on administrative leave for the duration of the internal investigation. He had hoped it would not come to that, but it was not looking good. The inspectors had to resolve their issues by Monday, when the suits would swarm the office to get their statements. Despite his best efforts to stay out of his inspector's private lives, it was beginning to look as though he would have to interfere.

Mary pulled into the garage and parked the truck in deafening silence. Stan sighed. There was no way he could refrain from saying anything.

"Inspectors, you had a bad day…"

"Uh-huh. That's an understatement of the century," Mary said with a sneer.

"Mary, this would be a good time to keep quiet," Stan said, furrowing his brows. "As I was saying… this," he waived his hand in the air, "has to stop. You two work this out, whatever this is. Otherwise, don't bother showing up on Monday. Is that clear?

"Whatever, Stan," Mary said, rolling her eyes. She was irritated with Stan's meddling and the prospect of having an unpleasant conversation with Marshall.

Marshall nodded, then wordlessly left the truck and disappeared inside the building. Mary was about to follow, when the Chief's hand closed on her forearm. She glared at him.

"Mary, word of advice? Let Marshall be for now." He dropped his hand from her arm and let her pass.

"Jesus, Stan, I'm so sick of people telling me what to do. Or not to do. I don't poke around in your business, so stay out of mine, for Pete's sake."

She sped up her stride, her arms swinging at her sides at every step she took purposely pounding the pavement with her heels. Stan effortlessly caught up with her.

"Don't involve me in your business and I'll gladly stay out of it."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mary stopped abruptly and turned to face her boss.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Inspector." He gave her a loaded look. "And I think you'll agree some things are better left unsaid…"

"Unbelievable. I don't need a pep talk." She rolled her eyes. "I can handle it. Okay?"

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other."

Stan smiled and disappeared in the staircase. Mary punched the button for the elevator. She refused to take the stairs at this hour, and it was not like she needed the exercise.

The elevator whizzed and came to a stop. When the doors opened, Marshall emerged from the cab and handed Mary her go bag.

"Your cell, badge and gun are inside. Please drive me home," he said in monotone. His eyes were blank, looking right through her. It did not require extraordinary powers of observation to see that he was still mad at her.

Mary shrugged, hoisted the bag onto her shoulder and made a beeline for the truck. She opened the back, tossing the bag inside, and left it open for Marshall. Climbing into the driver's seat, she heard the slam of the hatch. Marshall was not just mad, he was livid.

After few minutes of tense silence, Mary snapped.

"Come on, just say it."

Marshall kept quiet for a little longer, looking at the road ahead, even though Mary was the one driving.

"What do you want me to say?"

His tone was measured, and he did not bother turning to face her. They were two turns away from his house. He had to keep a lid on his temper until she dropped him off, and then he would have his peace, or so he hoped. For once, she had to take the hint. He was in no mood for a discussion. He would be more than willing to entertain one after he had a chance to cool off and think it through rationally. But Mary's acerbic words broke through his thoughts.

"So, no reproach for how I screwed up your perfect plan? And nothing about not waiting for backup?"

Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No, not tonight."

"How about tomorrow night? Is tomorrow night good for you?" She scoffed.

"You picked a wrong night to start a fight, Mare."

"And why is that?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

She pulled into his driveway.

"Tough shit, because I do. And you'll listen."

"No, I won't."

He left the truck, slamming the door behind him, and left his go bag in the back. Mary was hot on his heels.

"You need your keys to get into the house, asshole."

"What were the chances of your staying in the truck? Hmm?"

He turned to her on the porch and gave her a hard look. His intense blue eyes were as cold as ice. She huffed in response, pushing him aside and shoving the key into the lock. Going through the door, she bumped his hip. He pretended not to notice and headed for the kitchen. His leather motorcycle jacket landed on the chair in the living room. The last reminder of the op gone sideways, discarded as an old rag. Mary followed him inside, leveling a glare at his back.

"You didn't just insinuate that I was predictable?"

