Disclaimer etc in the first Chapter

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. Again creative liberties were taken with regard to FBI procedure.

Apartment of Vivian Johnson, New York City

November 25, 5.45 a.m.

Vivian had gotten up as usual, even though there was nothing routine an normal about today. She wasn't coming going to work today. And she wouldn't return until the case was over with. Jack and Van Doran would have received and read the letters by now. It was within her rights, to withdraw from an investigation when she felt that she was acting against protocol. She had to keep telling herself that she had made the best choice., It was not a choice that had come lightly and it had certainly not been the way she wanted to handle this. But Jack had left her no other choice. Taking a leave was, short of reporting Jack to Van Doran, the only option when reason had failed. But she was already doubting herself. What if she had only put the others in danger, something she could have avoided if she had taken her complaint to Van Doran. She was sure that Van Doran would have seen her point and taken immediate action. She didn't doubt the motive behind her decision, it was the route she had taken that had caused her a restless night.
She heard her husband coming into the kitchen. She knew it was him without having to look up.


"Vivian. You're up already? Is everything all right at work?"


She turned around, ware of the strange impression she must be giving. She was dressed for work, sitting at the table, looking out at the buzzing city.
She kept work and private life strictly separated, her husband very well knew that. It was the only sane choice one in such a demanding profession could make, otherwise the balance wouldn't work. She had seen that happen quite often , she saw it every day in Jack. He had placed his job over his family for years and while not wanting to draw and conclusions, she could not avoid seeing the connection between the two. She wanted to avoid ever being into his position, but realized that this might just be a vain hope. Fact was that she spend only little time with her husband and her son, even though she tried to make then most of it, it might just not be enough, According to society it certainly wasn't. Popular view dictated that she was setting her son up for failure and delinquency, by working fourteen hours every day.


"I'm fine." She replied, consciously avoiding the actual question.
Melvin knew not to pry any further.
Maybe that was already the first stone, from her family coming apart. That Melvin knew to stop asking when her job was involved. It was for the best, but on the other hand, it meant excluding him from a significant part of her life. Melvin pulled up a chair and sat down next to her at the table, not starting to make breakfast, as she had expected him to do.


"Vivian." He waited for her to look up. "Talk to me, what's going on? Someone tries to kill you yesterday, today your not going to work, tell me what's going on. I deserve to know about this. This concerns all of us."


He was right, she had only said the most necessary things about the car bomb. All she had told him was that neither she nor her co-worker had been hurt and that they were still investigating the incident. She had not told her husband more than the TV report had said, She could not image how she would have reacted in his position. She never thought she would have to. Had he? He might have. How did he handle the risk that she was facing everyday?


"I've withdrawn from the case that we're working on. I didn't think I could continue with the investigation and still do the right thing. I've taken a couple of days of leave."


"Because of what happened yesterday?"


"That's part of it", she replied admitting for the first time what until now she hadn't been really aware of. She had not permitted herself to be scared, to feel the shock of the bombing. But it was there, the emotional impact had occurred and no amount of denial could change that.


"The bomb didn't detonate right, part of the explosive never went off. That's why we got away, we were far to close to survive a full on blast. Might have been luck, might have been intentional." She blurted out, not sure to whom she was talking, to herself or her husband

"Oh my God. He got up, putting his arms around her from behind, I'm so sorry. I had no idea what didn't you tell me. All you said that your car blew up in the parking lot."


"Jack used the remote to open the door, that's when it happened."

"And you weren't hurt, you said."

"Bruises, nothing serious. She reassured him. They wanted to have us checked out at the hospital but then let us go. It can't have been that bad.
How do you feel?"


"Fine, I feel fine." She replied, somewhat puzzled as he had already asked her before


"That's not what I meant and you know it", He said softly. "Did you get any sleep last night at all? I heard you turn and toss around."


"Not much", she said honestly. "I just couldn't get to rest. I guess it's the adrenaline wearing off."


