Author's Note: wow, updated this just two weeks ago. I'm a writing machine! Actually, I want to be done with these. Hopefully that's no affecting the quality of the story. I struggled a bit with the last half, but I think it's still good. I know you'll all let me know. ;)
Author's thanks at the end.
I don't know if I'd say that everything between us was perfect after Sands found and called our children for me – because I know he wouldn't have bothered if I hadn't wanted to talk to them so much – but they did get easier.
Part of it was that we both were more relaxed. I felt immeasurably better knowing that although our children weren't happy, at least they were safe and they weren't being mistreated. Having spent time with my husband's coworkers, I hadn't been certain that they were really being taken care of in my absence. At least not in a way that I would approve of as a parent.
Sheldon on the other hand…I'm not entirely sure why he seemed more at ease. I don't think it was because I was relaxed. Until the morning after that phone call, he'd positively enjoyed keeping me on edge. It'd been a pastime for him, a hobby. Not that I'm complaining because I truly appreciated the difference in his behavior. More than ever he reminded me of the man I married. I did wonder though at his calm nature even as it affected my own mood.
I felt so reassured, so safe, now in Sheldon's company that when a knock came on our door at five in the morning three days after our arrival in Springfield, I did nothing more than roll over in bed and half-heartedly search for some sign of my husband. His side of the bed was cold. When I heard him answer the door and the soft murmur of the discussion that was immediately struck up, I realized he'd been waiting for this. Not liking this development, I stuck my head under my pillow and burrowed under the covers. It was all for naught; the mattress still sunk under someone's weight as they took a seat next to me.
"Lizzie?" A broad hand settled on my back. Instinctively, I arched into the touch. For my pains, the pillow was ripped off my head. "It's time to go, Lizzie." His voice was soft and tinged with regret.
"No it's not," I moaned, not bothering to hide again. Sheldon has no mercy; he'd take the blankets next and not give them back. But the fact that his voice was all but telling me he didn't particularly want to leave either didn't motivate me to actually get out of the cozy intimacy of the bed. If I didn't want to go, and he didn't want to go, it made perfect sense to stay. At least it did in my mind.
"We have to." Either he divined my position from what I said, or he gathered his nerves, because he reached out and stroked my rampant bed hair.
At least it's not my nose. "No we don't. We can stay here. Or we could go home." I opened my eyes just in time to see blatant regret and understanding flit across his face. It scared me, that combination. The fact that he understood how I felt made my heart leap. He wouldn't be able to understand if he didn't feel the same way himself. If some small part of him didn't want to come home with me.
But the regret…
"It doesn't matter, does it?" I asked. My voice sounded weak, yet even in my own ears it seemed to be bordering on shrill. "I don't matter. Chris and Mandy don't matter."
A militant look edged out the regret on his face. He tossed his head and my eyes darted past his shoulder. The voices I'd heard earlier belonged to his comrades-in-arms…who were still in the room, though they were trying very hard to look as if they couldn't hear a word of our argument. No wonder he's drawing away from me, I thought, as I watched my husband. He must feel as if I'm costing him his respect. And that hadn't been my purpose at all.
"I'm sorry."
Sheldon nodded curtly and I watched as he deliberately relaxed his shoulders. "You're upset," he acknowledged.
"Yes." Yes, I was most definitely upset. I didn't like – I hated – that his revenge was more important to him than his family. That he wouldn't even consider – no, that wasn't not fair because I would have sworn that he felt regret when I'd suggested that he might come home now even though he wasn't giving himself the option to turn his back on the insane mission still to come.
"I can't."
How did he know what I was thinking?
His hand slowly traveled down to my shoulder and then on to my hand where he painstakingly slipped his fingers between mine. If he hadn't been confident that none of his friends could see what he was doing, I have no doubt that he wouldn't have done it. The only reason he ever liked PDAs in the first place was because I would get flustered and embarrassed. But then, we'd so rarely spent any time around friends who were primarily "his" and not "ours."
