New chapter! It took a little longer but my beta had a lot to do this time around. Hope that you enjoy the newest chapter!

It was late when they finally arrived in Maine and Mary had gone eerily quiet. Marshall grabbed their bags off the carousal. They picked up the rental and, after tossing the luggage in the back, Marshall drove them to the hotel.

"Are you doing ok over there?" he asked her.

"How am I supposed to explain to her mother what happened? How am I supposed to tell her that her daughter died contacting an old friend?"

"The same way that you've told a dozen other parents how their kid died."

"The rest of them weren't this woman. There's just something about her that makes this..." Mary shook her head, trying to clear her mind. "I don't understand it."

"Understand what? Nancy disobeyed the rules. She contacted someone from her past and she got caught."

"But how am I supposed to tell her mother that Nancy risked her safety for her childhood friend and not for her own mother?"

Marshall wasn't expecting the question. Mary was right; why had Nancy risked it all for a birthday card to her friend but not to contact her mother? There was so much about the case that just didn't make sense and there was nothing that they could explain to Anita.

"Why am I doing this?"

Marshall raised an eyebrow but answered her anyway. "Because, despite how much you like to pretend you're tough, deep down you're just a big marshmallow."

"I am not… alright maybe a little."

"You care about your witnesses, Mare. You swore to protect them. For you, that extends past their deaths. It extends to their families." He pulled into their hotel and turned the car off. "We can go home if you want."

"You would seriously go home right now after flying for ten hours to get here?" She watched him shrug but his face didn't change. "Wow, you're serious. You would actually do that." She took a deep breath. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, I have to do this."

Marshall didn't answer, just got out of the car. They checked into the hotel and dragged their bags up the stairs. Mary walked into the room first. A king size bed stared back at her. She smirked, raising her eyebrow at Marshall.

"Hoping to get lucky?"

Marshall made a face at her. "It was the only one that they had. Maybe if someone had planned a little better, we'd have two beds. The couch is a pull out." He put his duffle bag on the dresser. "I'll even let you choose which bed you want."

"You should already know that I'm taking the bigger one. Better pillows."

"Are you planning to shower tonight or am I going to have to fight you for it in the morning?"

"Yeah, actually, I think a shower would be great right now." She grabbed her pajamas out of her bag and slipped into the bathroom. She ran the water hot, warming all of her tired muscles. She felt tired everywhere. It took a supreme effort just to move, to concentrate. She hoped that the funeral tomorrow was going to be relatively uneventful; Mary wasn't sure if she'd be able to handle seeing Anita, telling her how she had failed to protect her daughter, failed to make the rules clear. How do you tell a parent that it was your fault their child had died?

When she came out, Marshall was already on the couch, in his pajamas, reading a book. Mary flopped down on the bed, stomach first, stretching across the comforter. Her hair was still wet and she moved it so it wouldn't get her shirt wet.

"You could at least get a towel so you don't get the pillows wet," Marshall said to her, eyes still on his book.

"You could wear a pair of pajama pants that indicate you're a full grown man and not a five year old boy."

Marshall looked at his pants and then up at her. "What's wrong with robots?"

"Are you going to be reading much longer?" It was already midnight and the funeral was around nine the next morning. Traveling had taken more out of her than she had realized. Then again, she wasn't sure traveling was the only reason that she was tired.

Marshall put his book aside and leaned over to take one of her pillows. "We should have asked for extras," he commented.

"What for?"

"Because you always hog them."

"It's retribution for your bed hogging."

"Maybe I wouldn't hog the bed if you didn't constantly steal my covers."

"I don't steal covers," she insisted. "You just don't give me enough of them so I have to coerce you to share."

"You couldn't coerce a thing of Jell-O to jiggle." He moved to the bed and pushed her. "Move over."

"See? Already you're hogging the bed." She moved over anyway, letting him in the bed. She grabbed the covers, moving them over to her side.

"See? You're already hogging the covers."

"Whatever," she mumbled, so tired that she was mostly asleep.

"Why do you need so many covers? I promise I'll keep you warm."

"Ugh," she groaned. "If I wasn't so tired I would kick your ass for a comment that corny. How long have you been waiting to drop that bomb on me?"

"About a week." He was grinning ear to ear.

"Doofus."

She wore a black pantsuit, Marshall in a black suit himself. He even had black boots for the occasion. She pulled her hair out of her face, putting it in a ponytail holder. She put on low, thick heels. If she was going to be trucking her way through a cemetery she didn't want her shoes sinking into the ground.

Mary drove so that she would have something else to concentrate on. Marshall picked the station, putting some classic rock on. Mary easily glided in and out of lanes, following the automated voice of the GPS. Left turn, in five miles.