"Go home, Mare. And come get me in the morning. I have to be at the Habitat for Humanity by eight," he said without turning around, reaching into the cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. He did not see the sense in changing the poison of the night.

"Do I look like a fucking taxi?"

He whipped around, his anger showing on his face despite his intent to restrain himself. He slammed the bottle down on the counter and took a deep breath. Regaining his composure, he spoke in a measured tone.

"You're taking my truck. All I asked was to bring it back. If that's too much trouble I'll call you a cab. I can't drive you home right now."

"I'm not going home."

"Yes. You are."

"No, I'm not."

She tossed her leather jacket on a chair by the counter. He closed the distance between them, put his hands on her arms and turned her around, giving her a gentle nudge. His hot breath hit her collarbone, sending shivers all over her body. And then he broke the contact just as suddenly as he had initiated it. He took a step back, as though not trusting himself.

"Go home, Mare. Go home, before one of us says something we'll regret later."

She whirled back, glaring at him and fighting the urge to shove him. It was not like she intended to follow Stan's advice. She always pushed until there was nothing left. She fought until her fists were raw and knuckles bloody, whether literally or figuratively. She was not letting Marshall off the hook tonight: she would make him talk to her.

"Don't you dare patronize me, asshole. You don't get to tell me what to do."

"I shouldn't even bother. As if you'd ever listen to what I say."

"Oh, that's rich," Mary said, fixing him with a glare. "So the op didn't go as you planned, but we got him!"

Marshall glared back, the bottle of bourbon forgotten on the counter.

"If by 'we got him' you mean that I had to shoot him when he had your gun at your temple, then yeah, Mary, we got him. Why don't you pat yourself on the back…," he said in a mocking tone, "and go home!"

"Fuck you. Entitled jackass."

"That all you got? Too stubborn to admit that had you waited five seconds until I secured the van with the weapons and let the first truck with Julian's crew leave the scene as planned things would have gone down differently? We were only supposed to take custody of the weapons, remember? That was the order… The plan was for Conran and his men to be apprehended by the SWAT. The bird was in the air, five minutes out. But no, to hell with the plan and the protected witness. Mary Shannon had to take the top dog into custody. Had something to prove to Dana?"

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Mary asked with a glare.

Marshall's fists clenched reflexively. He was short of breathing fire. The scene in the desert unfolded in his mind's eye.

He was half way back from the van to their trucks, when he heard Mary's voice.

"U.S. Marshals! You're under arrest, asshole."

Marshall would remember Julian's self-confident grin for a good long time. It was as though he expected to be ambushed by Mary.

Julian raised his hands and said, "You win, Donna."

But when Mary took a step closer to cuff him, in one lithe motion, Julian had her in a chokehold with her gun at her temple.

"Ah, but it seems the scales have tipped the other way. Drop your weapons," Julian said to Marshall. "On the ground, now!"

Marshall leveled his Sig at Julian, ignoring two semiautomatics trained on him. Liam and Dylan circled around the Hummer, training their weapons on Julian's men, forcing them to change their targets.

"Now, Pete, don't do anything stupid. Donna and I will take a little ride," Julian said, intending to take a step back. He leaned away from Mary just enough for a clear shot.

Marshall pulled the trigger. Julian collapsed, taking Mary down with him in a heap, giving Liam and Dylan a window of opportunity to disarm Julian's men.

Marshall closed his eyes, trying to block out the panic that gripped him when Mary went down with Conran.

Recovering from the onslaught of the memories, Marshall said, "I asked you not to do this tonight. But you couldn't let it go, could you? You had to push me… You wanted a lecture? There you go. You were reckless, pulling a Walther on Conran in front of his goons, armed with semiautomatics. You underestimated Conran. He could have killed you, or any one of us, damn it!"

"But he didn't!" Mary said emphatically, taking a step closer to Marshall, propping her hip against the kitchen counter, and locking her gaze to his.

"He didn't because we got lucky!"

"And because you had my back, just like you always do."