"Why don't you get back to bed and try to get some more rest. I'll get Reggie ready for school. You don't have to work today and you can use some rest. You look like you're about to fall asleep."


"All right", she conceded.


"We'll talk when I get back from school. Now, go!" He said in a commanding tone, half joking with a mock stern face.

FBI Missing Persons Office, New York City

November 25, 9 a.m.

It was a surprise to himself how he had managed to drive to work without getting pulled over or cause a traffic accident. He hadn't sleep at all the previous night. Between guilt, anger and thee in the morning pondering about where his marriage had gone wrong, how they had gone from wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, from barely speaking to each other, only hanging on out of indifference and because of their daughters. Every muscle seemed to be aching, remind him of his encounter with concrete and glass the previous afternoon. Normally, he would have considered taking a day of sick leave but the prospect of being a prisoner in his apartment was more unappealing than dragging himself to work and facing the fallout of the previous day's events. He had tried reaching Samantha or Martin on their cell phones, but only got through to their mail boxes, They probably had them tuned off during a stake-out. For once he was glad that he had paperwork to do. It was something to keep his mind off things and on the same time didn't harm his sore muscles any further.

He immediately noticed the two letters and several files on his desk. The vacant apartment that had been leased under the alias Liam Kendall had been processed. The spatter Vivian had found there was indeed human blood. A DNA test showed that it matched Lydia and an unknown person. Among the reports was also the preliminary notes contained the preliminary forensics report on the bomb, with a note that the full processing of the evidence at the scene was going to take another 48 hours.

According to what the lab had found the bomb had been assembled quite professionally, using military type explosive, definitely not what you could easily made in your garage. Someone had had the right equipment. But still the bomb had been faulty according the report because there had only been partial detonation. In fact, had the bomb been built expertly, they wouldn't have stood a chance at the short distance they were at. Mistake or yet another warning. Not that it made a difference, they were alive. But if it was just a mistake then more would follow.

The letter contained a note from Vivian informing him that she had taken a couple of days leave due to personal reasons with regard to the case. After their experience with the car bomb, this was not too surprising, but the fact that she had not told him so in person, or at least on the phone. After all, he and Vivian had known each other for a long time and he had always known her to speak her mind. Then it dawned on him. He was stunned. Should he have seen it coming. She had made it very clear that she didn't approve of his methods during the investigation, be had not seen any indication that she would go that far. Or had he maybe just not wanted to hear about it? He was loosing touch with all the people on his life, with his co-workers, with his wife, with Sam. It was all spinning out of control and he couldn't only sit there and watch it happen. He hadn't been willing to concede that he had made mistakes on that case last night, but as he reread Vivian's statement doubts started creeping up on him. Danny, Vivian, Van Doran. He was loosing his touch. But he was in it and he couldn't walk away from this case, the life of a five year old girl and her mother were in the game, he owed it to them, it was juts job to do all he could to find them, and he wouldn't give up. He would deal with Vivian and Maria later. The victims needed his mind on the case, he remind himself. If he couldn't keep his personal problems out of it, he might just hand in his badge right away. So he placed the letter into his desk and started to open the second letter. He had not yet unfolded the piece of paper when Danny came in. He had seen Danny working on something when he had come in earlier in the morning. After their altercation the previous day, he had not been to eager to talk to him, especially after the car bomb had underlined that Danny might have had a point. He had been right about him making a mistake in not taking the threats and the fingerprints seriously. But Danny didn't mention their argument, he had new regarding the case which jack had almost forgotten with everything that had happened in the oast twenty-four hours.

"Jack, I looked into the connection between Kendall and Feldman. I didn't find anything connecting the two aside from their fingerprints being identical. But I did find out that it was Kendall who reported the car theft at Club Aragon the night that Diane was there before she died. Now, the car that forensics found yesterday was his. Samantha had requested the forensics' report. Damage to their car is consistent with a frontal impact to a person and the paint from the car matches the car's paint."