It was a beautiful church. Mary didn't know what the denomination was but that didn't take away from its elegant lines and crisp white exterior. It wasn't an ostentatious building and subtly striking.

The ceremony was simple, consisting mostly of family members talking about Nancy; how they knew her and how she would be missed. The two Marshals sat in the back, letting the family and close friends grieve for the person they had lost.

The cemetery was down the street from the church. The pastor said a few words before the casket was lowered into the ground. Nancy had a gray, shiny headstone, Maria Louis Bishop etched into the front.

"She didn't deserve this," Mary whispered to Marshall even though most of the mourners had left already. "She was just trying to do what was right. She was just a girl who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"She would have been safe in witness protection if she followed the rules."

"A person shouldn't have to follow rules like that, Marshall. People should be able to live their lives without constantly worrying if they accidentally gave themselves away with a sentences or a word. They shouldn't panic when they accidentally refer to a name or place from their past, wondering if they just gave away their position. They should be able to write to their childhood friends without dying."

Marshall didn't say anything. She was right but that didn't change the situation. There were a lot of things in life that shouldn't happen, yet they did and the only way that life continued was to deal with them. Those weren't the things Mary needed to hear, though. Right now, Mary just needed to rant, to scream, to wonder if she had done something differently if she could've prevented this. He told her the one thing he knew she needed to hear, needed to be reminded of.

"It wasn't your fault."

"You keep saying that."

"Because you keep not believing me." He took her by the shoulders, forcing her to tear her eyes away from the headstone and look at Marshall. "You keep thinking that somehow you screwed up. You did everything that you could for that girl. I know you think it's unfair, that you think you should have done something more. You are a great Marshal. Don't ever forget that."

"We better get going," she told him, shrugging his grip lose. "Anita is going to be expecting us at the shindig she's hosting."

"Shindig?"

"I felt party would be inappropriate."

"And shindig is better?" he asked, walking towards the car.

"What the hell am I supposed to call it?"

"How about gathering?"

She opened the driver side door, scoffing. "Maybe if I was from 16th century Britain."

"Good vocabulary does not indicate antiquity."

"Maybe not, but the word 'antiquity' does."

"Anita?"

A small woman with olive skin and dark hair turned around to face Mary. "Hello, were you a friend of my daughter's?"

Mary could see her eyes were red, but, other than that small sign of grief, Anita was holding it together well. It almost made Mary's job worse. "Sort of. I'm Mary Shannon. We spoke on the phone."

Recognition flashed in Anita's eyes at the name. "Of course, Ms. Shannon. Please, let's go somewhere more private to talk."

"Please, call me Mary."

"Mary." Anita led them to an office on the first floor. Anita invited her to sit on the couch. "May I ask, why was my daughter in Albuquerque? How is it that you know her?"

"Maria was in the witness protection program. She had witnessed a violent murder against a New Jersey mob boss, who happened to be in Maine at the time. She was brave enough to come forward and testify against him. His trial is going on as we speak."

Anita was silent for a minute, tears streaming down her face. It was the first time that Mary had seen the woman lose her composure.

"I am so sorry," she said wiping her eyes. "I shouldn't be crying in front of you."

"You lost your daughter. I think more than a little crying is warranted. I wish I didn't have to bring you the news of her death," Mary told her softly.

"Some part of me knew that I would never see her again. However, I never expected this. What happened to her?"

"A little over a month ago, Maria wrote to her best friend. She didn't put a return address on it but we believe that they were able to find her from the postmark. We're fairly certain it was the man she was testifying against or one of his associates."

Anita just nodded, taking a minute to absorb all the information. "Will this man be convicted?"

"I can't say for sure but I believe so. And I believe that he never would have been if not for your daughter's testimony."

Anita took Mary's hand, squeezing it. "Thank you. Thank you for telling my how brave my daughter was. Thank you for taking the time to come here and talk to me."

"Maria, and you, deserved nothing less."

They both left the study and Mary found Marshall. They stayed for awhile, mingling with people they didn't know, but they didn't want to be rude to Anita. Finally, Mary retreated to the car, needing to be away from everything. Marshall followed her, knowing she didn't really want to be alone.

"She thanked me," Mary told him, leaning with her back against the car and pulling her jacket around her. It was freezing in Maine and the wind was picking up. "She thanked me for telling her that her daughter was dead." She looked at him, sorrow and anger teeming beneath her surface. "She thanked me for not doing my job."

"You did your job. You've gone above and beyond what is required of you for your job, Mare. You always have."

