By the time night fell, Emily was exhausted. She didn't know why. All she had done was ride in a car for hours. It's not like she ran a marathon or anything.

When they pulled into the parking lot of a highway motel, she wondered how it would play out. She followed Frank as he got out and headed to the main office. She hung back and examined the pictures on the wall as she waited for him to get a room. When she stopped in front of a painting of a woman laughing and dressed to the nines in her high heel shoes, she felt a pang of sadness for the impending loss of her job.

"You good?" Frank asked, suddenly appearing at her elbow. She jumped a little, startled.

"Yes," she answered. He led the way, and she gave the painting one last look before following. Once inside their room, he bolted the door shut. Emily was thankful there were two beds. That could have gotten awkward fast. She said nothing as Frank took off his suit jacket and hung it by the door. He didn't look at her as he walked past and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. She heard the shower start not long after. She fell back onto the bed and put her hands behind her head. She wondered what her father was doing. She knew better than to call him. If he was going to these great lengths of keeping her safe, she wasn't about to ruin it now. She rested her fingers absently on the bandage on her arm. She turned her head as Frank emerged from the bathroom in a white t-shirt and dark grey pajama pants.

"All yours," he said before picking up the TV remote and turning it on while sitting down on his bed. He threw an arm behind his head as he leaned against the headboard.

Emily sat up slowly, getting up to use the bathroom herself. She hadn't thought to bring pajamas. She'd have to sleep in her clothes. Of course, Frank would be prepared because Frank had a head's up he was doing a night in a motel. She felt annoyed as she looked at herself in the mirror. Then she felt funny thinking she would be sharing a room with a man. It had been a long time.

She went back out to find him watching a movie about car racing.

"We were just in a car all day," she commented. "You really wanna watch cars racing?"

"Of course," Frank replied. "It's The Fast and the Furious. Have you never seen it?"

"Don't care to," she retorted. She crawled back into her bed and pulled the cover up over her head to block out the noise.

"I could drive better than these guys," Frank said. "Hell, I should audition for this franchise...show them how it's done."

"You'd get picked to be the villain," Emily replied from under the covers.

"Excuse me?" Frank asked. She poked her face out to look at him, and he was looking at her. "A villain?"

"You just have that..." she paused to gesture with her hand in a circle around her face "...kind of face."

"I do not have a villain's face," Frank argued.

"Okay, so maybe you'd be a villain at first, but you'd come around to be the good guy eventually," she said. He started to laugh.

"You're funny," he said.

"What? You wouldn't come around?"

"I don't know cos I'm never going to be in it," Frank snorted.

"Can you at least turn it down?" she asked.

"Fine," he sighed, doing so. In the end, she couldn't sleep, so she sat up and watched it with him. He took pride in telling her all the details about the cars that she didn't care about. She was only in it for the romance aspect, which was very minimal. When Frank changed it to the news, she did finally fall asleep.

...

Frank took a look over at Emily sleeping before he turned out his lamp and tried to sleep himself. He wasn't going to deny that she was pretty. He also liked her feisty attitude. He smiled to himself as he turned out the light and got comfortable. He tried not to think about her. He couldn't let this affect him. She was a job, a package. He wasn't supposed to get attached to her. Instead, he started to think about her father, Charlie, and why he acted like he didn't know Frank. There was no way he could have forgotten Frank, not after their blow out right before Frank left the SAS. Frank had left because he couldn't keep doing what he was doing anymore. Charlie had told him he was wasting his talent.

So there was no damn way Charlie didn't know who he was.

Frank wondered what trouble Charlie had gotten himself into that required his daughter being sent somewhere safe. Obviously, it wasn't good. He was about to fall asleep when a noise at the door put him on instant alert. He sat up, turning his head to look at the door. There was a definite noise there, he wasn't imagining it.

He quietly got out of bed and went over to Emily. He knew he was going to scare her, but he had to make sure she was quiet. He clamped a hand over her mouth tightly and put a hand on her chest to keep her from sitting up. She jolted awake, making a muffled cry under his hand and trying to smack him.

"It's me," he whispered urgently. "Someone's trying to break in. Keep quiet. Got it?"

After a second, she nodded in understanding, and he removed his hand.

"What are we gonna do?" she whispered.

