Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with "Without a Trace". I make no money from this!

A/N: Yeah, okay, this was meant to a nice, easy, straight-forward, plot-driven little chapter to write, and it ended up becoming my nightmare! I did intend to write a little note saying thank you to all you wonderful people who are still reading and reviewing. But instead I firstly have to thank SpyMaster for pointing out the stuff in my original version which didn't make that much sense, and secondly, a huge, huge thanks going out to Newlands! She really beta'd the hell out of this one for me to the point where I think I should actually be sharing authorship! Newlands, I have a feeling I may have mentioned this over email once or twice, but I'll say it again – you're a star:) Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen

Logan Airport, Boston.

12.35pm

"Okay, hundreds of cabs, one of me. I'm not convinced this is gonna go so well." Danny shot his partner a conspiratorially beleaguered but good-humoured expression. He didn't hold out much hope that the other agent was going to share a joke this afternoon, but it was worth a try. Or, maybe not?

"Well, I guess I'll be at the security offices," stated Martin flatly in return, more than a hint of dissatisfaction underlying the statement.

Purposefully ignoring the tone, Danny shrugged and forced a grin. "Hey, I did my time yesterday. Now it's your turn. It's not all about running after the bad guy, waving our guns around, you know?"

Barely acknowledging the comment, Martin turned and headed into the terminal building. Danny watched him go, allowing himself a small shake of his head before he turned to the task at hand. In front of him was a strip of taxi cabs as far as the eye could see. As people rushed haphazardly from the terminal in the direction of the front cars, the drivers further down the line stood around talking idly, smoking and seemingly enjoying their down-time.

He looked down at the two pieces of paper in his hand. One was a list of drivers who were regularly scheduled for airport pick-ups and the other was a large colour head shot of a smiling, carefree-looking Adam Walker. Although grateful that the airport contracted only two main cab companies for their business, that failed to exclude any number of private drivers hanging around looking for an easy buck. He sighed as he took in the sight in front of him. Common sense told him that there was an easier way to do this, but this was the last known location of their missing person and this was where he must start. Shoving the list back in his pocket but keeping hold of the photo, he began to make his way down the line.

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1.32pm

Having still not heard from Martin, so figuring the security angle was kind of a bust, Danny was about to tackle his thirtieth disinterested cab driver in an hour when he'd noticed a small commotion breaking out further down the approach. Clearly there was no real fight for cabs at this hour, so his attention had been drawn. It appeared that a hefty figure who had emerged awkwardly from one of the first cabs in the line was gesturing somewhat wildly to his fellow drivers; who, in turn, were clearly gesturing something back. Heading in the direction of the noise, out of habit more than any real idea of how he could help, the agent had stopped in his tracks as he realised they were all pointing at him. The large man was now walking as quickly as his frame would allow toward him. On his arrival, Danny found the photograph of Adam Walker snatched unceremoniously from his numb hand, and an enormous red face nodding somewhat enthusiastically in his direction. After taking a moment to introduce himself, the driver launched into his story.

"Yeah, I picked the guy up, on Monday night, I think. I remember him 'cause he looked like this well-dressed business guy but he didn't even have an overnight bag with him. When I asked him why he was here, he got all weird. I figured he wasn't here for business, you know? So, I remember it."

Danny looked, almost in disbelief, at the dangerously overweight figure in front of him. It wasn't so much that the guy's jacket would barely fasten, or that he seemed to be happily oblivious to the icy sting of the air which was making even a die-hard New Yorker want to run for cover. His main problem was that this was just too easy! After having spent a day and a half running in circles, key witnesses were not meant to wander up to you on the street. It's just not how it was supposed to work.

"And it was definitely him?"

The driver stared at him sceptically, holding up his two abnormally large hands for emphasis.

"Yeah."

"And you took him to a motel in the city?"

"Yeah, just some dump down on the South side. No idea why he'd want to stay somewhere like that. He didn't look like he couldn't afford any place else. But then it was none of my business."

Danny watched him carefully. It was their first real break of the day. It all seemed a little too good to be true, but despite the man's unnerving willingness to impart the information, it seemed reliable enough. He smiled mirthlessly. "And can you remember the name of this establishment?"

The driver returned the smile, knowingly. "Well, I can't remember the name, not off the top of my head. But I can take you there – for a small fee, of course."