Jack took a second to take in the piece of information. It was the first real break through, the first time that they had been able to connect a name to a criminal act.

"So we can get a warrant against Kendall for the hit and run." Jack said, having in mind the shaky legal basis of their fingerprint data.

White Pines Motel, rural North Carolina

November 25, 6 a.m.

Armed with a map and more detailed directions form the local sheriff, Sam and Martin set out again after breakfast. After their failed attempt the previous day which had cost the precious time, they were both tense and frustrated. Their second attempt to fine the suspect's home better be successful. Even though they were prepared this time, the whether conditions had turned to their disadvantage. The previous day had been a sunny day, more like a call October day than the late November day that it had been. Today, what had started out as a morning with an overcast sky had turned into heavy rain with violent wind blowing. If they were unlucky they might actually have a storm on their hands by the afternoon. The rain which seemed to fall almost sideways made vision difficult, allowing them to see only a few meter ahead. The sudden rush of water had flooded the road, slowly turning the gravel road on which they had turned two hours ago into a slippery swamp. They could only hope that there would be no traffic coming down the road from the other direction. In this kind of weather an accident was just waiting to happen as any braking manoeuvre would be difficult with the car threatening to slip out of control.

Martin was aware of this, driving slowly, keeping down to 30 mph. The only noise were the engine, was the rain pounding on the car's metal roof. Sam had not argued when Martin had taken the key and get in at the driver's side without even asking. She had been annoyed, but had bit back an acerbic comments on her mind, Patience was wearing thin in both of them. She could literally sense the it, the tension between them war palpable. The last thing she wanted was to provoke an argument now or provide more fuel to the train that Martina and Jack seemed to be riding, according to them she was on the verge of a nervous break down. The last thing she needed was another comment or sympathetic gesture regarding her allegeable mental instability. One more patronizing look or understanding word and she might just really snap, lashing out involuntarily. She wished they'd just stop treating her like she was a victim, not a professional capable of looking out for herself. But worse than the reaction of her co-.workers was knowing that they were right on target. That was they real reason why they hurt her with their kind words her and why every look seemed to burn her skin, why every caring question stung deeply. She had never felt less like a professional than right now. But objectively, she was doing fine, she had herself under control, but her hold on herself was precarious and there was no telling on how much pressure she could take before her grip would slip and she'd lose the wrestling much to her inner demons.

There was a sharp turn in the road forcing martin to slow down gripping the steering wheel hard in an effort to keep them from sliding into a tree at the roadside. For a moment it seemed like they had lost control, but Martin managed to keep them on the road. Sam let out a breath she had not noticed she was holding. Martin shot her q quick glance. It was that look, that he had been giving her ever since she had gotten back to work after her shooting. It was a look filled with more than concern. But she wasn't going to deal with that now. She had enough to deal with as it was and the feeling that it might just be too much was getting more crushing by the day. Suddenly the gravel road was exchanged by solid asphalt. The forest seemed to lighten slightly, even though it was difficult to tell with the heavy rain. Another 10minutes of driving later, behind a bend, a small house in with a garden surrounding it came up.

The house was simple, brick walls, unpainted, flat metal roof. Functionality, not aesthetic considerations had played part in the architectural decision of the house. Not what a city man would built himself for a house in the country side. This was the kind of place perfect for activities one didn't want anyone to know about, Far off from any settlement, no neighbours, inexpensive building pace, The question was just what Liam Kendall had been using his country house for. He had not been using it for a while, it least not from the looks of it, The path leading through what had once been a front yard to the metal door, was overgrown was vegetation. Martin parked the car had the far end of the road, but still, of someone was home, they would have seen them coming. There was no car parked in front of the house and since there was only one access route, a suspect would hardly be able to get away. But it was highly doubtful anyone was home, The entire property gave an abandoned impression No light illuminated any if the window's at the twilight November day.