"What else did you expect me to do? You didn't exactly leave me a choice now, did you? God forbid you do what I ask. After all, I'm just your cleanup guy. The one who stays behind to pick up the pieces... And that's my badge on the line now. Just like it always is. But you don't care, do you? And you have no problem with me throwing my legacy away for you…"

"You bastard! You did not just go there."

"Truth hurts, huh, Mare? Tell me I'm wrong. I don't see you rushing to deny that I'm just your lackey. I've got news for you: I'm just as qualified for this gig as you are…"

"I never implied otherwise! We're partners, Marshall."

"Then, Goddamn it, for once, I'd appreciate it if you'd show me some respect and stick to the Goddamn plan!"

A distant memory of the day when he had told her he deserved respect flooded her brain. She felt a surge of panic remembering his offer letter that had caused their first major fight. What was he saying? Was he saying he was leaving her? Now? Her hands started to shake. She took a step forward, pushing off the kitchen counter. He was not going to leave her without a fight.

"Is that all you care about? Your precious plan?"

"No, damn it. That's not all I care about, Mare. Do you even hear yourself? Don't you get it? I almost lost you today! When you went down with Conran, I thought I had shot you! Do you have any idea what that did to me? Do you?"

She shook her head and shut her eyes to avoid the icy glare of his. So he was not leaving her… But the realization brought little relief. He was painting one ugly picture. And as much as she tried to refute it, there was at least some truth to it. She did not want to think about a different outcome of her latest stunt as he was forcing her to. The flashbacks from the dusty diner still had her breaking out in a cold sweat. If one of Conran's goons had shot Marshall… a knot formed in her throat. She felt him take a step closer, crowding her at the counter.

"Look at me, Mare."

His voice was rough with emotion, she could tell he was tethering on the edge of self-control. She opened her eyes and her breath caught at the intensity of his deep blue gaze. His long fingers closed around her shoulders, the pads burning her skin through the sheer silk fabric of her shirt like little branding irons. The heat shot from her shoulders through her entire body.

Mary shivered at the contact, but Marshall did not notice, too focused on restraining the urge to shake her. He continued in a gravely tone, without breaking eye contact.

"Imagine if the situation were reversed…"

"No," she choked out, shaking her head. Not trusting her legs to hold her, she reached for him and held on tight. "Don't…"

"Don't care to walk a mile in my shoes now, do you?"

"I can't lose you, Marshall," she whispered, clutching his shirt.

"And you think I'd be just fine, losing you?"

"Marshall, please, stop…"

She broke their eye contact, letting go of his shirt, and tried to step back, but Marshall's grip on her shoulders was firm.

"Do you ever stop when I ask you to? I told you, I did not want to talk about this tonight. But did you listen to me? No. So, now, you'll hear what I have to say. Three years ago you extracted a promise from me, remember? I cannot quit. I want to keep that promise, Mare, but you're making it damn hard by charging in blindly and dragging me along into the fray, where either of us can fall on a bullet. And I don't have a problem taking a bullet…" he saw her flinch at his words, but he was on a roll. He was going to get everything off his chest. "But it has to be warranted. And I sure as hell don't want to see you take a bullet for nothing. So, this ends tonight. You too, are going promise me something. Promise, you won't pull any more stunts like you did this afternoon."

Startled by the barely concealed rage in his voice, her eyes shot open, and she shrank back from the unbridled emotion in his eyes. The man, staring her down, pushing back, and demanding a commitment, was unfamiliar. She had always known there was a temper hidden under his calm and composed exterior, but she had never experienced it firsthand until that evening. His wrath had never been directed at her, no matter how much she deserved it.

"Promise me, Mare," he growled. His fingers tightened around her biceps. The vibration from his voice sent tingles down her spine.

"Okay," she said softly, looking up into his dark eyes, unsure what to expect from him next. And then his mouth was on hers, raw and hot, demanding entry. He swept his tongue over the seam of her lips and she gasped, unprepared for the intensity of his onslaught. He plunged his tongue inside, changing the angle to deepen the kiss, eliciting a soft moan from Mary's throat. Taking it as encouragement, he moved his hands down her arms and to her back, pulling her tightly against him.