Danny nodded. "Of course. If you could hold that thought for one minute…" Smoothly he whipped out his cell and punched in a familiar number.

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Logan Airport Security Offices

1.16pm

Glaring at the large digital clock mocking him from the wall opposite, Martin looked down and once again checked his own watch. It turned out neither instrument was lying, and he had in fact been waiting in this sterile, uncomfortable holding area for almost an hour. He was beginning to get a vague idea of how it must feel for unsuspecting passengers who got hauled in by the tightened airport security. The only problem with this scenario was that he was a damn FBI agent. It was meant to be him asking the questions.

Instead he was sitting in a plastic chair being plied with acidic coffee by an apologetic personal assistant who had now explained four times that his boss, the Head of Security, was occupied dealing with a matter of extreme importance in one of the other terminal buildings. As he was the only person with clearance to grant the permission needed to access the relevant information, Martin would just have to wait. Unfortunately, the one question that the young man couldn't answer was just how long this procedure was going to take.

The coffee, however, was not the only thing that seemed to be streaming through Martin's system. By his own admission, he was usually a pretty calm and collected guy. But the longer today went on, the more he had an almost over-whelming urge to just… throw something – although nothing large, or too destructive as yet. But if he could just do something to ease the increasing sense of frustration, bubbling ever more urgently to the surface.

He was uptight today; he knew it. And there was one thought that kept pushing itself to the front of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to subdue it. It wasn't exactly welcome but it just wouldn't leave him alone. When it came down to it, he just wasn't used to questioning whether there might be an ulterior motive behind his boss' orders. There was more than one reason why he was currently sitting in this room and he really didn't like the conclusions he was beginning to draw from this.

Firstly, he still was not convinced that this entire investigation wasn't a bust. In different circumstances, that alone would irritate him, but not like this. Admittedly, they now seemed to be onto something with the psychiatrist angle. But it wasn't as if Jack had actually known about that when he'd sent them on this apparent wild goose chase to Boston. Martin had never been one to complain too much about grunt work, but this seemed like something else. Was there another reason why Jack wanted him out of New York so badly?

His thoughts lingered on his boss. From the first day he'd stepped into the Missing Person's Unit, he'd looked up to Jack Malone. The guy was brilliant and seemingly fearless, and the kind of man Martin had always wished to emulate. Sure he'd known that Jack had his flaws. It wasn't exactly a well-kept secret that his boss had spent nine months living in a motel around the corner from his wife and kids. But somehow this had never bothered Martin too much. In fact, until his conversation with Samantha several months earlier, he'd never really given Jack's personal deficiencies much thought. And when he'd finally got what he wanted after almost two years of waiting, he had forced himself not to think too hard about the reasons behind Jack's domestic woes. Just because he may desire to be more like Jack Malone professionally, Martin knew that personally, he was very much his own man. And until now, that had never really been a problem.

He did want to be more like Jack on the job. That much he would admit to himself. And it wasn't just because Jack was the polar opposite of his father.

A part of him, his father's son, could hear loud and clear that little voice in his head.

Sleeping with your boss' ex might not be the best way to get ahead in your career, you know?

Yet, until now perhaps, this didn't quite seem fair. Even if he didn't always like Jack all that much, he'd always been able to respect him. And despite the rookie mistakes that he had undoubtedly made in his first couple of years, Jack had always been there, reprimanding him, yes, giving him a hard time on occasion, absolutely, but continuing to trust him and believing in his ability to do his job, always.

But now it seemed that Jack was letting his personal feelings cloud his professional judgement. Thinking back, this was not exactly a new accusation. In fact, Martin had heard it levelled at him on one memorable occasion in particular. But at that time, there had been matters more pressing than a pointed but veiled comment from a superior agent and, although slightly confused, he'd let it go without any further analysis.

This time, however, Martin was finding it difficult to let his doubts over Jack's motives go. His initial reaction had been one of disappointment. In his mind's eye, he envisioned the way that Jack had stood up to Victor Fitzgerald in Washington, the same way Jack had stood up to Van Doren, and OPR, and pretty much anyone else who Martin had seen get in his way. Naïve as it may have been, he felt let down. Maybe he should have learned this lesson by now, but he had still expected more. But the more he thought about it, the more this feeling gave way to anger. The version of Jack he was creating here, was Jack Malone, FBI agent and it was very clear who that man was. What was not quite so clear, was who Jack Malone, Samantha Spade's ex-lover was. Because from the distinct shift in mood that Martin had sensed in yesterday's bullpen meeting, that was who he was now facing.