Sam looked over to Martin, seeing him approach the front lawn slowly, motioning for her to go around the back side to make sure that the suspect had no chance of evading them. Before she had a chance to follow his gesture, a noise halted her movement. It wasn't t explosion of a shot fired from a handgun. It was different from the horrible sounds that had deafened her when Barry Mashburn had fired his gun, it was softer, damped. More of a popping sound then a gunshot. Silencer. She had never actually heard a gun with silencer fired in the field, only once in an demonstration, but the memory was there and she instantly knew what had happened. She was falling very fast. Her mind stood still and was racing at the same time presenting her with a myriad of possibilities as her eyes searched for the shooter. Martin was standing two meters in front of her, his gun drawn, he too had hear what was going on. There, she saw a flicker of movement on the roof of the house. It was only a millisecond, she had had registered the human presence and the danger it presented. Martin was stills searching aimlessly, eyes wandering around the area. She raised her gun and was about to pull the trigger when a sudden wave of ice cold fear shot through her and left her frozen. The feeling was beyond rational explanation, beyond anything the reasonable mind would fabricate. It was pure terror. She could not have moved an inch no matter what. Her mind was screaming at her to pull the trigger, to duck, to yell out, to do anything, but she stood in place, giving a perfect target for the sniper on the roof.


It seemed like centuries passed while she stood there, her eyes glued to the spot where the moving presence had been when she had first spotted it. The world could have ended and she wouldn't have moved, wouldn't have taken any notice of it all. It was a scream, a human scream filled with pain and fear that had the power to break through to her. She turned in the directing the cry for help had come from. What she saw then for the first time would not leave her memory. The image would stay with her in all it's grizzly horror.
Martin was on the ground, less than 3 meters from where she was standing rooted to the spot. He was on his back It seemed as though he was looking directly at her, pleading with her to do something anything to help him.
Blood was staining his shirt which was soaked with rain, the failing drops forming patterns in the blood stained fabric. It was all to unreal. It was like a slow motion horror movie, where the sound had been drowned out by the whooshing rain. It was black and white expect for the burning crimson of the blood on his shirt, starting to mix with the muddy water on the grounds.+-
His lips were moving, but she heard no words. It was impossible to tell whither his voice had failed him, or whether the words simply did not reach her troubled mind at the time. The grip of shock was finally broken when her gaze hit her own hand and she saw blood trickle down her hand to the ground. This threw her off. She raised her hand and became ware of a paralysing pain in her arm , preventing her effectively form carrying out the movement. She was hurt, the shooter he must have had hit without her even noticing. He had hit Martin was well. Martin was bleeding death right in front of her. The realization came quickly and with that training took over her numbed sense. Rushing over to her fallen colleague, she pulled out her cell phone, dialling 911 to call for help, while she quickly assessed his injuries as well as she could. He had been hit in the chest, luckily below the heart area, but the wound was bleeding profusely. Unaware of her own voice, she gave the operator a quick description of what had happened, and transmitted their location as well she could recall it.
Powerless, she sat there and waited. She had done all she could do and now she sat there powerless and waiting.


Samaritan's Hospital,

November 26, 11.30 a.m.


She was sitting on the examining table watching the nurse bandage her arm where the bullet had grazed her. It was a fairly deep graze, but only a graze. They had given her an x-ray to make sure that there was no damage to the bone, but all was fine. The wound did require stitches, but should be healing well, not leaving nasty repercussions. At least that's what she vaguely recalled a whitely clad man telling her.

It was still unreal, as if it was not happening to her, but to someone else. Someone. It was not her talking reacting, she was merely observing what was happening around her. The resident handed her a piece of paper.


"This is a prescription for painkillers, you can fill at pharmacy left of the entrance hall. I suggest you take one ever two hours of today. Depending on how your ram is tomorrow, you might only need them for the night. If course, no sports of at least two weeks."

