Disclaimer etc. see Chapter 1

Author's Note: Thanks to M and D for their help with this story. You rock! Also thanks to anyone who has read and reviewed.

Samaritan's Hospital, North Carolina

November 27, 3.50 p.m.

"I'm heading over to the field office. Is it okay if I meet you back at the motel?" Danny asked as they pulled up in front of the hospital.

Samantha knew that he was just trying to give her some space.

"Sure. I'm going to take a cab back then if you're taking the car," she said with confidence, although she dreaded facing Martin. What if he blamed her in the same way she did?

She got out of the car and marched towards the entrance. Her own appointment passed in a haze. She waited, flipping through a magazine, but not paying any attention to its content. Her nervous thoughts were racing, making concentration difficult. She duly answered the nurse's questions, but couldn't recall a single one afterwards. All she recalled was that she was supposed to come back the next day for another check because the wound didn't seem to be healing very fast. Once her appointment was over, she headed back into the main hall.

The main hall was busier than she had noticed before and she had to wait quite a while before the receptionist turned to her.

"I have an appointment with Dr. Reed," she stated her intention.

"First floor, Room 1106," the receptionist answered her almost mechanically before turning to the next person waiting in line behind Samantha.

"Thank you."

Samantha followed her directions. It was as if her mind was set on autopilot, following the signposts to the elevator, getting on, riding up to the first floor and taking a seat in the waiting area.

The appointment was hazy. She replied to the doctor's questions about pain and mobility, then a nurse changed the dressing on her wound and she was free to go. Now came the part she was not looking forward to at all. She asked for directions to Martin's room, but was referred to his doctor instead. While riding up to the eighth floor, a nightmare unfolded in her mind: images of the shooting, mixed with fear and self-loathing---fear of what she was going to learn, guilt and self-loathing about what she might be responsible for. If Martin would not recover, how could she ever live with the knowledge that she was responsible for it? She could take the consequences of her actions, she could live with losing her field certification. Not that it wouldn't be hard, but she would be able to live with it. But living with such a load on her conscience, she didn't know how she could do that.

Now, she was going to find out. For a second she hesitated, her hand resting on the wooden door. There was no way out of this. She couldn't run away. She was going to have to come face to face with the consequences of her actions.

Her knocking was answered immediately. A male voice invited her to enter. Martin's doctor was in his 40s and was obviously expecting her.

"You must be one of the people with the FBI?"

"Yes, I'm Agent Spade." They shook hands.

"Someone from the local office was already here yesterday and I told them all I can. I also gave them the bullet for analysis. But I do have a question. Does Mr. Fitzgerald have any family that you know of? We tried calling his father with the number that we found in his contact information, but we couldn't reach him."

"No, I'm sorry, I don't know any other family members of his," Samantha answered, suddenly aware of how little she knew about the people she worked with---the people she trusted with her life.

Dr. Reed was looking at her, waiting for her to say why exactly she had come to see him. She knew what she wanted to ask, but something was holding her back. It was strange, she didn't know herself like this, but the person she had been those last few days was a stranger even to herself. She took a breath and forced herself to formulate the words.

"How is he doing?"

"He's stable for now. The surgery seems to have been a success."

Martin was going to be all right. Although his condition was serious, she would not have to deal with the guilt of having killed a friend. She realized how selfish this thought was and chided herself for only considering her own needs, while Martin was going to face a lengthy and painful period of recovery because of her mistake.

"Will he make a full recovery?" She asked the other question that had been on her mind ever since the shooting. It was important to Martin; he was driven and ambitious and just at the start of a promising career.

"It will take some time, but he's expected to make a full recovery," Dr. Reed replied.

Tension had threatened to crush her ever since she had realized what had happened. The doctor's words now eased that tension to a bearable level.

It was an almost physical sensation of relief that flooded her.

"Thank you." The voice inside her head told her that she should ask Dr. Reed whether she could visit Martin.

"Did you preserve the bullet when you removed it?" Samantha asked, trying to sound like the professional she was supposed to be.

"Of course. I gave it to another agent---Robinson, I think his name was. He works for that local field office. He said he wanted to sent it to the lab for analysis." Dr. Reed explained.

Samantha was puzzled. She didn't recall Agent Robinson having mentioned that he submitted the bullet for forensic examination. But then again, she had been rather preoccupied during this morning. Nonetheless, the bullet might be the key to this case; it might give them the connection they were looking for. Without the data from this bullet, they might never be able to make a link between the shooting and the murder of Diane Durkin and what they assumed to be the murder of Lydia Atkinson and her daughter. Without this one piece of evidence linking these crimes together, all they had was a coincidence but Samantha found it impossible to believe that all this---the murders, the shooting, the false identities and the car bomb---could just happen within a week and not be connected. In fact, she got the impression that what they knew was only the tip of the iceberg. She thanked Dr. Reed again and left his office. On the way back to the elevator, she told herself that there was no point in visiting Martin, since he probably wasn't conscious yet. Deep down, though, she knew that she was only avoiding the confrontation. Seeing Martin would mean coming face-to-face with the guilt she felt. Even without a reaction from him, the images of the shooting that kept appearing in front of her eyes made it impossible to escape the knowledge of what had happened for more than a few minutes. Normally, she turned to work in a crisis. After her first marriage had ended in hate and financial disaster, she had thrown herself into applying to the FBI academy and had been dedicated to her job ever since. But this time, her job had become the crisis in her life and she didn't know where else to turn.

