A/N: Thanks for the continued reviews! You guys are awesome, seriously. I had a creative writing class where they were all so mean to me that I went home and cried, but y'ins guys are nice. I like you.

The "Due South" thing was not intentional, but it did give me a great idea!

As for the abruptness of the last chapter, my apologies. See, I have this problem, that I know where I want stories to go, but I don't know how to get them there. So I kind of threw all this stuff in there so that I could move it along and get it to where I knew what I wanted to do, and I apologize if it seemed kind of like, "Woah, where did that come from?" But also, it's my intent to keep you guessing! And trust me, there's still plenty of twists left to come!

As Danny seemed to be incapable of doing anything other than staring at Stan, it was Jack who broke the silence. He turned to Stan - or Steve, or whatever his name was. "We went to your apartment. There was nothing there." It went unsaid, but what he meant was, You ran, and that makes you look guilty.

Stan nodded. "Yeah. I think Molly's bosses are on to me, so I had to clear out."

While his reason was totally plausible, it made absolutely no sense to Jack. He suspected that there was something Molly wasn't telling them, but she didn't seem to be the type of person who would be involved in the mafia. And for a guy who was supposed to be undercover, what was Stan doing whipping his badge out in the middle of the day, where anyone could see him? And if he wanted to learn more about Molly, then why wouldn't he date her and not her roommate? And if he really thought that the mob had learned he was a federal agent, why would he waste time moving his furniture out of his apartment?

"What makes you think Miss Sheehan works for the mob?" Jack asked.

Stan paled – not overwhelmingly, but visibly. "That's classified."

That reaction brought Danny out of his stupor. "But surely you have some evidence, right? I mean, the CIA just doesn't go investigating random people."

Stan quickly glanced back and forth between Jack and Danny, as though determining who would be the best person to talk to. He finally settled on Jack, which was probably a good thing. Danny looked as though he were about to spit fire. At least he had finally lowered his gun.

"Aren't you guys suspicious?" asked Stan. "No one knows what she does for a living."

Jack cocked an eyebrow. That was certainly not proof enough of mob entanglements. But he looked to Danny for confirmation. Danny shook his head. "It never came up."

But Stan wasn't finished. "And all of a sudden, she comes into this major windfall of cash."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Her parents died. That 'major windfall' was probably her inheritance."

Stan coughed. "A little suspicious, if you ask me."

Danny took a menacing step towards Stan, who cowered against the wall. Jack furrowed his brow – not exactly the actions of a CIA agent. Besides, there was nothing suspicious about Molly's parents' deaths, and if Stan really were investigating her, he would know that. It wasn't exactly confidential.

"They were in the South Tower," Danny said through gritted teeth. "So unless you're suggesting that Molly had something to do with September 11, I'd – "

"She has a gambling problem," Stan said, cutting off the end of Danny's threat. "Gambles all the time, mostly on basketball. I think she's involved in some kind of scam."

Danny groaned. "That's ridiculous."

Jack rubbed his chin. Martin had mentioned something about her having money on the NCAA tournament – but a lot of people placed bets on games. That didn't exactly prove anything, either. But if Stan was lying, then what was really going on?

"Question, Stan," said Jack. "Why are you carrying your badge on you if you're undercover?"

Stan hesitated – just for a moment, but Jack saw it anyway. "I was actually coming to talk to you guys. I want to help with the investigation."

Jack forced a smile. "Then you were going in the wrong direction."

22 Hours Missing

Once again, Danny found himself staring at Molly through the window. She was leaning back in the chair, her head lolling over the back, staring at the ceiling. She had to be bored out of her skull. She'd been sitting in that chair for almost five hours and, according to Martin, had been nothing but cooperative. But everything she told Martin conflicted with everything that Stan told Danny and Jack, and though Danny wanted to believe her, he didn't know what to believe.

She had never mentioned her occupation. Danny had told Jack that it never came up, but that should have been the first thing that he asked. No one had asked. No one had thought to. Was it possible that she really was working for the mafia? Was she the one who learned that Stan was undercover? Mrs. Davidson had told the others that Molly had been trying to get Kate to break up with him for months – was that why? And Molly had even told Danny that she thought Stan was hiding something.