Samantha nodded mechanically and took the piece of paper. She thanked the doctor and walked out, still dazed. The cool air in the entrance hall, was a relief from the overheated, treatment room. She sunk down into the first free chair available, She suddenly felt drained of all energy, as if she had been on her feet for days. A woman holding a cup of coffee passed by her. Coffee. No that wasn't a good idea, caffeine would only aggravate her nerves, and she needed them right now more than ever. She still wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but the terrible dreadful feeling in her stomach was growing by the moment, as her clarity returned. She had seen the shooter, but she hadn't managed to fire her gun or warn Martin in any way. Because of that Martin had gotten shot. Martin had gotten shot,. How was he, She hadn't thought about that yet. She shook her head and went to the front desk to enquire, dreading what she might find out but there was no getting out of it. She took a deep breath, instantly regretting the moves, as the artificial air hit her lungs full force. She grabbed her badge inside her coat pocket and walked up the lady at the desk.
She showed her badge and stated that she was working with Agent Fitzgerald. The attendant studied her intently for what seemed like forever, before she started typing away on her keyboard before returning to her with an answer.


"He's still ins surgery, it'll be a while before you'll get any news."


She was relived, he was still live even though there was no battle won. She might yet turn out responsible for his death. She needed to notify the FBI, even if the local police had already down that she still needed to call jack herself. But what was she going to say., There was no right way the out into words what she had to say,. The admission would be terrible and no words could take that away. She was scared of Jack's reaction. He had been right all along and false pride had prevented her from, ostening to it, he had rightly seen that she wasn't read, he had asked her to seek help before going back into the filed, Not she had declined, not just once, but several times, even after she had gotten a mild taste of what might happen, when Danny and she had been at the cottage after finding Diane's body at the roadside. The dimensions of her mistake were just starting to emerge and the weight of guilt was building up to its crushing mass. Recalling that cell phone's were not for use within hospitals she walked out into the park. It had stopped to rain, and the sun had come out from between the clouds. No whether could have been less fitting to her mood. The sunshine seemed inappropriate, how the sun wa still shining even when the world had gone so wrong. But that was how it went. The world continued to turn no matter what. In a sad way that was a consolation in a situation when it seemed impossible, She took a deep breath trying to calm herself down as well possible before making the call, she already knew would be hard and upsetting. With any luck Jack was already aware of the details of what had happened, as she wasn't sure she would be able to give a coherent account while she was still groping to understand it all herself.

FBI Missing Persons Office, New York City

November 25, 2.30 p.m.

"Malone here. He answered

"Sam, take a deep breath you're not making any sense, he almost yelled.

A pause on the other end and would sounded like a muffled sob.

"We walked into a set-up. It was a sniper, I saw him, but it was too late, I missed him. And then, then Martin got hit. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't." Sam sounded extremely distressed, but seemed to have recovered her composure somewhat.

"Who's running the investigation?"

"The local police, as far as I know." He couldn't hear voice in the background, Sam saying "Just a second"

"Jack, I'll have to go. I'll call you back."

As soon as she had hung up, he leapt into a frantic drive of activity, pushing back all feelings and doubts. He had to do something now.

Ten minutes later he had the investigating officer on the line.

"We've already contact the North Carolina Field Office. They're sending an agent right away."

"That won't be necessary, we'll send a team as soon as possible. Now what can you tell me about the shooting?"

"There were no witnessed, for the moment we only have the statement from Agent Spade. According to her they approached the house of a suspect in a case they were investigating. She spotted suspicious movements on the roof of the house, but before she had a chance to incapacitate, the shooter opened fire, hitting Agent Fitzgerald. Agent Spade tried to apprehend the shooter, but was wounded as well. We have road blocks set up and the composite sketch is going out to high-way patrols and the media as we speak. I can fax it to you." The agent offered.

"Thank you. That would be appreciated." Jack replied.

Samaritan's Hospital,

November 25, 6 p.m.

He came back with a cup of coffee from the vending machine. Sam had not moved an inch since he had left five minutes ago.

