A/N: Lookit! A double post from me today. Hope you enjoy...


With the past, I have nothing to do; nor with the future. I live now. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson


Marshall made some calls, and Mary paced aimlessly around the living area, picking up odds and ends J.P. had gathered here in Costa Rica and other places in his various travels. Some of them she recognized, some of them were mysteries.

Mysteries like what I'm getting myself into now. Why am I doing this, risking this again? Whenever it comes to Raph, I should just escape, run like hell and hope he never finds the trail.

She looked over at the tall, slender man leaning against the frame of the big picture window looking out on the rolling waves still white-capped from the morning's rain. He was on the phone, one hand plowing through his already disordered hair. Marshall's back was to her, and she saw his face only in profile as he allowed his eyes to follow the flight of a gull across his field of vision.

Why is it that I trust him? What is it about him that makes me believe he can do what he says, can really, finally end Raph?

At that moment, Marshall seemed to become aware of her studying him, and he turned from the window to gaze at her, still talking into the phone, bright blue eyes locking with hers, and his mouth turned up at the corners in a little momentary half-smile, holding the contact just a moment before turning back to his ocean view.

That. That right there. Whatever that is in his eyes, whatever that is that I see in moments like that one. I feel it right down to my bones, and it feels exactly right in a way I haven't ever felt before. I may be a fool, and it may mean the house wins everything I have, but I'm putting my money on that. God. Please don't let me be wrong....

---

All the arrangements were made for their return the following morning. They'd spend one more night here in Costa Rica and J.P.'s jet would come down for them early the following day. Mary couldn't help but be relieved by having one more day here in this place away. She didn't know exactly what things would be like when they got back to Las Vegas, but she knew that the instant they returned, they'd be waiting on Raph to strike, and she couldn't get the image of a bait animal out of her mind no matter how hard she tried.

I'm not helpless, no tame rabbit in a cage. He's going to feel it this time if he comes for me. I swear it... I need to do something else. If I keep sitting here and thinking about this, I'm going to go crazy... Tomorrow will have enough problems all of its own without me sitting here and spoiling today as well by worrying it to death.

She shook herself out of her reverie, got up from the couch where she'd been sitting with her arms crossed over her chest, and went to find Marshall. She found him in the office sitting at the computer going through email. She slid her hands onto his shoulders, and he absently reached up to take one of hers, still focused on whatever it was that he was reading.

"Come on," she said, tugging on his hand.

He tore his attention from the screen and looked at her. "What? Come with you where?"

"Outside. You're in a lush paradise, and for the time being anyway, you're my guest. I'm not going to let you sit on that very fine ass in front of a computer any more. Get up, get some trunks on, and come out to the beach. Whatever you've got going on there will keep."

His lips curved gently, and he tried to disentangle his hand, mind still full of preparations for their return to the States and everything that would be involved in keeping her safe once they touched down in Vegas. "Mary, I really didn't pack my vacation clothes. I don't have any trunks."

She smiled wickedly, leaned down, and whispered next to his ear, "Then come out without them. We'll match." And she let his hand go, turned and strutted down the hall to her room.

It took a moment for the gears in his brain to start meshing again, but when they did finally start to fit together once again, he made three swift clicks of the mouse to clear the computer screen, and leaped down the hall toward her room to find her waiting with laughter.

---

"Tease."

She laughed and pushed him back facedown on the towel. "Shut up, Mann. You'll fry like a crispy critter if you don't let me get this sunblock on you, and I for one don't want to listen to you whine like a little child later."

Marshall looked back over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowed as he studied the conservative cut of the berry-colored two piece swimsuit she was wearing. "First you promise me gratuitous nudity and fail to deliver and now you impugn my masculinity by saying I whine? Some date you are."

She snorted and said, "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet, Marshall." She squirted a glob of the sunblock in between his shoulders, waiting for the inevitable reaction, delighted when he suddenly jumped and said....

"Jesus! That's cold!"

"Yup. Been in the house, in the air conditioning, hasn't it?" Her tone was downright cheerful as she squeezed the bottle a second time, running a thin, icy line of the liquid down the middle of his back.

He looked at her again. "Going to get you for this, Mary. Oh yes. Going to get you."