From the moment that Jack and Sam had arrived back at the office together the previous day, Martin had felt on edge. He couldn't put his finger on why, but there was a vibe in the air that had made him feel uneasy, or more accurately, unnecessary. He'd felt Jack watching him, from the minute he'd approached Samantha. Why he'd felt the need to talk to her the moment their boss had headed toward his office, he wasn't sure. Maybe it was little more than a defiant attempt to stake his claim, or whatever the hell it was he'd felt he needed. But he was fairly certain he was not the only one who'd been partaking in this outward display of machismo. He, along with everyone else, had seen the look in Jack's eyes as he'd challenged him at the conference table. And it was more than just a mentor showing his greater level of experience. There had been a petulance there which Martin had never before witnessed. Jack had pulled rank and no-one could pretend it was purely professional.

No matter how much professional respect Martin had for his boss, he was not going to let him screw with either his personal life, or his career.

Maybe there had been a certain amount of arrogance on his part, but he had worked hard to convince himself that, when it came down to it, Jack could not compete with him personally. After all, he'd had his chance and, after everything that had happened, what future could he really offer Samantha?

But maybe, in hindsight, it had just been a lot easier to think like this before Jack was in the game. Then again, maybe he always had been playing and Martin had just been too naïve to realise it. This thing had been going on for months, and the longer it continued, the more he seemed to allow her to just jerk him around. If it were purely for professional reasons that Samantha insisted on this secrecy, then he could have understood, empathised even. But she didn't seem to have too much of a problem with Danny knowing, or Viv for that matter. It wasn't as if Jack, their boss, would have too much say in the matter. But, as he was slowly coming to realise, this might not be the Jack he was dealing with now.

"Umm, excuse me. Agent Fitzgerald?"

Martin looked up, sharply at the young PA once again standing in front of him. He hadn't even noticed him enter.

The young man took a slight involuntary back-step as the agent raised his head.

"Er, sorry. You can go in there now."

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Boston's Southside

2.08pm

Spending almost an hour waiting for the airport security to deign to come out and talk to him had done nothing to improve Martin's mood, Danny decided. It also hadn't helped that they'd had absolutely nothing of any use to tell him. Other than confirming, as they already knew, that Adam Walker had been on the flight, no-one remembered seeing him, nothing out of the ordinary had happened on Monday night, and there was no security footage to cover any of the areas he might have been. Now, if anything, Martin was even more morose than earlier and Danny quietly prayed that they'd find Adam holed up in the run-down 'bed and breakfast' style motel that they were now standing outside. The sooner they closed this case the better, for everyone's sake.

After the cab driver had dropped them off in same place, or so he'd promised, as he'd left Adam Walker on Monday night, he'd sped off back to his usual haunt. If he'd been expecting a larger tip than he'd got, Danny's stony glare had answered his query as he rejoined the early afternoon traffic.

Now the two agents found themselves in front of an empty looking, dirty red-brick construction, sporting a faded sign that read simply, "24 hour motel". The building couldn't have contained more than a dozen rooms and looked far from welcoming by any stretch of the imagination. Despite its location, it was in fact set slightly back from the street. But any pretence of a courtyard was erased by the wire netting that encircled it. A clump of unkempt and overgrown shrubbery, running along the edge of the building and straying down the path to the sidewalk, was the only relief from brick and stone. The only benefit it could have offered their missing person, Danny noted, was its proximity – just a couple of blocks from the downtown office of Dr. Crawforth. Feeling slightly encouraged by this fact, he was about to head in through the crudely alarmed front door, when he realised that Martin had impatiently beaten him to it.

The sight that greeted them was expected, but unpleasant nonetheless. The reception area, if that's what it could be called, was a dingy enclave with damp, peeling wallpaper and a skinny moustached figure slouching across a grimy counter enclosed within a sealed wire and re-enforced glass cage. The air reeked of stale cigarette smoke mixed with rancid alcohol and the shrilling of the bell, as the agents had entered, had done nothing to rouse the proprietor. Fighting back a wave of repulsion, mixed with a flurry of unwanted memories, Danny watched as his partner marched to the window and proceeded to bang his fist sharply against the screen. This was possibly the first time that Martin had spoken more than two words since their earlier phone conversation, and something in his tone and mannerisms made Danny distinctly uneasy. He'd seen Martin wound up on a case before, but this new anger seemed purely of a personal nature. He wasn't too sure what he'd missed in the short time that they'd been apart that afternoon, but whatever was going through the guy's head right now, it really wasn't seeming too healthy.