"I can't just turn around and leave with you. Even if I wanted to. Even if they would do the same. I don't know…maybe I would consider it. But they won't leave me alone. If I don't stop them, if I don't prove they they're the ones behind all this treason and all these murders, I'll be arrested and accused in their place. You'll still lose me. And we can't just stay here because –"
"Because I won't leave Mandy and Chris on their own."
"It's not who you are."
"No. It's not." I'm not the kind of woman who willingly follows her husband into danger either, though! I'd always thought I was the kind of woman who would patiently sit at home waiting for her man, but apparently that side of me had limits too. "And you're not a coward. You're not even a pacifist."
His fingertips brushed against my lips, as if he's trying to read my face and I tried to smile bravely, wondering if he'd simply read just what I was willing to let him know. His hand moved down to my cheek and I wondered if I'd given away more than I'd wanted.
Sheldon doesn't tell me what – if anything – he found on my face. All he said was, "Go take your shower. We have an eight-thirty flight."
As I walked toward the bathroom, I noticed once again that he was already fully dressed.
"Why are you up so early, Sheldon?"
He shrugged. "I had some things I needed to take care of." His closed face prevented me from asking what. "Go on. Or you won't have time to make yourself presentable."
I went on.
Price was sitting in his office going over the month's expenses. He had an accountant for this sort of thing – a chain-smoking, caffeine-addicted, light-sensitive, near-sighted, reedy bean-counter of a man. Price's lip curled in disdain at the very thought of the self-important little man, but he was useful. And as long as the wretch's gambling debts were solely in his possession, Price tolerated him. And control of his employees was one of Price's compulsions.
Shaking his head as if to rid himself of distraction, Price returned to checking the month's tallies to make sure they matched the bean-counter's books. He wouldn't put it past the man to embezzle.
When he was about halfway through, a light on his desk started to flash. He ignored the amber-colored beacon while he finished what he was doing – becoming distracted now would mean having to start over – and the red light was the one that indicated some urgency was needed. Like traffic lights, the amber light simply meant that something was about to happen.
A quarter of an hour later, and with no discrepancies found between his records and his employee's, Price put his books away and after unlocking his top desk drawer, he pulled out a remote. As he pressed the first button, shades came down and covered the windows, leaving the room in a murky twilight relieved only by his desk lamp and a one hundred gallon in-wall fish tank. The next button caused a five foot long LCD screen to descend from the ceiling. And the last button he pushed brought the display to life.
His eyes immediately found the red dot that was his quarry. It was traveling slowly south from a line that led from Savannah, Georgia. Puzzled, he looked to the key; he grinned humorlessly. Sheldon was just chock full of surprises.
He hated surprises.
It was his own fault though for not making sure someone was watching the railways. His own fault for relying on outdated information. Sheldon had always slow trains were. That they were full of morons, idiots, and aviophobics.
From now on he'd remember this lesson. He'd remember that Sands actually wasn't picky when it came to completing a mission.
Getting on the phone, never taking his eyes off the light that represented Sheldon's wife, Price contacted his second in command.
"I want people at every train station between here and Tallahassee. Be on the lookout for anyone who looks out of place." He couldn't imagine that any of these seasoned agents would look particularly conspicuous, but if Sheldon was on his way, others that he wasn't able to track would be as well. And he wanted as much forewarning of this little vigilante force as he could get.
He intended to know how many guests he needed to be prepared to give his warmest greeting to.
She's tired. I can feel it. Hell, I'm tired, and to think that for awhile there I foolishly thought I had finally recovered from the Day of the Dead fiasco. Nineteen hours of travel will really take it out of a person.
"What time is it?" Liz mumbles. Her head is resting on my shoulder and I'm pretty sure she's about two minutes away from falling asleep.
"Midnight." Though our flight was supposed to leave at eight, it was delayed until ten. Then we were on the plane for four hours to Savannah, had an hour to eat there, and then were on the train for nearly eight hours. An hour at the train station to get our limited luggage and arrange for a rental, and here we were in a car heading out of Miami.
"Where're we going?"
"Coral Springs." Robbo is driving and he's the one that answers her, but I don't think she noticed. I don't think she's aware of much of anything at the moment.
