Peter put the file down on the table. "I assume it wasn't an expected guest?"

Neal smiled sadly. "No. I take you heard most of it?"

"Most of it anyway, while I still tried to listen and have not been driving."

Neal took out a beer and handed it to Peter without a word.

"That was Sam, or at least he introduced himself as such."

"Yeah I gathered that. But you don't believe him?"

Neal shook his head, taking a sip of his wine. "No, I don't think so. He was conning me, and I almost fell for it. If not for the strange meeting I had today I probably would believe him."

Peter's head perked up. "Strange meeting?"

Neal didn't even hesitate. "Mozzie." Hoping it will explain everything, he was suddenly wary that Peter would try to know more, but Mozzie was enough of distraction.

"Another one of his government conspiracy theories?"

Neal smiled. "Exactly, and this time he found someone with similar ideas. It was difficult to get out of that discussion."

"So what do you want to do about this Sam?"

"I'll talk to Ellen, and better do it right away."

"You can also make a sketch of his face, and I will run it thru our databases to confirm his identity."

Neal's eyes fell on the wine glass his guest was using.

"We can also use the glass for fingerprints and maybe DNA."

Peter collected the glass in a provided plastic bag and left for the office. Getting a promise from Neal again about waiting for the information before doing anything else.

Well, at least now he had another reason to call not only Ellen but also contacting his new mysterious friends.

Three rings. A voice mail. He wasn't really surprised when Mozzie didn't answer right away.

Three rings. A voice mail. This time, he did leave a message. Ellen might be happier to call him back than Mozzie usually was.

He tried to call the number Harold gave him, but the pattern continued. Three rings. A voice mail. So he left another message telling in short about Sam's visit and his suspicion it wasn't Sam at all.

It wasn't until morning when he learned why no one was picking up their phones.

Ellen put the cup under the water to rinse rest of foam. Setting it aside to dry she took a plate, but she didn't grab it hard enough. It slipped out of her hand, hitting the edge of the top and falling apart. A piece striking her finger, cutting through the skin.

"Ouch.."

A quick dry with a towel and she was slowly crouching to clean up the pieces, her knees not so young anymore. She was almost down when a squeak of floor panel caught her by surprise. Her head swung to the right at the last moment. She could feel the pressure of air by her face change for a split of a second. Then a sound, a bullet hitting wooden cupboard with high speed. Splitters flying in all directions, hitting her face leaving blood. It's instinct that takes over, it's been actually more than thirty years since anyone was shooting at her. But her body still remembers. Go down and away from the shooter. The squeak that saved her life came from the back door, but the bullet came from the front.

Question, to which she didn't know the answer was - which way was safest to go? She was surrounded by both potential escape routes and had no weapon on her own.

Well that wasn't really true, was it? She had a baseball bat by the front door, but it was too close to a potential intruder to try to get to it. She also had her gun in the bedroom safe, but that would mean she had to come close to the front door to start climbing the stairs.

No way out.

Unless… she called for help and then tried to get to the bat and phone. Her hand traveled towards her neck, seeking. It wasn't there.

Another bullet whizzed by, hitting the table top. She had to move. Scrambling on all fours she moved forward to the living room, her phone should be on the base by the couch.

The front door handle moved back and forth, someone was trying to pick the lock, so far unsuccessful. She was glad it wasn't someone on Neal's skill level. The handle rattled back and forth showing obvious for anyone experienced enough that the person on the other side was getting desperate. Another muffled sound of a bullet hitting something, made her hunch closer to the floor, couch and the small table was just a few steps away. Hiding behind the couch she blindly felt around the surface for landline, she finally found the phone base.

Empty phone base. Damn.

Another thump on the door got her moving. She must have left the phone upstairs again, damn wireless technology. Her cell was upstairs too.

The door rattled. She was glad the marshals insisted on double locks and heavy-duty frame. It was now or never. Getting up from her knees she ran towards the door. With a split second to spare, grabbed the baseball bat just when the door opened behind her. With a grace that no one would expect from her at that age, she grabbed the bat and swung it rotating her whole body towards the attacker. A hand with a gun was just moving past the threshold when it was slammed with a heavy baseball bat.

"Fuck!" it wasn't a scream, the shooter was controlling himself enough to just let it go almost silently from his lips. But Ellen was close enough to hear him. The gun flew away, far into the living room, under the couch.

Far enough for Ellen to be able to go up safely. A bullet hit the top of the bat, sending splinters everywhere. She swung the rest of it in direction of the attacker. There must have been two of them!

"Damn! Get her!"

She didn't wait for anyone to move, she could feel the wood connecting with flesh, hoping she managed to get also the second person. She jumped over the first step, getting up the stairs as fast as she could, but not quickly enough. She was lucky so far, that her attackers seemed to be not really gifted in the accuracy department until next bullet hit or rather grazed her thigh. With determination Ellen practically flew into her bedroom, falling inside and closing the door with her foot. She lied there dazed for a short moment, gasping for air. Her lungs burned, her heart frantically beating in her chest, blood rushing in her veins. Moving again she raised carefully not putting much of weight on her right leg, her thigh burned which each move, but she knew she would be in antagonizing pain if it wasn't just a gaze.

