Authors Note: DianeM you're awesome and Maple Street thank you. This is an exciting bit with hints of JS and where I'm tying in the Season Four idea. Enjoy!

Mr. Pizza

36 hours missing

"So this is where all the mobsters hang out," Danny laughed as he got out of the car, his eyes swiftly and professionally taking in the area.

They were in one of the less salubrious areas of Bronx; half of the buildings were boarded up and the other half looked on their way out, they were all covered in graffiti. A few discarded shopping carts, one with its wheels removed, littered the sidewalks. This was an area clearly in transition.

"Hey, don't knock it," Alex smiled, walking round the car to stand next to Danny. "Tony Mercury loves pizzas. When he's not on mob business, he spends all of his time here, just making pizzas. They've even made it his nickname: Tony 'The Pizza Man' Mercury."

"Yeah, I bet he makes a mean slice. Hey, Martin, maybe if you ask real nice he'll make you one with extra pepperoni," Danny teased. His friend's pepperoni fetish was well known throughout the office. Martin just smiled, accepting the joke, but as usual of late, the smile failed to meet his eyes.

"Hey, this is …" Alex started to turn to face them when a crack of a shot rang out.

Instantly, all three federal agents reached for their weapons and dove for the nearest available cover. There's nothing quite like the sound of a shot to get the adrenaline flowing, and for Alex, it seemed almost like everything was happening in slow motion. She started to run to the left, practically leaping over the car in her effort to get it between her and the bullets. Danny ran to the right into the alley beside the pizza place, whereas Martin dove to the left in the general proximity of behind the car.

Alex was the first to return fire, as she was the best placed to get a good shot and make their opponents hit the dirt. Taking advantage of this temporary lull, Danny moved forward, hugging the wall, gun up and ready. He signaled to Alex that he intended to go in fast and low. In response, she nodded, wordlessly confirming any covering fire she gave would be aiming high.

That arranged, Danny didn't even stop to take a deep breath before diving through the door; he hit the polished linoleum floor and slid a couple of feet before managing to raise his gun. In less than a minute the gun battle was over.

Danny unsteadily got to his feet, his ears still ringing from the sound of gunfire and his nose still irritated by the acrid smell of gunpowder. He could no longer see either of his fellow agents by the car. Without pausing to clear the pizzeria, Danny half ran out towards the car. He was nearly behind it when another shot rang out.

Reel Ranch, New Jersey

36 hours missing

"Nobody home," Sam reported, stepping down from the entrance to Max Fennings' home. Even from the front, the house looked huge and custom built in a Mediterranean style. It seemed that new Porsches weren't the only things that had been on Mr. Fennings' shopping list.

Jack nodded; wasted trips were part of the job, although he hadn't expected that this trip would be wasted. They'd phoned in advance and he'd spoken to Max Fennings himself, telling him that they wanted to speak to him regarding some financial irregularities at BL Studios. He'd been pleasant and promised that he'd be here. Jack sighed. He should have known that that kind of reaction was too good to be true.

As he turned away to walk back to the car, a wisp of smoke caught his eye. It was hovering just above one of the doors to the three-car garage. Jack stared at the closed doors and the smoke for a long minute.

"Hey, are you ok?" Sam walked behind him and touched his arm lightly, even more concerned when Jack didn't appear to notice. She was just about to try again when his facial expression changed to one of complete horror.

"No," Jack yelled, leaping over the flowerbed that bordered the path to the front door and sprinting across the grass that lay in front of the house towards the garage. Alarmed, Sam ran after him.

The closer he got to the garage, the surer he became of what he would find inside. He could smell it now, feel its choking nature fill his senses. Panicked, he reached down and opened the garage door. Carbon monoxide fumes came rushing out. Coughing and covering his face with his arm, Jack forced himself to walk inside. He didn't need to look to see the hose duct taped to the exhaust, the passenger window open a little at the top to allow the hose entrance to the car.