"Hey! Hello? FBI! Come on!" Martin hollered as he shoved his ID to the window.

The man stirred as if from a peaceful sleep and looked up, seemingly unperturbed at his irate customer.

"Okay. Calm down. What can I do for you?" he slurred, casually taking in the source of his disturbance in the dim light. As his face met with the badge now placed at eye-level, his posture straightened but his brain took a little while to catch up. The face on the other side of the glass was now glowering at him intently.

Shaking himself, as if to clear whatever it was that had incontestably intoxicated his system, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

At this point, Danny chose to step up alongside Martin, holding his now slightly worn photograph of Adam in front of him. His expression and tone were relaxed, but there was no doubting in his posturing that he meant business.

"We're looking for this guy here, right? Now we know that he came here on Monday night. But it's a funny thing, you see, nobody's seen him since. You wanna help us out here?"

The man rubbed his eyes again, forcing himself to focus.

"I'm the manager," he succeeded in groaning as he pushed himself up off his chair and gulped back a large glass of cloudy looking water from the desk behind him. Danny shuddered inwardly at the thought.

"So you have seen him?"

Martin was so close to the glass now, he was almost pressed against it.

The manager blinked rather rapidly. "Yeah, sure. I let him a room here a couple of nights ago. Didn't say much. He paid cash."

As he spoke he made his way painfully to the side of the cage. Opening a heavy steel door he re-appeared on the outside, a couple of feet from Martin, who turned to face him. Both agents could now smell the sickly sweet aroma which clung to his hair and clothes.

"So when did you last see him?"

Martin's tone was becoming increasingly aggressive and the man stepped back, almost stumbling into the glass. Subconsciously, or so it seemed, Martin found himself taking a step closer.

"I don't know. When he checked in, I guess. He must've left when I was sleeping, 'cause I never saw him again."

"He never checked out?" Martin asked incredulously.

The manager shrugged. "This ain't really that kinda place."

"Well, can we see the room he stayed in?" Danny enquired, barely masking his own frustration.

Again, the man shrugged. "If you'd like. Not that there's anything in there. All he left was a case with a bunch of papers in it and a card thing."

"You're saying he never even came back for his belongings?" Martin took another step forward.

"No. Like I said, I never saw him again."

"So, what did you do with his stuff?" Danny's voice was light but his eyes suggested anything but.

The manager pointed to the desk at the back of the cage. On top of it in plain view was an open briefcase with papers spilling out.

Martin looked at the desk then back at the manager. His voice now had a definite edge to it.

"I presume you're the one who opened his case, right?" He took yet another step closer. "Are you sure he didn't leave anything else, like a wallet, or a cell phone?" His tone was accusatory and he was now inches from the guy's face.

The man was now almost backed up against the glass. He eyed the agent warily as a genuine fear crossed his features.

As if catching himself, Martin took a breath and stepped back. He was pretty sure the guy was scum, but no more so than many of the people he dealt with on a daily basis. This wasn't the time for this behaviour and he knew it. But it was somehow taking a lot more effort to stand down than he was used to.

"Look man, I didn't take anything, if that's what you're saying." His hands shaking, the witness manoeuvred his body to give himself enough space to pull something out of his pocket.

Martin snatched it from him as Danny exhaled quietly. Sure he and Martin pulled this act on suspects all the time, but this had felt like less of an act than he was comfortable with. And from the brief look he'd caught on his partner's face, he got the impression that he was not the only one who'd felt that way. Martin actually seemed to be surprising himself.

There was a brief silence as both agents studied the object. There was no doubt about it. It was a swipe card from Redding, Phillips and Hurst.

"Okay, we believe you," interjected Danny after a moment, and with only a minimal amount of cynicism. "But we're still gonna need to see that room."

Catching Martin's eye to offer him a friendly but questioning glance, he trailed slightly as they set off down the dank corridor in which Adam Walker had last been seen. Taking a surreptitious look at his partner, Danny pulled out his cell to once again update Jack.

TBC