After putting the chair under the handle, she limped to her safe. That would stop them for a little while, even if they shoot the handle they will not be able to move the chair too quickly. She should have enough time to get her pistol and the medallion for Neal.

Neal! She must call him. If anything happens to her he needs to know what to do with the medallion. Taking a last look at the night desk she sights internally, her phone is not there either. That leaves two other possibilities, either it's in the bathroom or in the kitchen.

Her moves are precise, maybe not so fast as when she was in the force, but the silencer on her gun is ready to use just in time. The lock mechanism and part of the chair are gone with the first bullet, then another and another in quick succession. Putting the round small piece of jewelry in her pocket she stands safely behind the door when it opens she will have enough time to see the shooter and hopefully get to him first.

First through the door is a hand with a gun, it's battered and bloody, and she has a moment of satisfaction that she can see it shake a little. Ellen waits with patience for the man to enter fully, she knows there are two of them and she needs to see both for her plan to succeed. It's not a very refined one. Both have guns with silencers, and she can't count on the attention of her neighbors to call cops because of shots fired. Her only chance is to get the assailants in the room, incapacitate them in any possible way and then get down and outside via the back-door. If her bodyguards are gone, and it's the only conclusion she can make why they are not there yet, she has a nice escape route planned. But to disappear she needs at least two minutes to lose her trail. Probably more with her tight screaming in pain at her.

Now all she needed was precision and a lot of luck. She fired, targeting the first man leg, he fell with surprise written on his face. One down, at least partially. One to go. She didn't have time to think, the second man was already turning, the gun raising, a twitch of a finger on release. Ellen had little time to take another shot, and this time she missed her target, not completely, but far enough. The bullet lodged in her arm, just inches from her heart, that she was sure was the man's target in the first place. Her opponent fell to the floor stunned with a bullet to his ankle.

This time she screamed, a short scream full of pain. She used the opportunity her assailants were still frozen in shock to move. If she wanted to be free and alive this was her last occasion. Pulling the door behind her she limped down the stairs, one hand clutching the gun, the other slightly guiding on the rail. Any movement was painful reminder she not only wasn't so young but also that she was already shot twice. Black spots danced in her vision when she finally reached the bottom stair. She heard the door above her open again, and another bullet flew by her head. This time she stayed up, pushing herself to move.

Kitchen, she needed to get to the kitchen. Thankfully the place was small, and with only a few steps she was by the breakfast table leaving bloody handprints on every surface. The phone lay by the far end of the table, she was reaching for it when she noticed a shadow by the back-door. The back door squeaked almost silently, and she looked right in the eye of the man that was observing her all day.

"Get down."

She listened surprised when he raised his gun and after two quick shots, Ellen heard a body hitting the fool. She was too far away from the phone again when the man moved. Swiftly putting himself between her perusers and the door, he pushed the phone from the table into her waiting hand.

"Call Neal!" he ordered and pushed her behind the counter.

Before Ellen could start dialing the second man was down the stairs, he managed to hide behind the wall that provided him enough cover to survive the first shots. It took one stray bullet, or maybe just luck. The impact pushed her down on her back, pain exploded together with the phone she had in her hand.

She couldn't hear anything through the rush of blood in her ears, pain pushing over everything. She didn't see the other bullet hitting few inches from her head. Neither did she notice her unknown bodyguard taking a successful shot, finally getting the last shooter.

That was close. Was the last thought John had before turning around and looking at the woman he was supposed to save.

Shit.

He didn't expect that Ellen was lying on the floor with the phone in pieces and her left arm covered with blood. Blood that seemed to pour out of her body into growing pool beneath her.

With practice, he took a surveying look over the counters and found fabric kitchen towel, with only three strides he was by her side pushing the cloth stopping the bleeding.

"Mister Reese!" Harold's frantic call finally registered.

"Harold I'm fine, just some unexpected guests at Miss Parker's; I assume probably those we were to stop. Now Miss Parker is hurt, can you please get me an ambulance here. We probably will also need some security at the hospital, or a safe place for her recuperate, and I don't trust the Marshals to be able to do it."

"I understand that however we need a trace for Detective Carter and probably our new friend at the FBI to follow. I need you to call the ambulance from your phone and leave as soon as you hear the sirens. I will try to get you one with our friends inside."

With slight resignation, John took his phone out dialing 911 "Understood."

"Nine-one-one, operator twenty-three, what is your emergency?" The voice was calm and collected.

Without hesitation, he gave just enough information to ensure an ambulance would be sent. "Shots fired at 118 West 85th Street. My friend is hurt."

"Sir…" sounded in the tiny voice from the speaker away from his ear, far enough for him to push disconnect button. The white numbers flashed on the screen, all took less than 20 seconds. Good, they will not be able to trace him back, and his phone had been set to block attempts at caller identification.

Now all he had to do was wait.