Her breath brushes against my skin as she says, "Oh." Then her hand tucks itself into my elbow, and she repositions her head. "Are we going to spend the night somewhere?"
"Yes." I know Liz doesn't sleep well when traveling. Never has. So while the rest of us napped on the train – god knows there wasn't much else to do – she'd had to occupy herself with a cheap romance novel or some other drivel.
"Good." She lifts her head but doesn't move her hand. Strangely enough, I'm glad she doesn't. A few days ago I wouldn't have wanted her to touch me in front of others, at least not like this. Now I wish that she'd been this comfortable around me since I showed up on her doorstep. The clock's running down; I'll take this while I can.
About a half hour later – just when I'm starting to doze off – Liz gently shakes my shoulder. "We're there."
"It's a miracle," I say dryly.
"Certainly seems that way." Liz nudges me again, trying to make me hurry out of the car. She'd been stuck on the inside because I can't stand not to be near the door. One of those quirks caused by losing my sight. I grin at her impatience, but don't try to hurry along. I'll only fall flat on my face from the strange sensation of being still. I may not be moving any longer, but it still feels as if I am. Not to mention this is a strange place and I need the time to get my bearings.
After doing a few – exaggerated – stretches, I turn and offer Liz a hand as I step back far enough to allow her out without knocking her over.
"Robbo checking us in?" I ask as she steps down from the van.
"Yeah." She's close enough that I can still smell the faint scent of the raspberry tea she had on the train on her breath, and a trace of the soap she used in the shower so long ago.
"Let's get our stuff then."
She squeezes my hand and doesn't let go as we walk around to the back of the vehicle. Good for her. I won't have to embarrass myself by fishing out my cane.
The distinctive sound of cowboy boots on pavement approaches as we get the van locked up. "We're the last ones here," Robbo reports. "I snuck a peek at the guestbook. As far as I can tell, three-fourths of the guests here are our guys under pseudonyms."
"Does that mean they're standing out like sore thumbs?" Riley asked.
"No, that means I have a better memory for names than you do."
There's silence for a moment, then I hear someone snort with laughter.
"Stop sticking out your tongue, Riley." I switch Liz's and my bag to my other hand; she's trying to take it from me. As if I can't carry a bag.
"Here's your keycard, Mrs. Shep. I thought you might want to head for bed right away."
Suddenly, I'm much less amused. Yes, I'm well aware of the fact that there's going to be several more hours of discussion – we need to hammer out our final strategy after all – but who the hell said I was ready to let Liz leave? It wouldn't hurt anything if she stayed. It's not as if she's going to go turncoat or anything –
"Thank you." The obvious relief in Lizzie's voice makes my inner turmoil cool its heels. She's exhausted. She wants to go to bed.
Good thing too, considering the way my common sense was flying out my ear. Not that I have much time to collect it again before she starts to walk away, her hand still holding fast to mine.
When I let go, I hear her stop. "Aren't you coming? It's late."
My lips quirk; apparently she hasn't realized that things are going to change now that we're no longer alone. I should have made that clear at the airport. Should have warned her about what was coming while we were at the train station. "We need to meet. Lock the door behind you. I'll probably end up crashing elsewhere tonight." Going to her bed after planning what might be my last steps would be too much for even my restraint.
"Are you sure?"
Shadowy visions of what could happen if I join her flow through my head, affecting other parts of my anatomy.
"Yes. Go get some sleep."
"Alright." She doesn't move.
I do, walking towards the motel before I give in to temptation and follow her to the room like a mooncalf.
It's the way things have to be.
It was about three in the morning when Sands let himself into the room, blessing that Robbo in his infinite lack of wisdom, had slipped him the other key card to Liz's room. He couldn't stay away. Or if he cared to be truthful, he didn't want to stay away despite all the reasonable arguments about why he should.. He simply knew too much about death now. He knew it was serious business. And he thought he knew that if he and Lizzie could manage to patch their marriage in the same way they'd started to patch their relationship, he wouldn't court death anymore.