"You're gonna go into the bathroom and let me handle this," Frank whispered back. "Under no circumstances are you to come out unless I tell you to. Understand?"

"I understand."

"Good. Go."

She got out of bed carefully, pausing to look at him.

"What if you get killed? Then what do I do?"

"Have some faith," he retorted a little sarcastically. He shot her a slightly disgruntled look as well.

"Sorry," she whispered and tip toed to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind her and locking it. Frank waited a second before going to the main door and yanking it open. The intruder was taken by surprise but recovered fast enough to dodge Frank's fist. He then launched himself at Frank, and the fight was on. Frank grunted as he was slammed against the dresser and held there. He took a few blows to the face before he elbowed the intruder's shoulder hard and then kneed him, giving him space to move. He threw the intruder across the room and then fell on them after they landed on their back, punching and getting hits in. He was thrown off easily, and he was a little winded after. He went to get up when he saw the intruder pull out a silenced gun from the light of the sign outside. Frank threw himself out of the way as bullets came at him. He scrambled for his bag on the floor, digging inside for his own gun. When he found it, he rolled onto his back to find the intruder standing right above him. Frank instantly fired twice, hitting the intruder in the shoulder and the knee. The man screamed as he went down. Frank went over to him and put a hand around his throat while tossing the silenced gun away.

"Who sent you?" he demanded.

"Go to hell," the man hissed back. Frank saw the knife coming at him and leaped back in the nick of time. When the man went to lunge at him, Frank didn't hesitate to shoot him. He regretted it because he needed information from him, but it wasn't worth his life. He sat there for a moment trying to get his wits about him while figuring out what to do next. Obviously, they weren't safe there. He got to his feet after a bit and went to check the parking lot. After seeing no one else, he went back inside and over to the bathroom door. He switched on the light on his way.

"Emily?" he said. "It's all right."

The door unlocked and opened, and she was standing there looking at him.

"You're hurt," she said, reaching to touch the cut on his face. He knew a bruise would form there soon too.

"Flesh wound," he replied, shrugging it off. He didn't want to think about how her fingers on his face made him feel.

"Is he...?" she trailed off.

"Dead," Frank finished, moving away from her now. She went to stand over him while he checked the man's body for identification. Upon finding none, he sat on his haunches and thought hard. He reached to check the inside of the man's boot, and he pulled out a photograph.

It was Emily.

"What?" she asked, and he turned his head to look at her.

"He was after you," he answered, standing up and showing her the picture. She snatched it from him, staring at it in horror.

"This was taken in New York," she said. "Two months ago."

"They've been watching you for a while then," Frank noted.

"But...why?" she asked, looking confused. Frank went to get changed at this point. He knew they couldn't stay there. When he came back out, she was still standing there holding the photo.

"Come on," he said.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"As far away from here as possible," he answered, grabbing his bag and keys. She began to move then, reaching to pick up her bag before chasing after him.

"How are they finding me?" she asked. "You got rid of my phone."

"If they were following you for the past few months, they didn't need your phone," Frank surmised. They both got into the car, and he started it up.

"What if they're waiting for me in Marseille?" she asked, reading Frank's mind.

"Then maybe we don't go to Marseille," Frank replied. He was relieved when she didn't keep talking or asking questions. He needed to think.

...

Emily was looking at the person's face in front of her, but it was blurred. She blinked, but it didn't get clearer. There were loud noises all around her, and she could tell she was in danger. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She reached out her arm to the person in front of her, but she couldn't touch them. Then they were gunned down, and someone was lifting her up into the air from behind...

Gasping, Emily lurched awake. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of where she was. Then she realized she was moving, and she turned to see Frank driving.

"You okay?" he asked, looking at her.

"Uh huh," she replied, resting back into the seat. She hated that nightmare. It came and went, but it was always the same. She couldn't make sense of it. She gave up trying after a while. Her heart was racing still as she looked out the window. The sun was coming up. They had been driving all night.

"Don't you need sleep?" she asked him, realizing.

"I can sleep when we get to where we're going," he answered.

"Where's that?"

"Somewhere safe."

"There's really somewhere safe?" she asked sarcastically. He looked at her again.

"Yes," he replied. "There is."

She said no more as he kept driving. She was curious as to where this safe place was.

