A/N: Thanks for joining me for the ride - I'd love to know what you're thinking...but please be nice! =)

Mary aimed her Glock at the source of the sound: a door across the hall, between the waiting area and Betsy's room. She tucked herself into the doorway as best she could with the body of Mr. Johnson wedged behind it.

The door across the hall opened. A figure filled the doorway, shadowed from the hazy green flicker of the hall lights.

"U.S. Marshal! Freeze!" shouted Mary.

The shadow's arms flew above his head, sending the tray he had been carrying clattering to the floor. "Please don't shoot!" he pleaded, the softness of his squeaky voice incongruent with the bulkiness of his stature.

"Keep your hands up and face the wall!" ordered Mary, striding down the hall, keeping an eye out for anyone else who might decide to join the party. The hulking figure stepped into the light, revealing himself as twenty-something pasty-white male with craterous acne scars and prematurely thinning hair. An ID badge clipped to his blue scrubs identified him as Sandy MacDougall, nurse's aide.

Sandy trembled as he placed his palms flat against the wall. "I didn't do nothin', I swear," he said as Mary frisked him. "I was just helpin' Mr. Simon."

Mary kept a firm hand on Sandy's arm as she looked in the room. A frail old man lay in the bed, staring up at something far beyond the ceiling. Were it not for the steady up-and-down of the heart monitor, Mary could have sworn he was long beyond needing anyone's help. Mary frisked the aide; satisfied that he posed no threat, she shoved him into the room. "You stay in there and lock the door. Do not move until someone comes for you. Do you understand me?" The stunned young man stood frozen just inside the room. "I said," Mary repeated, shaking him until he snapped back into the present, "do you understand me?"

Sandy nodded his head and Mary shut the door.

She ran down the hall and burst into Betsy's room. Rudy had to jump to avoid a collision with the door. The wisecrack forming on Marshall's tongue evaporated at the sight of his partner, weapon in hand. "We need to get out of here, now," Mary said, her eyes locking on Marshall's for a moment, then returning to scan the hallway. "Guard was shot dead in the waiting room."

"Shit," Marshall responded.

Betsy covered her mouth with her good hand as a sob caught in her throat, a potent combination of fear and sadness reflected in her eyes. Marshall reached out and touched her left cheek, her green eyes meeting his blue. "We're going to get you out of here, okay? Trust me." He quickly helped her slide her feet into her shoes before pulling her to her feet.

Rudy scanned the hall, keeping an eye out from anyone approaching from the left, where the guard's blood could be seen seeping into the hall. Mary turned right, towards the nearby stairwell; Betsy, then Marshall followed. Betsy's broken body protested against the simple task of walking down stairs, even at the purposely slow pace Mary set and with Marshall's steadying hand on her elbow.

Three steps above the second-floor landing, Betsy stumbled, crying out as she crashed hard into the corner of the stairwell. Marshall nearly tumbled over her as he tried to pull her up without breaking stride. She lay heaped on the floor, unable to catch her breath. A gunshot echoed from somewhere above them. Marshall looked up towards the third floor and took a moment to hope that Inspector Johnson was okay. He knew there was nothing he could do to help the Texan; his sole responsibility was to get his witness to safety. "Hurry, Marshall!" Mary whispered fiercely as another gunshot reverberated through the stairwell.

Marshall tried to lift Betsy to her feet, but she gasped for air and her legs wouldn't hold. He knelt down and swept her into his arms. Coughs wracked her body as she tucked her head into Marshall's chest; she clung to a fistful his black blazer, struggling to breath. "Hold on Betsy, just hold on," whispered Marshall, following Mary down the stairs.

The inspectors paused before exiting the stairway on the first floor. "Keys," said Mary, breathing heavily. "Where are the keys?"

"Pants pocket," replied Marshall, turning his right hip towards Mary.

Mary reached into the pocket. "I swear," she muttered, "if I find out this was all an elaborate scheme to get me into your pants…."

The staircase dumped the inspectors into the hospital lobby, a right turn and a hallway away from the employee entrance where they'd parked the SUV.

Mary and Marshall raced across the hospital lobby, keeping close to the wall. A nurse in pink scrubs gingerly stepped out from behind the front desk, clearly torn between her fear of the blond with the gun and her concern for the blond in Marshall's arms. "Sir, please stop—your friend needs help," she pleaded.

He knew that. Betsy's grip on him had loosened and the coughing had faded to an agonizingly slow and shallow breath. "Move, move, move!" shouted Mary, knocking down the nurse and leading the way down the hall. The glass doors of the exit came into view, and, just beyond and to right, the black SUV. Mary ran the final length of the hall, paused briefly at the door, scanning for any suspicious activity. Seeing that the coast was clear, she opened the rear passenger door and waved to Marshall to hurry. Marshall allowed himself to feel a touch of relief; they were almost free.

Relief evaporated as gunshots echoed through the hall and the glass sliding door before Marshall shattered. He heard Mary scream his name as he ducked glass and bullets. Tempered shards fell across the threshold, catching under the soles of Marshall's cowboy boots and causing him to pitch forward. As if in slow motion, he watched Betsy's arm fall limply in front of him. He tried to turn as he fell, hoping to insulate her battered form from another fall.

Strong arms caught him from behind. "Up, up!" yelled Mary, pushing her partner back onto his feet before pulling him back towards the truck. She held open the back door and Marshall climbed inside with Betsy. Mary slammed the door and ran to the driver's side, ducking behind the hood as more gunshots reverberated through the early morning. Marshall shielded Betsy as best he could while pulling his gun from its holster. He heard bullets pierce the rear of the truck. Panic flashed through Marshall when he couldn't hear or see Mary; her name was on his lips when she leapt into the driver's and peeled out of the hospital parking lot.

~To Be Continued~