Watching her sitting that plastic chair raw emotion on her face, was incredibly hard. To see her suffer like that emotionally hurt him as well. she had been through a lot lately, more than anyone should be. And now she had gotten into another shooting. It would have been hard on any agent of the team, but Sam of all people shouldn't have to deal with it. It wasn't going to be just the shooting, every action of hers during the altercation would be probed. And they might just find fault. Emotional trauma made people react differently than they otherwise would have. Just because they were professionals didn't mean that they were immune to that. He hurt with her and for her and there was nothing he could do. he should have trusted his instinct and read the signs that she wasn't ready to go back She wouldn't have accepted it, but his her supervisory agent it was his job to see when one of his agents was impaired. he had failed. He had given in to her, because he'd been distracted and because he didn't want to argue with her. he didn't want her to think that he didn't trust her as an agents anymore. The boundary between professional and personal feelings had been crossed when the had gone home together for the first time. So far, nothing had happened, But he had always known that one day it could affect his judgement and he could make a mistake. He'd thought it wouldn't happen, but it had today and the price was high, too high. martin might not survive, Sam's career was probably ruined, his might be ruined. but worse, the guilt he felt would be inescapable, it would follow him everyone, to work, at home and into his sleep.

He took a sip of his coffee. It was almost cold now. He checked his watch. They had been here for over five hours. It would be at least four more hours until the knew anything. There was no point in staying here.

Sam, he walked over to her, speaking softly, not wanting to alarm her. At first she didn't react, but then her gaze broke away from the grey linoleum floor.

"Sam. You really should get some rest. It will be until morning until we know more."

"Jack, …I'm so sorry." It was the first thing she said since they had gotten to the hospital.

" I know. You did what you could. Now, you need some rest, Is your arm hurting badly?"

Sam looked at her arm, as if realizing for the first time that the bullet had winged her.

"It stings quite a bit" she sounded surprised.

"The ER doctor wrote you a prescription for painkillers. Jack handed her the paper. Come on. Let's go." Sam got up, unsteady on her feet, Jack caught her by the elbow, steadying her.

"You okay?"

She nodded. "Haven't eaten in a while, I guess. I'm fine." She shook of his hand.

He followed her out into the lobby. She filled the prescription and left for the parking lot, where she got out her cell phone.

"I'm here with the rental car. I'll drop you off at the motel."

The drive passed in silence, each hanging on to their own thoughts, wondering what the other was thinking.

When the car suddenly stopped in front of a supermarket, Sam looked at jack, puzzled.

"you need to get something to eat. Blacking out is the last thing that you need tonight. Anything you want?" he made a move to get out of the car but stopped when Sam spoke.

"Jack, I can take care of myself. I might be unable to do my job in the field and I might have just gotten Martin killed, but I can get dinner myself. You have every right to have lost faith in me as an agent., which I probably won't be for much longer anyways, but just stop it." She snapped at him.

She wiped away tears, turning her head, hoping that he wouldn't see. It was too late.

"I'm sorry Sam. I'm worried about you. I was wrong to send you out on an assignment so quickly. I made a mistake in judgement going after this lead in the first place and it is my fault that Martin and you walked into this situation. I had no right to send you there. I'm the one who has to feel sorry about what happened."

His words were inadequate to express the pain and guilt that was building up inside him. There were no words for the weight he was bearing. There were no words of consolation for her. He needed to ease her pain, but was powerless. He had not felt that helpless since she had been a hostage in that bookstore, But at least then there had been something he could do. But no, all he could do was offer empty words.

"No." she sniffed, wiping away more tears.

He had never seen Sam cry before. He knew her as a strong woman and couldn't image what pain it must take for her to break down like that, He wasn't thinking when he pulled her into a hug a second later. She didn't resist the movement. He could feel the tension of her body ease slightly under his hands.

"It's okay Sam." He whispered, well aware of the lie. Nothing was going to be okay, but it was for a few seconds as he held Sam and eased her pain for a brief moment, the world was perfect.

tbc