"Shut up and lie down so I can rub this in. We've already established that I'm not afraid of you if you remember..."

I remember. Oh God, do I remember. Marshall shifted uncomfortably on the large fluffy beach towel as all the portions of his body lent themselves to the memory. He felt her hands touch his shoulders, begin to spread the sunblock in small, firm, circles. Aaannd this? This would definitely not be helping....

He closed his eyes and finally just let himself enjoy the feeling of her hands on his body. She smoothed the lotion in, working it down his back, stopping to add some more to her hands and then her fingers were running down his arms, kneading the strong muscles there, sliding up to slick the sunblock over the sensitive nape of his neck. Is it just me, or have her hands slowed down? It's almost as though she's just touching me just to be touching me. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.... He stretched just a little, like a cat being stroked, as her her hands worked their way back down his spine to dip just under the waistband of the borrowed navy blue trunks he wore.

She finally paused, and he heard her sigh. He opened his eyes and looked at her, a mixture of relaxation and arousal running in his system like a summer wine. She smiled down at him with a grin that made his heart flip over, bit her bottom lip, and she held out the bottle of sunblock. "Now Marshall, you get to...do me."

A slow answering smile crept across his face. He sat up and took the container from her, leaning in to kiss her softly, gently, delicately as he did. "You really are the worst tease I've ever seen, Mary Shannon. That's going to get you in serious trouble one of these days." He shook the container, continuing to hold her eyes with his. "Now lay down here like a good girl and let me get you."

Mary didn't even pretend not to hear the predatory undertone. She felt a frisson of pure electricity shimmer down her spine as he straddled her hips. She looked back over her shoulder at him, could not help but be reminded of the last time he'd been behind her. He looked at her with an expression of studied blandness that didn't quite dampen the sparks in his eyes, arched a brow at her, and said, "What? It's easier to reach this way."

Umm-hmm.... but what is it you're reaching for, Marshall? She turned her head, willing to play the game, and in a moment, she felt the sunblock, warmed somewhat from being outside, squirt out onto her shoulders. Those strong hands began to work the thick liquid into her skin, all business except that...somehow, they weren't.... They lingered just a little too long. Those beautiful long-fingered hands trailed across her in something like a caress as they circled but frustratingly not enough of one to allow her to be certain and react. She felt herself becoming aroused by his touches, and he hadn't even gone lower than the top of her suit yet.

His fingers found the clasp of her suit's top, and he flicked it open with one easy gesture. Now we'll get down to it. Thank God. Mary prepared herself for acceleration, for him to begin touching her in earnest, and she felt her body respond to the images her mind provided, to the feel of his weight astride her. Her hips shifted a little against the blanket.

He merely put more sunblock on her back and continued working it down her back. He leaned up and pushed her arms out from her side so he could run his business-like-yet-not hands along the edges of her back, fingertips just trailing along the sensitive sides of her breasts and ribcage, almost as if by accident. She shivered.

"Cold?" His tone was all solicitude. "I'll be done in just a moment, and we'll see about getting you warmer."

Bastard. That cements it. He knows. He knows exactly what he'd doing. Tease indeed. He's going to pay for this....

"Marshall...."

The thought was driven out of her head as he added more lotion to his hands and began to work them over her lower back. His thumbs were tracing the wing pattern gently as the rest of his hands stroked the lotion in.

"Yes?" His hands slipped beneath the berry-colored bottoms to cup her firm ass, knead it gently, still that same gentle, not-quite seduction.

"What...Marshall..." The last was said on a groaning sigh as his mouth came down to kiss her nape, soft, tiny, feather-light presses of his lips. He slid his hands back up her body, fingertips skimming, barely touching her sides, the delicate contact somehow unbearably arousing.

He moved his weight from her, stretching out next to her, pulled at her shoulder gently, and she rolled over toward him, hungry for more of him, for the fire she knew was simmering just below this controlled surface. He caught the hungry hands reaching for him, pressed a kiss into both palms, and pressed them above her head staring down into her eyes.

"You wanted me to... do you?" It took her a minute to realize that he was waiting for a response, and she managed to put together enough working brain cells to nod, searching his face for what might be coming next, quite certain that whatever it was, she was completely in favor of it. He leaned down, hands still holding hers down, nuzzled her neck to find the spot that made her gasp and shudder. "Then let me finish." He released her hands, and she lay on the sand just as he'd left her as those feathery touches ran down over her shoulders to hook the center of the swimsuit top and draw it off her.