Sands knew he'd always been a thrill-seeker. Dancing with death had been attractive… until he'd come to understand what that truly meant. Feeling his blood drain out of him, feeling the mud it'd created under him…it'd made him mad. That anger had saved his life. It had set him on this path.
It'd nearly been stolen by Lizzie.
He found himself wanting the best of both worlds. He wanted Lizzie, and he wanted his revenge. The only problem was that Liz, though she said she understood his desire to strike back, didn't really. She never would. And if he lived through his revenge, Sands was afraid that no matter the progress they'd made in the last few days that he'd still lose her unless he somehow bound her to him.
He couldn't turn back. This was the only road he could take.
Which was why he was so insistent on stealing this time with Liz – this piece of Liz – before leaving tomorrow evening.
Shutting the door softly behind him, Sands started getting undressed, though there were things he wanted to do before getting into bed.
"Lizzie?" he called softly from just inside the door. He did want her to wake up, but he didn't want to startle her. "Lizzie?"
"Mmm?" He heard the soft sushing sound of cloth rubbing against cloth as Liz moved around in the bed. "Sheldon?"
"Where's the bag?" For a moment he couldn't tell if her silence was due to her trying to remember where she'd put the bag or due to her falling asleep.
"Next to the bathroom."
"Where's the bathroom?"
"To your left."
Sands nodded and felt around for the bag with his foot. While he did so, he casually asked, "Are you still on the pill?"
She made a sound that didn't answer his question either way. It could have simply been her wondering what the hell he'd just asked. He shrugged since it didn't really matter. Having located the bag, he picked it up and moved into the bathroom to get ready for bed.
Liz rolled over several minutes later when she heard him come out of the bathroom. "How'd you get in?" He was wearing a sash of some kind over his eyes tonight rather than his sunglasses. She didn't mention it; she knew he wouldn't want her to.
"Robbo had another key for the room." He was glad she'd said something. As tired as he happened to be, he'd forgotten where the bed was. "He made me take it when I volunteered to crash on the couch."
"Remind me to thank him," she mumbled as she watched him pull the blankets back and crawl into bed.
"Likewise." He reached out and pulled Liz to his side, kissing her softly before she could protest.
"Mmm." Liz relaxed and shut her eyes, allowing the kiss to go on for several minutes before she broke away. "It's happening tomorrow, isn't it?" Their voices were just another layer of darkness, another insulation against sanity and the morning that would arrive all too soon.
"Tomorrow night, yes."
"Are you sure you have to go?" Her voice was plaintive. When he didn't answer, she sighed. "I wish you didn't."
"I know. Part of me wishes that too."
"But the rest of you wants to go."
"Yes. The rest of me wants to do what I was trained to do."
"Why?"
That seemed like an odd question to him. "Why what? Don't you want to work in law?"
"No, not that."
"Then what?" He wondered if she was aware of how she was playing with his hair.
"Why did you join the CIA in the first place? You never told me." She didn't mention that he'd never had the time to since he hadn't told her the truth about his job until the night before he'd left. And she'd been too mad to wonder why he'd decided to join up until he'd been gone for a few months.
He shrugged. "They came to me because of my majors and because of my grades. At the time it seemed as good a job as any."
"There was no deeper reason then?"
"You mean, did I join to do my duty to my country? No. It was more to escape." The moment she stiffened, he winced. "That didn't come out right."
"I hope not." Liz's voice was chilly.
"We were young when we got married, Lizzie. We were young parents. And until we got pregnant I'd never considered whether or not I wanted to raise a family. But then the issue was forced, and I knew the right thing to do was to marry you and to be a father. And part of me wanted that. Part of me was thrilled. There was this other part that was scared shitless though. And that's why I took the job. I figured that if I could handle this, I could handle being a husband and father." His chest rose and fell as he laughed silently. "Didn't quite work out the way I'd expected."
"Obviously." Liz relaxed. Her fingers started moving though his hair again; it was his turn to relax at this sign of truce.
"I'm not sorry for what I did. For kidnapping you." If that was what it took for her to be here, he'd do it over and over again.