"She shouldn't have thanked me. It was my job to make sure her daughter stayed safe forever and I didn't do that."

Marshall didn't answer her, just pulled her into his arms, letting her get out all of her frustrations. He could feel her shaking with it. She was mad at the world but mostly herself.

"I think that we do this hugging thing to much," she told him, her voice muffled. She tried to pull away but Marshall wouldn't let her.

"For once, just once, let someone else take care of you."

She resisted for a second more, but finally wrapped her arms around Marshall's waist. His body blocked the wind, warming her and somehow, it helped ease the rest of her grief as well.

When they finally made it back inside, they said goodbye to Anita. Mary gave her one of her business cards, telling Anita to contact her if she ever needed anything and to arrange for Maria's personal affects to be ship when they were released from the police department. Their flight wasn't until the morning, so Marshall drove them to a restaurant that Anita had suggested. Mary had steak, but didn't talk much during dinner. Marshall didn't press her.

When they got back to the hotel, Mary got dressed and promptly fell asleep, her arm draped across Marshall's waist.

They were in Boston when they got the call, waiting out a three hour layover. Mary glanced at her phone, surprised to see the office's number in her caller ID. She held the phone up for Marshall, letting him see the number, and raised an eyebrow in question. Marshall just shrugged.

"Mary," she answered.

"Mary, it's Eleanor." The caller was even more of a surprise to Mary. She couldn't figure out what was so important that Eleanor had to call her now. Why not wait a few hours until Mary was back in the office?

"What is it?"

"We had a break in Nancy's case. Do you have your computer with you?"

Mary smacked Marshall, getting his attention, then pointed to the laptop case at his feet. "I've got Marshall's." He handed it to her and she opened it up, connecting to the airport's WiFi.

"I've emailed it to you."

True to her word, an email showed up in Mary's inbox seconds later. "You. Little. Shit."

Marshall looked up, surprised. It wasn't uncommon for Mary to insult people, but usually they did something first. Insulting Eleanor that much seemed a little drastic. "What happened?"

"Not you," she said, distracted, not listening to his question. Her eyes were scanning the computer screen. "Nancy's friend, Amie, the one she sent the birthday card." The one that caused her death. Neither of them said it, but it hung in the air.

"What about her?"

"Someone has been depositing money into her bank account for the past two months, three grand a week."

"What kind of job does she have that she gets three grand a week?"

"She's a receptionist for a law firm."

Marshall's eyes widened in shock. Amie was getting paid off by someone and not very discreetly. "Who's putting it there?"

"A JD Enterprises."

"J.D. as in… Jason Diego? The scumbag that Nancy was testifying against?"

"The one and the same."

"I don't believe it. It wasn't someone in the post office. It was Amie. Amie gave up her best friend for money. All because of a stupid letter."

"I don't think it was the letter," Mary told him. She turned the computer screen around and Marshall saw the date of the first deposit. It was almost a year after Nancy had been in the program, but many months before they ever found Jason. J.D. Enterprises had deposited a hundred thousand dollars into Amie's account.

"How could that be?"

"I think that Nancy told her. I think that Amie knew way before Nancy sent the letter. I think that's why Nancy sent it to her and not to her mother."

"Of course," Marshall said, leaning back in his chair. "Amie already knew. Nancy had already put her in that danger. But if her mother got a letter from her daughter it would be a whole different can of worms."

"And then Amie betrayed her. That little shit." Mary turned her screen back toward herself, wanting to give Amie a taste of her own medicine. She betrayed her best friend and, what's worse, was getting paid for it. "Eleanor, we have to pick this girl up. And we have to do it before she figures out we know. Or worse, before Jason finds out that we know."

"Do you want me to call the PD in Maine?" Eleanor asked, the sound of her fingers typing on the keyboard coming through the phone.

"Let them know what's going on but tell them just to keep a, discreet, eye on her. It's a federal case and I want to arrest this girl myself."

"I can call the FBI."

"They'll take too long. Let them know what's going on but we're the closest to her. They can meet up with us and transport her to DC. I need you to book us a flight on the first one back to Maine out of Logan Airport." Mary heard the tapping of the keys again.

"I have a flight leaving in fifteen minutes, gat E5. I'll call the airport, get them to hold the flight and let you on. You two do have your badges on you, right?"

"What kind of a question is that? Of course we have our badges."

"Never hurts to check." She hung up the phone without a goodbye and Mary handed the laptop back to Marshall. She stood up, slinging bags over her shoulder.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Marshall started picking up the few bags that they had.

"We're going back to Maine to pick up Amie. And believe me, Amie is going to wish we weren't."