He looked at her for just a moment, flashed eyes full of such heat at her that she moaned and arched for him, and he drew maddening circles around her nipple with the long fingers of his hand. He looked at her like an artist considering the effects of a dab of paint on a new canvas and flicked his thumb over the tightened nub. I will kill him if he doesn't stop this...if he stops this, I'll die...what is he doing to me.... He lowered his head and touched the tip of his tongue to the aching peak, moistening it, lapping lightly. She growled, writhing in frustration, but she did not lower her hands.

"Marshall, please...."

"Please what, Mary? Please this?" His tongue flickered out to circle her nipple, then laved it roughly. She cried out. "Or maybe you meant, please this." He opened his mouth and sucked her deeply, one hand sliding beneath her to curve her upward toward him. "But maybe none of this was what you were asking for at all...."

He released her and then he was moving down her body, the bottoms of her swimsuit miraculously gone, and she was looking at him as he knelt between her thighs, those hot electric arc blue eyes making every muscle in her body clench and weaken in equal measure. His hands slid under her to cup her, lift her. "Maybe," he said, turning his head, kissing her thigh open mouthed, letting her feel his teeth as he lightly, lightly nipped her there, "Maybe you meant, please this...." And he lowered his head to trail his tongue over her where she was already wet and swollen for him, a long, slow lick.

"Fuck, Marshall...." She descended into incoherency. Her hands above her head clenched into tight fists, but still she did not lower them.

He smiled wickedly against her. She could feel it, and it just made her somehow hotter. "Now remember what language like that got you last time..." Using just the tip of his tongue, he traced the cleft of her, circled the erect nub of her clitoris before stroking over it causing her hips to rock against him helplessly.

He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder to free one of his hands and he brought his fingertip up to tease the slick opening of her. He sucked the tiny bundle of nerves between his lips and slid a finger deeply into her, listening to her cry out, each obscenity and invocation of a higher power spurring him to his task. "Oh God, Marshall, fucking hell...you....yes! Just like...just like....Don't stop!"

He slid another finger inside her and began to work her with his tongue as well, lapping roughly, firmly. Her body was a bow beneath his mouth, hips dancing against him, and it was exquisite, Mary completely abandoned to her pleasure. Her hands clutched the wet sand above her head, and the flush of her impending orgasm began to spread down her face and neck.

He watched it crash down on her, felt her shudders over take her, heard her call out his name and felt for a moment like an invincible god. He lowered her hips, watched her watch him as he licked his lips to taste the honey-cinnamon essence of her once again.

He leaned down over her, feeling the brush of her breasts as her breath raced, and whispered in her ear, unable to resist it, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice, "See what happens to teases? I told you you'd wind up in...."

She clamped her hands down on his wrists, had him flipped over in a very neat move before he was aware of her intention, was ripping down the blue trunks and sliding down on top of him, arching her back to take him deep. His eyes almost rolled back in his head from the feeling of being inside her, from the heat and slickness moving with such purposefulness on him. She smiled down at him, her own triumph written all over her face, hips rolling with a seductive rhythm designed to destroy him. "In exactly the place I intended to be all along, Marshall. And don't you think for a second otherwise..." She let her head fall back, brought her hands up into the air above her head, a deliberate imitation of the pose he'd put her in, and all he could do was bring his hands up to hold on to her as she proceeded to take him for the ride of his life.

---

The next morning, they left the beach house to drive to a regional airport where John Patrick's jet had received special clearance to land. Mary hefted her bag onto her shoulder and looked around her tidy room again one last time, unable to stop herself from feeling regret at having to leave this little paradise. Here she hadn't felt hunted. Well, not unless I wanted to be. She smirked a little, remembering the night before. Her smile faded. Outside those doors was a four-wheel drive that would take her back to a place where somebody wanted to kill her.

But you're not alone this time. You've got somebody to stand with you now. That's worth a lot.

She looked down the hall to where Marshall waited in the living room. She wondered what he was thinking as they were on the verge of departure. Was he afraid? Did he wish they could stay tucked away in this secret place of their own for just a little while longer? Did he...Did he...