"I never thought you were." But there were other things she wondered about. "Sheldon, do you still love –"
"Shh." He brushed his thumb over her lips. He didn't want to talk about things like that tonight. If he survived through tomorrow night however, he'd talk about anything she wanted. "No more talking."
"You want to sleep?"
"No." No, sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. As if she wasn't close enough to him to know that already. "Just no more talking." He rolled her onto her back and started kissing her in a way that didn't leave any doubts about what he intended.
This time Liz didn't stop him. This time she let him do as he wished until the sun started to rise and they both fell asleep tangled in the sheets and each others' arms.
"Lizzie…it's time to wake up."
The languid, sated feeling that's in control of my body at the moment tells me he can't possibly be right. So I sigh – not without a slight trace of contentment – and attempt to fall back asleep.
"Lizzie."
There's warm fingers under my chin, lifting my face. The past few hours come back, and I automatically search for skin to kiss. My lips brush against slightly rough skin – a cheek – and my tongue darts out to taste what is mine to enjoy. "Sheldon…"
"Well, I'm glad you at least got that impression last night." He kisses me softly; I sigh as I feel his hand come to rest on my chest –
"What the hell are you doing?" I yell as he yanks the blankets away. Awareness of many things – of daylight flooding in open windows, of Sheldon's fully dressed figure, of my own naked reflection in the lenses of his sunglasses. "Sheldon! I'm naked and the curtains are open! Give those back!" I catch hold of the sheet and jerk it back, sending a futile glare of fury at my husband just in time to catch the most irritating smirk of amusement on his face.
"I would have enjoyed the show," he assures me.
"Pig." I kick his hip with the intention of pushing him off the bed but he catches himself in time, turning his fall into a graceful rise to his feet.
"Time to wake up. It's already past noon."
"It is?" My anger drains away as I realize how little time that leaves before Sheldon will be going away to complete this mission of his.
"Yeah. We broke for lunch and will reconvene at two for further discussion and plans for armament." He's smirking again, but it isn't as pleasant as before. For some reason I think he feels as if all this planning is pointless…which is odd for him, actually. He likes plans. But he doesn't like to debate them. He likes to make them and then let them stand. And if they have to be altered later, so be it.
"Get dressed, take a shower, whatever it is that you think you need to do." His orders interrupt my pondering. "I'm starved."
"Why?" I ask as I climb out of bed – the sheet still wrapped around me – and close the curtains. Don't these people believe in breakfast?
Arms wrap around me from behind as soft lips surrounded by bristles graze my neck. "Because I got quite a workout last night," he growls into my ear. "That's why. You're a hard woman to please – ow!" I grin; he deserved that pinch. "That was unnecessary."
"Ha."
He slaps my bum as he moves away. "Hit the shower before I decide to join you."
"You're in a good mood." The suspicion in my voice is blatant enough to make him laugh. An actual, honest-to-goodness, couldn't-be-so-effin'-happy laugh.
"Why shouldn't I be in a good mood?"
I have no good answer for him so I simply slide my arms around his waist and lay my head on his shoulder. Part of me wants to declare my renewed love here and now…but I know – somehow I know – that it'd be a mistake. So instead I say, "What're we doing for lunch?"
There was a family owned and operated Mexican restaurant not far from our motel. The building held no more than the kitchen. All the seating was outside at little square tables that were made for two but could be put together to accommodate more. No one joined us though, something I was glad for since I was prepared to go back to our room afterwards so Sheldon could go back to his meeting.
When the time came, he didn't let me go though. He took me back with him.
In hindsight that wasn't a good idea. Heck, I knew after ten minutes that I didn't really want to be in that room. It wasn't the glares of Sheldon's co-fugitives that had me turning a delicate shade of yellow – though Roberts and Riley did keep the conversation on track when a few of the less pleasant ones would have loved to start discussing my presence. And Sheldon had kept me close, as if he didn't care that everyone noticed. It's just that sitting there and listening to their plans, and strategies, and tactics did absolutely nothing to calm my fraying nerves. That I know Sheldon noticed because every now and then he'd wriggle his fingers as if my grip was putting them to sleep.