And even though Stan had proof of his story – the badge that Danny fingered in his pocket – Danny didn't believe him. On the one hand, the guy had an answer for everything. On the other hand, the guy had an answer for everything – not necessarily the correct one. Wouldn't someone investigating Molly know that her parents had died on September 11?

On the way back to headquarters, Stan had tried to explain about Molly's record, but Danny didn't believe that either. After all, sometimes the best of them were a little wayward in their youths, and he couldn't really hold that against her.

Jack had given him permission to confront Molly. He seemed to think that Danny might be able to extract the desired information out of her more easily than anyone else.

When Danny walked into the room, Molly was looking at him, her head still hanging over the edge of the chair back. She straightened as he came towards her.

"Agent Taylor," she said, "I trust your mission was fruitful."

He just looked at her, trying to gauge a reaction. He prided himself on his ability to read people, but she wasn't giving him any help. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" he asked.

She looked down at the table, as though ashamed. "Actually, yes, there is." For a fleeting moment, Danny thought she was actually going to confess to everything, but then she looked up at him, a glint in her eye, and said, "I don't like your friend."

Danny started. That was not the answer he'd been expecting. "Excuse me?"

She nodded to the two-way mirror. "Agent Fitzgerald. I don't like him. He's too smug." She paused, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Cute, though."

Danny bristled at her offhanded compliment and tried to infuse as much casualness into his tone as he could. "I hate to break it to you, but Marty's – "

"Involved," she said. "Yeah, I know. The blonde girl, right? What's her name? Agent Spade?"

He tried to wipe the look of shock off his face and was probably unsuccessful, as he couldn't quite make his mouth shut. "What makes you so sure?"

She grinned. "That's my job."

Now he was getting somewhere. Sort of. "And what is your job?"

"To find out things that people don't want found out." She must have seen the confusion in his eyes, because she continued. "She came in here about two hours ago to tell him something, and I could tell. You learn a lot about people by observing, and I could tell from the way they were angling their bodies towards each other, from the way his voice softened when he talked to her, and from the way they were looking at each other." She raised her eyebrows. "You'd have to be an idiot not to notice."

Danny tried not to react, tried not to let her see that she was right. "They're friends." He decided not to comment on her last statement, because it had taken him a while to catch on.

Molly smirked. "My guy friends don't look at me that way. They weren't obvious about it, which leads me to believe it isn't supposed to be common knowledge, but from the look you're giving me now, I'd say that you know." He started to stammer out an explanation, but she ignored him. "And it was apparent that she wants to keep it a secret and he doesn't, because he was definitely more obvious than she was. Subtle little touches are a dead giveaway. You might want to tell him that."

Danny finally found the strength to close his mouth. "And you got all that from a five minute whispered conversation?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm good at what I do."

She was hiding something. He knew it. She'd all but admitted it earlier, during breakfast. He just had to figure out what. He had to draw it out of her, get her to make a mistake. He took Stan's badge out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. "You know what that is?"

Something flickered briefly in her eyes, but it was gone before he could identify it. She looked at him. "Where did you get that?"

Danny clenched his jaw. "From Stan."

She scrunched up her face. "Who the hell is Stan?"

Danny leaned forward. "You might know him as Steve. His real name is Stan Kowalski."

"Stan Kowalski," Molly said. She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Like the guy on 'Due South'?"

Danny blanked. He'd known the name had sounded familiar, but he hadn't been able to place it. But he couldn't focus on that right now. Besides, he had gone with Jack and seen that they hadmade a mistake. "Our tip on Steve Kaminski led us to the office of a fifty-five-year-old banker, who didn't seem too keen on us being there."

"That would be Steve Kaminski, sr.," said Molly, and Danny could hear the frustration creeping into her voice. "Did you guys not investigate Steve before you left?"

Finally Danny decided that tiptoeing around the question wasn't getting him anywhere. "Who do you work for?"

Molly had the sense to look outraged, at least. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your employers. What are their names?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not at liberty to discuss that." She bit her lip and looked away. When she turned back to him, her features had softened significantly. "The number on 'Steve's badge' is 0169432."

Danny picked up the badge and examined it. Sure enough, the serial number was stamped in the middle. He glanced up at her. "How did you know that?"

She sighed heavily and threaded her fingers in her hair. "Because that's my badge."