Does he like me? Really, really like me? Shit, Shannon, is that what you were about to think? Why don't you pass him a note with a "Check Yes or No" box on it while you're at it. Jesus. I think he's answering that question by going back to face that psychotic waste of space with you. Pull it together girl. Don't turn into one of those on me, or I'm going to have to slap you around some....

She gave a wry grin at her own inner squabbles, sighed, and headed out the door to whatever was waiting for her back in Las Vegas. Marshall met her at the door, grabbed her bag and carried it with his out to the vehicle. It felt natural, somehow, this traveling with him, oddly almost like a routine they'd had for years, and the feeling soothed her as they drove off into the early morning light.

---

In Vegas, she was screaming again. She had been screaming off and on for a long time now. She would fight, struggle, scream, and then her mind would take her away to a place where she was safe until the horrid reality he was creating would force its way back in again.

The room was cold, concrete floors and cinderblock walls, fluorescent bulbs illuminating the scene with implacable accuracy. She was tied facedown to a folding camp cot, the top of which had been covered with a thick luxurious red spread. Her assailant finished with a long grunt of satisfaction, and he ran a hand over her long blond hair before lifting himself off her. "Mary," he murmured. She didn't know who this Mary he kept talking about was, but part of her hoped he never found her. Part of her wished fervently, horribly, that she, Mary, were here instead of herself.

She heard the sound of items being moved around on a table, and she struggled to see what he was doing. She couldn't turn far enough, though, and the terror of not knowing was too much. She started to whimper, working her wrists frantically against the bindings even though she had already chafed them bloody in previous attempts.

His weight made the narrow little cot dip as he straddled her hips, and she cried out, cringing away from him. Not again. Please not again. Anything but that. Please.... He ran a gentle, appallingly loving hand down her back to her hipbones, began to talk to her about wings and flying, about the power of love and about the need for fidelity, and she began to feel his fingertips tracing a pattern on her back over and over. That was when she knew she was going to die like all those girls on the news had died, knew who had her.

Her hysterical screams filled the cinderblock room. She did not stop until the last drop of her blood pumped out of her broken body. Raph watched, fascinated, leaned down, kissed her gently, reverently, and said, "So now you're free to fly, my angel, mi Maria. Take your wings and go to heaven." He reached for a piece of the stationery he'd taken from the last hotel, wrote a quick note to capture the power of his emotions at this time of discovery, folded it with care, and placed it beside the shell that had until recently been a living creature.

Then he turned, opened the door to the basement store room in the office building and walked out, leaving lights on and door open, knowing that she'd be found soon enough by a night watchman or by the morning maintenance crews.

---

Their take-off was uneventful. Mary could feel herself getting more and more tense the closer she got to Vegas. She finally decided to try to get some sleep. She sat down in a seat next to the window, but she was up again a moment later. It was...uncomfortable somehow, and she was cold. Why did planes, all planes, even private ones, have to be so damn cold?

She prowled over to where Marshall was sitting, sat down on the soft seat next to him, and said, "Budge up."

He looked up from the paperback he was reading. "I beg your pardon?"

"I want to nap. I need a pillow. Make yourself useful."

He arched a brow at her, pointedly looked at the whole of the empty and posh cabin of the private jet, but he raised his arm so she could lean against his shoulder. She settled against him, enjoying the warmth of him, the strength of the body she had come to know so well underneath the button-down shirts and staid jacket. He curved his arm around her loosely, pulling her into his side absently, mind already back on his book. She smiled. Maybe there was something to this having him around all the time, after all. She was asleep in minutes, that small smile still playing around her lips.

After awhile, Marshall lowered his book and just gazed at her a moment. He took in the way her hands were lightly gripping the lapel of his jacket and the way she was turned into his body, craving the heat and the simple contact. He felt that little jab of something he wasn't quite ready to define again, and he reached out and ever-so-gently brushed back a strand of her hair that had trailed over her cheek. Then he picked up his book and deliberately submerged himself in the storyline again, conscious every second of the woman next to him.


For all of you who were craving key lime, this one was for you. For those of you craving plottishness, it's coming. R&R, dahlings....