But lately, so little seemed to have remained from the person she knew herself to be. She wasn't a person to run away from responsibility or unpleasant events. But somehow, somewhere along the way, this had changed, and now she had to accommodate the person she apparently had turned into. Reality had brutally forced her to stop seeing herself primarily as a trained professional, a capable FBI agent, young and successful. Pondering darkly as she left hospital, it occurred to her that Danny had taken the car to go to the field office, leaving her effectively stranded without transportation. She couldn't recall whether he had mentioned the issue or not. She had to take a cab back to the motel. While she didn't look forward to explaining this expense in her report, she appreciated the time of uninterrupted thinking it afforded her. She liked Danny and liked being around him, both in a professional and personal capacity, but now she preferred to be alone with her thoughts.

FBI Field Office, North Carolina

November 27, 5.30 p.m.

The field office seemed even more deserted now than it had in the morning. Only three cars were parked in the lot before the concrete building. Danny parked his rental car and entered the building. There was a reception counter, but it was vacant at the moment. He looked around for a signpost when a woman entered the entrance hall from an elevator. As she came closer, Danny saw that she didn't wear a visitor tag like he did, but a badge identifying her as an agent from the field office.

"Hello. What can I do for you?" she approached him, smiling friendly.

"Hello. I'm Agent Taylor with the New York City field office. I'm looking for Agent Robinson." Danny hoped that Agent Robinson hadn't gone home yet. He didn't believe that this was such a remote possibility given the enthusiasm that Agent Robinson had displayed before.

"I'm afraid he isn't in at the moment. I heard about your colleague. How is he doing?" the woman asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"It'll take a while, but he is going to be fine."

"That's good to hear. Are you here because of the case?"

"Yes, my partner and I were at the scene again today and we found some additional evidence that we need to have analysed."

"We don't have our own lab here. That is shared with the local police and everything more advanced needs to be sent to Quantico anyways."

"No, it's nothing complicated, just a substance analyse and prints."

"That should be okay. The lab is in the next town, maybe twenty miles from here. If you hurry up, you'll still catch someone there."

"That would be good. We need this ASAP," Danny said, trying not to show his impatience with the inefficacy of the investigation. After all, it was not the agent's fault that resources here were rather limited.

"I can give you directions to the lab; it might get you there quicker," she offered. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Rita Severin."

"Nice to meet you." Danny meant it. For the first time since coming to this remote place, he seemed to have encountered someone who was actually trying to help them get to the bottom of this mysterious case.

"I'll just have to go up to my office again, I need to fetch the paperwork for evidence you gathered. It'll only be a second."

Five minutes later, they sat in the rental car and drove onto the road leading into town.

"How are you going to get back in tomorrow morning?" Danny asked.

"That's not a problem. My husband is a teacher at the local high school, and he often drops me off that the office," Agent Severin explained.

They got lucky. People were still working at the lab by the time they arrived. They were not too pleased that someone was dropping off a sample that late in the evening, but after some discussion, one of the technicians agreed to at least dust the bag and run any prints before leaving the lab for the night. Danny rode back to the motel, trying to call Samantha on her cell phone, but it had apparently been turned off. It was almost 7 p.m. by now; she ought to be finished at the hospital. He was only slightly concerned, but when he got back to the motel and nobody answered when he knocked on Samantha's door, he grew worried. He tried her cell phone again, but to no avail. Then he called the hospital to find out whether anyone could tell him whether Samantha had already had her appointment.

Office of Victor Fitzgerald, Washington D.C.,

November 27, 6.45 p.m.

The conversation wasn't going well. After reading to him from the case files, Victor Fitzgerald had proceeded to list all the mistakes that had been made during this investigation. It was not a short list. The worst thing was, that although Jack disagreed in some point, he could see Victor Fitzgerald's reasoning for the most part. The mistakes were real and a lot of them were his mistakes. He was responsible. Victor Fitzgerald finally zeroed in on the events that had led up to the shooting of his son. He brought up the incident the morning Diane's body had been discovered---the shots fired at Danny and Samantha while they had been at Liam Kendall's cottage. Victor Fitzgerald was now asking him the same question he had been asking himself. Why had he chosen to let Samantha continue to work on the case, in spite of her obvious problems?

"It was my decision to send Agent Spade into the field. I misjudged the situation and take full responsibility for it and all the consequences." He knew that he was gambling with his career, but what did he have left to lose? Victor Fitzgerald had all the power and the evidence he needed to have him removed from the Missing Persons Unit and moved to some desk in a small field office. All he could do now was to try to prevent the same thing from happening to Samantha.