Not insisting to return to my room after lunch was my first mistake. Not insisting to return to my room after dinner was my second, and the reason I can't sleep now.
I don't know what I'd been thinking. I sat there and listened to every step by step explanation of how things would unfold, of the projected body count, of what they might expect their casualties to be… None if it seemed real. These weren't conversations that normal people have. They just weren't, and they imparted a sense of unreality to the proceedings to the point where I felt as if I were watching a play.
That's when trunks, and suitcases, and duffle bags full of weapons and ammunition seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Then things became very real to me. Up until that point I realized that my impressions had been based more on Beverly Hills Cop during the scene at the end when they're raiding the rich man's mansion. From the look of things, I knew that a better movie analogy for their plan was Apocalypse Now.
I can't do it. I can't sit calmly in this chair anymore and passively remember this. I need to move. Need to pace. Which is strange, because I thought I knew all there was to know about waiting. I waited years for Sheldon to come home. I've waited up for Chris when he's decided to ignore his curfew. I've waited for Mandy in the waiting room of the hospital after she ate an entire bottle of children's Tylenol. I've waited in traffic, waited in line, waited for meals in restaurants, and have become proficient at the "hurry up and wait" that is our legal system.
None of that, no matter how extensive, prepared me for this.
"Biaselli will stay here with you tonight," Sheldon told me as he strapped on holsters for no less than four guns and hid a few more on his person. I watched him miserably, unable to take any comfort from his cold, implacable face. At least he was doing this in the privacy of our room. I would have hated to make a scene in front of nearly thirty strangers. "If she doesn't get word from us by tomorrow night, she'll make sure you get to the airport. I want you to fly home, and forget about all of this, understand?"
"No, I don't think I do." He better not be implying what I think he's implying –
"If no one from our team has checked in by then, it means no one was able to." His face softened and he moved closer to me, a patch of blackness against the pale walls of the room. "Please, just promise me you'll go home." His hands found my shoulders, and then slipped down to my arms. His fingers kneaded the muscles there. It was reassuring in a way – as I'm sure he meant it to be – but it was an empty reassurance. "This is important to me, Lizzie."
"You know that when you put it that way, I can't say no." I'd never been able to. Not to that face, and that voice, and that uncharacteristic compassion in his face.
"Why did you think I asked?" He pulled me closer and rested his chin on the crown of my head. "You'll be safe. Price won't come after you if he has me. And I'll keep him occupied for a good long time."
"Are you sure that you have to go?" I could see my face reflected in his glasses. It was pale, pinched. Miserable. "Haven't you given enough?"
"I never gave anything. Things were taken from me. And even if I didn't have to go, I would. I thought you understood that."
I understood that I was asking the impossible of him. I understood I needed say anything I want to now because there would be no second chance to convince him. "You still have your life though. And if it's taken from you, it'll be taken from me too."
"Lizzie," he whispered, a warning to stop now in his voice. I ignored it. This was too important to stop.
"I do still love you."
"Don't. You're just going to get yourself hurt."
"I'd hurt if I never told you." I kissed him before he could protest; he returned it with rising passion as someone outside began to honk a horn impatiently.
"I have to go," he whispered against my forehead.
"I know." Acceptance had finally come, though it made my stomach sink into my feet.
"I can't make any promises."
"I know." He'd never been one to say anything he couldn't theoretically back up. Dying would keep him from backing up anything other than that acknowledgement.
"I can't tell you what you just said to me."
"I know. It doesn't matter. Just try to stay alive."
His lips quirked. "Sounds like my wife is all grown up." He kissed my forehead. "Remember, I want you to leave if –"
"I remember. Go, they're waiting for you."
"Good god, they should have recruited you instead of me," Sheldon muttered as he resolutely walked towards the door.
Amused, I called out after him, "Eye of the tiger!" He'd kept saying that to me while I was in labor with Chris. The lyrics made more sense for him now than they ever did for me.
"I expect to hear the rest when I get back," he demanded.
Then he was gone.