...

It was around eight in the morning when Frank pulled into Tarconi's driveway. He was exhausted. He'd driven all night, after all.

"Where are we?" Emily asked after they got out and were walking towards the front door.

"I trust this man with my life," Frank answered, reaching to ring the bell. When Tarconi came to the door, he was dressed in a fluffy, blue robe with matching fluffy, blue slippers. Frank didn't have to look at Emily to see her skeptical expression. Tarconi stared at Frank for a second before registering who he was.

"You couldn't have called first?" he asked, annoyed.

"Sorry," Frank replied. "We were busy getting shot at."

"Again?" Tarconi asked, surprised.

"Yes, again. Are you going to let us in or are you going to let us be targets out here?" Frank asked.

"Do I have to answer that?"

Frank gave him a look, and Tarconi gave a small chuckle before stepping aside. He greeted Emily with a smile and a "hello" on her way past.

Once inside, Frank wanted to sleep. Badly.

"Coffee?" Tarconi asked.

"Yes, please," Emily answered a little too eagerly. She went to sit at the table while Tarconi poured her a cup and took it to her.

"So where did you get shot at this time?" he asked Frank after sitting down himself. Frank remained standing.

"In our motel room," he answered.

"You've been driving all night, then?"

"Yes."

"That's why you look like shit," Tarconi laughed. "Why don't you get some sleep, and I'll keep working on finding out who is trying to kill our new friend, huh?"

"Thank you," Frank said, leaving to find a couch. He was asleep the moment his head hit the cushion.

...

Emily liked Tarconi. He was an easygoing guy, and he made a very good breakfast. She watched him on his computer working, and she felt grateful that he was helping to solve this mystery for her.

"So," he said absently as he clicked his mouse every so often. "You ended up with Frank Martin."

"Seems that way," she agreed. So that was his last name.

"He's a gentleman, that's for sure," Tarconi chuckled.

"I don't really know much about him," Emily admitted.

"He's a quiet type, but he eventually opens up," Tarconi assured her. He said no more as he kept working. Eventually, he sighed and gave up.

"You can't find anything, can you?" she asked.

"There isn't a link to anyone that I can see," he replied. "But I'm not going to give up. More coffee?" He stood up and gestured, and she nodded. She turned to look at Frank sleeping in the couch. He looked almost vulnerable.

"How did you meet Frank?" she asked when Tarconi finished pouring her more coffee and sat down across from her again.

"Oh, you know...he got into some trouble, and I helped him out," Tarconi answered.

"Did he break the law?"

"In a way, but Frank always does the right thing in the end."

Emily let that sink in as she sipped her coffee. She found herself wanting to know more about Frank. She wondered if her father knew him or just called him to "transport" her away.

"He is former military," Tarconi added. "You probably could tell that, though."

So that's what it was. Emily couldn't believe she hadn't picked up on that. It made sense, though. It really made her wonder if her father knew Frank.

"Ah, he wakes," Tarconi said, making Emily look to see Frank now standing in front of them. "What was that, three hours?"

"It's enough," Frank replied.

"I disagree, but that's your call," Tarconi shrugged.

"Did you find anything?" Frank asked, ignoring him.

"No. I'm going to have to go into work now, though. You're welcome to stay here and rest," Tarconi offered.

"Thank you," Emily smiled at him. He smiled back and got up to go get ready for work. Frank went to stand in front of the window over the sink and looked out at the scenery. She wondered what he was thinking.

"You should eat something," she said after a moment.

"Yea," he agreed, moving to rummage through Tarconi's cupboards. He settled on some bread and was chewing when Tarconi came back.

"Yes, help yourself," he gestured at Frank. "I'll be back later. Call if you need me."

Frank waved with one hand as Tarconi left. Then it was just the two of them.

"I don't suppose I can call my father," Emily said. "Or my boss?"

"Not a good idea," Frank replied. "Sorry."

"He might not even be alive," she said, feeling a lump in her throat suddenly at the thought. It pushed out all other thoughts of Miranda and her work.

"I'm sure he's fine," Frank told her. Whether he actually believed that or not, Emily didn't know. She got up and went to the couch, feeling tired again. Sleeping in a car wasn't the greatest. She tucked her arm under her head, and the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was Frank watching her.