"I can imagine that you're more than willing to take responsibility for Agent Spade's actions. It is well known that the two of you have a particularity close working relationship," he said, his voice full of sarcasm.

Jack knew that this subject would be brought up sooner or later. There was nothing he could say to his defence, so he decided to wait. Contrary to what he had expected, Victor Fitzgerald decided not to press the issue further. He didn't need to. Jack knew that there was enough standing against him to cause him to lose his job.

"The DA has issued a warrant for Markus Feldman for the murder of Diane Durkin, Lydia Atkinson and Sina Atkinson. Tom Dyson is dead, so there won't be any charges regarding to child neglect. The DA decided to forgo charging Diane's mother with any crime, and her father has been charged with the murder of Tom Dyson. The case is closed," Victor stated matter of factly. "But the real investigation is just about to begin. Mistakes were made and they will be uncovered; trust me on that. Internal Affairs is waiting to speak to you and the rest of your team. Good day, Agent Malone."

"Good Day." Jack tried to restrain his anger as he left the other man's office.

Jack could understood Victor Fitzgerald's reaction, or at least part of it. His son had been hurt, possibly even killed. As a father himself, he could understand the need for answers, the rage and the quest for revenge. But he was afraid that Samantha's career might be ruined over this, even if he took responsibility for sending her into the filed. If Victor Fitzgerald wanted to, he could surely get her out of the field permanently...or worse. Samantha's career was just beginning. She was a young agent and had already achieved so much. Jack hated to see all that crumbled because of what had happened. If it did indeed, he would have to bear some of the responsibility. But he already suspected that even if her career should survive intact, Samantha would be hardest on herself for failing to react and allowing Martin to get shot. He tried again to reach Samantha and Danny on their cell phones, but again couldn't reach them.

White Pines Motel, rural North Carolina

November 27, 7 p.m.

Back at the motel, emptiness greeted her. It was still rather early in the day, and most people travelling would go on for a few more hours before stopping for the night. Nobody else seemed to be staying for more than one night, and she truly didn't see why anyone should, as this place held little tourist appeal. Feeling exhausted, she took a shower and then tried to lie down for a nap. Her body felt exhausted beyond usual, and she felt as if she had been on her feet for days. But in spite of her exhaustion, her mind was restless and determined to keep its own hours. When peace and rest clearly eluded her, she got up again, alternating between pacing the room and flipping channels on the small black and white television in the room. She even started writing on her investigative report, but she couldn't concentrate for more than a few minutes at the most, before she went back to pacing the room. Since she couldn't work, couldn't sleep and TV also failed to hold her attention, she decided to go out and get some fresh air and maybe a bite to eat. She hesitated for a moment, pondering whether she should call Jack. But she buried the idea quickly again. What did she have to tell him? And she didn't look forward to his reaction to the shooting incident. He had not talked about it the previous evening, but he would have to address the issue eventually. Samantha had to agree that if she were in his place, she too would have herself removed from the field and might even consider a permanent reassignment. She turned her cell phone off, as she needed to be alone right now.

By the time she got to the restaurant, it was barely 7 p.m., and the dinner crowd---if there even was one---had yet to arrive. Samantha took a seat in the back and ordered a sandwich from the same tired-looking waitress who had served her in the morning. While she sat there waiting for her food to arrive, her thought returned back to the beginning, back to the case where it all had started---on the morning when they had been called to investigate the disappearance of Diane Durkin, whom they had soon found out had been murdered. It had started out then---that Jack had been threatened for the first time. Whoever had written the notes must have been afraid that they would uncover more. But what was there to uncover? Was it the murder of two women and one girl, was it the drug dealing that they had somehow gotten mixed up, or was it something entirely else? It all came back to Liam Kendall or Markus Feldman, the unknown man from Europe who Lydia Atkinson had been married to. Samantha's job was to read people, to get an impression of strangers whom she had never met. She was good at it, but try as she might, Liam Kendall remained a man without past, motivations or feelings. It was as if he didn't really exist. Only his prints seemed to exist, as did his alleged brother and several properties. Maybe it was the absence of information that made it so hard for her to get an impression of this man, or maybe she was losing her touch. But still, she thought that she read her co-workers rather well, at least as far as she knew. It was no secret to her that Martin was more attracted to her than she was attracted to him. Danny was the only one of the team she had trouble reading. He kept up a masterful façade. In a way, they all did, but he was the best at it. She could tell that this wasn't just something Danny had picked up on the job working in law enforcement; no, he had probably played a role for much longer.

She was only pulled back into the real work when the waitress sat her food in front of her. Samantha took a sip to the diet coke she couldn't recall having ordered. She took a bite of the sandwich without really tasting it. She looked around and the diner had started to fill up a bit while she had been waiting for her food. She recognized the familiar face of Agent Robinson. She lowered her head again, taking another bite of the sandwich, intent of getting out of the diner. Agent Robison wasn't exactly the person she wanted to have a conversation with now. But he had already spotted her and was making his way over to her table.

tbc