Their number was gone, and John wasn't responding. After trying for a half hour to get a hold of him, Finch ventured out to find him.

He found the car, and John unconscious inside. Finch felt for a pulse in his throat. It was racing.

"Mr. Reese," Finch said. "John?" He raised his voice and shook him a little.

John let out a moan of pain and slowly opened his eyes.

"Are you all right?"

John sat up and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "I will be in a minute."

"You were attacked by one prostitute?" Finch asked blatantly.

John glared at him and rubbed his neck. "I was tazed by a hooker." He gingerly touched the burn marks on his neck.

Finch hid his smile. His mind automatically pictured Sam's reaction at seeing John tazed by a hooker. It was a shame she wasn't around to see it, or even hear about it. But, back to the matter at hand. "Fortunately, you're still connected with her phone, so we can find her."

John rotated his head and cracked his neck in a couple of places before he started the car.

"She's a runner. She'll try running again," he said. "She was already scared, Finch."

"Which would explain her reaction to you."

"I usually get a better reaction."

"Generally, yes," Finch pulled out his phone and opened the GPS tracker. "We may want to try a more delicate approach with her."

"Delicate?" John said. "She stuck me with a tazer, Finch."

"So, in order to avoid further injuries, we should be more delicate, wouldn't you agree?" Finch looked thoughtful for a moment. "You are fortunate, though. I have read that with that much current running through the body, loss of bladder control is often a result."

John pulled the car out onto the street.

The door to her apartment burst open and slammed shut as Tasha ran inside. Without turning on the lights, she locked every single lock on the door that was available, and moved to the one window in the room. She closed and locked it, and pulled the cheap curtains across it.

Tasha wiped the tears off of her face as she tried to breathe. Hold it together, Tasha. Stop and think. Tasha dropped her purse on her bed and walked purposefully into the bathroom, the only separate room in her tiny apartment. She turned on the light, and looked in the mirror. Her mascara was beginning to run, and her lipstick was smudged.

Grabbing a clip from the counter, Tasha twisted her hair up and out of the way at the back of her head. That man in the suit, John, said that those men were after her. Well, fine. If someone was coming after her, she'd make herself as difficult to find as possible. She'd worry about the reasoning behind all of it later.

Tasha took off her heels and marched back into the main apartment. She opened a narrow door next to her bed, and shoved the junk and clothes out of the way. The suitcase didn't come out easily, but after a minute of yanking and jerking, Tasha pulled it free, and set it on the bed.

The suitcase was filled with haphazardly tossed in clothes, hair and skin products. Tasha was pulling on a pair of jeans, her blue dress thrown on the bed. The only light in the place came in from the bathroom. Figuring if there was someone after her, she believed quite reasonably, that keeping the lights off, and her drapes shut would give the unconscious signal that no one was home.

Tasha went to the suitcase for a top and jumped at the soft tap on the door. She stood very still, holding a tank top in her hands. She stared at the door, hoping that they'd just go away.

She trembled at the second knock. Tasha tiptoed around the bed to the door and peeked through the peep hole. A simple-looking man, wearing glasses and a three piece suit, stood on the other side. He looked harmless enough, but Tasha held her breath, still holding on to the hope that he'd give up.

"Natasha?" he said and knocked on the door a third time. He didn't shout, nor did he bang on the door, frustrated that she was leaving him out there. "I know you're scared. You proved that when you attacked a friend of mine and left him in that car."

Tasha closed her eyes in regret for a moment. When she was running away, she remembered hoping that she hadn't caused any permanent damage. He hadn't really hurt her after all. Technically.

"We only want to help you. You have my word." He turned at the sound of someone shouting at him from down the hall. He backed away a little, out of the view of the peep hole.

Tasha weighed her options and, still with some reluctance, started on the door locks. She pulled on the tank top, and turned on the lights before opening the door a crack.

The man was just barely taller than her, and he appeared relieved when she opened the door.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Harold."

"How do you know my name?"

His large eyes flicked down the hallway once more. "It may be best if we discuss this with a little more privacy," he suggested.

Tasha nodded and opened the door fully, allowing him in.

He walked in – well, walked wasn't the correct word exactly. He hobbled in. Harold kept his back stiff as he walked with a limp into her apartment. Tasha shut the door as he turned to look at her. He turned stiffly with his back, not his neck. She tilted her head curiously at him. Tasha had never met a man who gave the impression that he was as harmless as a kitten. But, Harold was quickly meeting that description.

"Um – yeah – okay," Tasha cleared a spot off on the edge of the bed. "Sorry, I don't have very much furniture."

Harold took the seat gratefully, the cheap mattress sinking under his weight. "No need to apologize Miss Murphy. And I know your name, because I – we work from a source that gives us the ability to get to a person, you for instance, before they become the victim of a crime."

He wasn't lying. Tasha had worked with enough people, enough men of all shapes and sizes that she had become a very good people reader. She could tell whenever she was being lied to, or wasn't being told the entire story. This man, Harold, was being honest. He never looked away from her as he spoke. And he appeared relaxed, his hands resting in his lap while he explained things to her.

"So, what is the crime supposed to be that I am the victim of?" She asked, folding her arms in front of her.

"The only thing we know so far is that someone very powerful wants you dead."

"Who?"

"We're still working on that, I'm afraid."

Tasha sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I know this is frustrating for you, Natasha – "

"Tasha," she corrected. "People usually call me Tasha."

"As you wish," Harold said with a nod. "I know that these two strangers coming out of the blue, claiming to help you puts you in a difficult situation. I'm a very private person, myself. Trust doesn't come easily to me, so I do understand what you're feeling. All I can ask of you is that you trust me just for a little while. We need to hide you somewhere safe until we know who is coming after you and why."

"Where will you take me?"

"Most likely a hotel, or a safe house where they won't think to look for you," he answered truthfully. "They will find you if you stay here. I can promise you that."

Tasha looked at this man, blinking up at her through his glasses, and tried to find fault. She tried to find a crack that she could exploit and break through, exposing the true motivation for his following her to her apartment, but there wasn't one.

"I don't get it," she said. "You know what I do for a living, right?"

"I do."

"Nobody cares if a hooker gets killed, Harold. What's one more girl who sells herself for money? She's throwing her life away anyway, right?"

"Do you believe that?"

"I'm more interested in what you believe."

Harold got to his feet and looked her in the eye. "I believe that you are a human being, a woman who is in danger. That, Tasha, is all that concerns me right now." Harold held out his hand to her. "Will you let me help you?"

Never in her life had Tasha encountered a man who had her best interests at heart. It was an entirely new experience, and she couldn't make heads or tails of it. In the back of her mind, she was still waiting for Harold's true colors to come through.

Tasha took a breath. She bit her lip, looking away from Harold for a moment as the choice loomed before her. She moved over to the other side of the bed, grabbed her purse, phone and keys and approached Harold again.

"I'll come with you," she said.

Harold opened the door for her, and, after she locked her apartment, offered his arm to her. She blinked at it. This guy was just a barrel full of new experiences! With a surreal sort of uncertainty Tasha took his arm, and they walked at his slower pace down the hallway.

And hey, at least she would be able to outrun him if things went south.