Completely focused, Jack threw open the driver's door. Max Fennings was lying inert in the driver's seat, his face cherry red from the fumes. Jack reached in and grabbed his shirt with both hands, half-dragging, half-lifting him from the car and out of the garage.

"Ambulance is on its way," Sam told him, helping him pull the limp body a couple more feet away from the poison gas still escaping from the garage. Desperately, Jack felt for a pulse. When he couldn't find one, it only confirmed what he had feared as soon as he saw how full the garage was with fumes.

"It's too late," Jack muttered in a defeated tone. He stood up and shakily wiped his face, suddenly aware of how grimy he was.

"Jack," Sam began stepping forward, easing the distance between them. Jack looked up and met her eyes for a moment. His stare was so full of pain, and, for a moment, she had the impression that he'd let her in once again. However, as suddenly as he had seemed to seek it, Jack broke the fugitive, almost nostalgic connection. He turned on his heels and trudged away, his shoulders sagging.

Mr. Pizza

36.5 hours missing

Sirens' wailing was the only noise Danny Taylor could hear. The shrill alarm cut through his semi-conscious state, echoing painfully in his mind, impairing his ability to think clearly. He had a pounding headache. The pain behind his eyes was like a hangover, except he'd been sober for eight years, and he hadn't had a drink.

He wanted it all to stop: the siren, the pain, and his own growing feeling of unease. He could feel the memory, the realization, of how he came to be in this situation, teetering at the edge of his consciousness. That was something he didn't want to face right now, something he didn't want to feel.

Suddenly a new sensation started to assault him. He could feel a cool wind tickling his right arm, teasing his shirtsleeve, and he became aware of how cold he was. Involuntarily, Danny shivered, and as he did so, a new sound cut through his consciousness.

"We got one alive."

The words started echoing round his brain, joining the ever-present wail of the siren jumbling together until he felt physically sick. Danny slowly opened his eyes, almost shutting them again immediately. Red and blue flashing lights were bouncing and invading his vision from every direction. Struggling to think coherently, Danny decided he needed to see exactly where he was before his memory confronted him with the answer.

Danny gingerly turned his head to the left and what he saw made him retch, causing a paramedic to hurry faster to his aide. Lying next to Danny, bloodstained and broken, with skin paler than death itself was Martin. At the nightmarish sight of his colleague and friend's battered body, Danny slipped back into welcome unconsciousness.

Reel Ranch, New Jersey

37 hours missing

The flashing lights of police cruisers pierced the growing dusk, the sirens lay silent and the people moved slowly. There was no need to hurry as there was nobody to save. Jack watched as Fennings' body was wrapped in black plastic, the harsh zipper closing him off from the world, ready for the trip to the morgue. In his hand he held Fennings' suicide note, the source of his oppressive feeling of failure. It was short and simple, penned by a desperate man who needed to cleanse his conscience before ending it all.

"This was the only way, I couldn't go to jail. I'm sorry for what I've done and I hope that my family can find it in their hearts to forgive me. Max Fennings."

"Jack," Sam touched him gently on his arm. He looked up at her, but turned away almost immediately; he didn't want to see the concern in her eyes and know that it was only merely professional now. "We'll find her, Jack," Sam continued. "She's probably buried on the property somewhere; it's large enough, and I've got some locals combing the grounds."

"Good," Jack managed, his eyes drawn to the morgue gurney. They were too late, too goddamn late. He was too late, too goddamn late.

"Jack," Sam touched him on the arm again, "Your phone's ringing."

"Malone," Jack answered, disconcerted that he hadn't heard it ring. He always heard the phone ring, it was a constant.

"Jack, it's Alex."

Alex paused for a second, distracted by the sound of a siren nearby. She glanced over her shoulder to watch the crime scene van arrive and pull up behind the mortuary wagon. The time for ambulances had been and gone. They'd tried to make her go to be checked out but she'd refused. She'd been the one standing directly in the line of fire and yet she didn't have a scratch on her.

"There's been a shooting."