It was an uneasy time for the two women who were left behind at the motel. Biaselli was on edge, partly from nerves, partly from the assignment she'd been given. She didn't really have anything against Sands' wife, but she was CIA, not the Secret Service. Just because she was the youngest of the group and because she'd still been in her last year of the special one-on-one training that the most promising cadets received meant nothing in her mind. If all had gone according to plan, she'd be a fully fledged officer now, and she'd certainly seen enough action to not be a danger to anyone on the team. She'd give anything to be out there now rather than in here with the silent, pale, restless wraith that Liz had turned herself into.
She hadn't meant to do it. Not really. Liz wasn't even aware of her current likeness to a ghost. All she knew was that she was cold, so she'd put on the fluffy white robe Sands had stolen from that hotel in Springfield.
"You should try to get some rest," Biaselli said as she rested her hand on the gun at her hip.
Liz shrugged. She wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon, so she saw no point in lying down. A quick glance at the other woman as she paced past her though convinced Liz that it'd be smart to stop acting so nervous. It was only succeeding in making her companion nervous as well.
Sitting on the bed, Liz turned on the TV, made sure the volume was low, and started flipping through the channels. Something would grab her attention and take it off her growing certainty that something was wrong…
BAM!
"Get down!"
Liz didn't have time to react. Her frazzled mind took in the wide open door and her companion in one instant, registered that the noise splintering her eardrums was gun fire in the next, and knew that when the other woman dropped to the floor, it wasn't because she'd taken cover.
That didn't mean that a single muscle in her body was willing to cooperate with her though.
Liz sat on top of the bed, frozen, her eyes wide in her white face, unable to do more than watch as a troop of men dressed in black and heavy body armor stormed in. They were yelling at her, searching the room…one man near the back spoke into a radio.
Still unable to speak, she sat still – as if calm, as if used to this violence.
When a well-dressed man came in, she knew who it was.
"They didn't believe that you actually died." Her voice sounded tinny in her ears, almost inaudible after the barrage of gunfire that had come before her abrupt appearance before her.
"They're not the ones I'm worried about," Phillip Masden said as calmly as she. "I trust I can convince you to come with us without having to use this?" He held up a syringe.
Liz wasn't going to risk finding out what was in it. Not when it came to dealing with these people.
"I'll come."
When she was hustled past the dead body of the woman who'd been left behind to guard her, she wished she'd put up a struggle.
Author's Thanks: my eternal (or at least profuse) thanks to…Merrie (hey! You were the first one to review this time around! Been awhile since that's happened. :P I prefer Denny's to IHOP. Always will. So there. And the shower scene with Sands and Liz was one of my top five favorite scenes in this fic.); Lynx (I thought that the change in Sands – from not caring what happened with Liz but not really wanting to see her harmed, to having him think that seeing her harmed would be a very bad thing and that he wouldn't like it at all, was a believable character arch. If they hadn't had a history together though, it would have been jumping the gun. :P Once again, I limed writing that shower scene.); quick29 (I love music, and it tends to creep into my stories. Along with my love of Denny's. ;P); Mayorst (this is your chapter, chica! Thanks for all the music you send me to keep me going. :D I can't believe that 'Aida' snuck into the last chapter. I corrected so many of them too.); Dawnie-7 (hope you're settling into your new home in time for the holidays. I moved myself awhile back, and it wasn't as traumatic as I thought it would be.); LadySparrowJack (I'm glad Liz has turned into a character who is a match for Sands. Not a lovematch – though I think a lot of you are thinking that – but a match in all the other ways that count as well. And oddly enough, it's not even something I set out to do. It just happened.); doctress (I don't know if I was trying to foreshadow anything in the last chapter because I'm not even sure what's going to happen in the next chapter. I haven't made any decisions that can't be changed.); CaptainJackSparrowsGirl (Don't feel bad about not reviewing. After all, the fics are always here, and you can review whenever you please. And I totally understand computer problems and how they involve ffn – I'm just glad to hear from you whenever you can drop a line.); Rogue-Pirate (lol. I start updating each fic more than once a month, and all of a sudden I'm hounded if I go a week without updating. Wow. ;P); Cayenne Pepper Powder (great to hear from you, you impatient little pepper corn. .)
