*** The news travels fast in a small town...unfortunately. Sometimes you find yourself flying blind, and no one seems to know exactly what to do. Time to saddle up? Or make a break for the hills? Read on! ***

*** To my girls - less than 40 days! **

"I'm your backup, okay? I'm on a need to know basis!"

"You don't need to know dick, and I don't need a backup."

– Space Cowboys

-o-o-

"Nothing is ever what it seems but everything is exactly what it is."

– The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai across the 8th Dimension

"…others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars. Pointing me on my way into your loving arms…" Sophie and Cat crooned on the stage with exaggerated facial expressions and more flat notes than true. Mary winced. Even to her relatively untrained ear, the duo was decidedly close to shattering glass as they warbled the higher notes of the refrain.

Karaoke night was inevitable when stuck in the middle of nowhere with limited entertainment options, drunken karaoke a given with an open bar. The alcohol made it fractionally better, but her retreat to the back of the room as conscientious objector was a done deal. Thank God the keg was freshly tapped and the number of victims satisfied the crowd so that she wasn't pressured to participate. Her objections would become much more…less conscientious…at that point.

It was a needed break from social interaction, her mind having relentlessly gnawed on the events between her and Marshall that morning in the corral, and the rest of the day had been muted under the weight of those few moments. His admission of want, her admission of conclusion…Mary shook her head to again chase away the self rebuke, and she tried to focus on the darkened room around her. The evening was well underway and she needed to be mentally present, especially with her partner absent. They would have time to discuss this, unfortunately, after this op was over. The wranglers had the night off and Marshall had his plans.

Her vantage point was momentarily advantageous. Rocking her chair back on two legs, Mary propped her booted feet onto the piano bench left oddly abandoned near the far wall and deftly adjusted the lapels of her jean jacket to align the button cam with the crowd gathered around the "stage". Singers stood atop a partially dissembled garden trailer resting on cement blocks, lighted from above by a slowly rotating disco ball that had seen better days. A low budget, cowboy version of American Idol. Despite the no smoking ordinances, a thin layer of cigarette smoke hovered near the ceiling and swirled hypnotically around the mirrored ball. It reminded her of the strip clubs she used to drag Jinx out of during her college years; cheap entertainment.

Using the small switch tucked into the pocket of the jacket, Mary shot still photos of the three men clustered near the corner of the bar near the stage. Carter, Brad and a cowhand whose name eluded her. A man she had seen out at the barn during their initial ride, but couldn't recall seeing since then. Short and broad shouldered, the man took a long draw on his cigarette even as he tapped another out of the pack. Their heads were bowed together in discussion, and the tense posture and furtive glances towards the crowd lit up her radar like a cruise missile party. She was glad to have worn the jacket to the main lodge. In this case, the cell phone camera would be far too conspicuous. She felt slightly vulnerable to their gaze as she sat alone, and when Sheryl approached with a tray of longnecks, Mary waved her over eagerly.

"So, they're using you for waitress duty when there's nothing to vacuum?" Mary asked with a teasing grin.

Sheryl rolled her eyes with a shrug as she swapped out Mary's empty. "Not even my night to work, but the extra cash…you know?" She took a swig out of one of the bottles on the tray with a twist tie around the neck, obviously marked for her own consumption.

The woman rested the tray against her hip and tilted her head as she regarded Mary, waiting for the applause to die down for the latest victims of misplaced talent. "Not willing to give the stage a try? Usually we get just about everyone up there at least once."

Mary grinned ruefully. "I think riding a horse once a day is punishment enough while I'm here, don't you?"

Sheryl laughed hoarsely, the sound forced, as if it had been a long time since she practiced. "You're one of those people I just don't get. Subjecting yourself to doing something that you obviously don't enjoy. And paying for it." She was shaking her head now, pondering.

Mary toasted her with her bottle. "You're the one working on your night off."

Something like embarrassed fear flashed in Sheryl's eyes, and she glanced towards Brad before recovering with a snort. "Touchè. Anyways, Brad's always grousing that we're shorthanded and family should help out. I get tired of hearing it. Sometimes it's just easier to give in." Mary suspected there was a much deeper weariness involved beyond a picked up shift. Sheryl continued with a heavy sigh, "He also says Leanne is old enough to help out. I don't know. She's only ten."

Mary played it cool. "Hey, I was working at the corner grocery when I was ten. Actually liked it. It gave me something to do other than watch the grass grow through the cracks in the sidewalk. Kept me out of trouble."

Shrugging one shoulder, Sheryl chewed on her bottom lip as she cast a nervous glance at Brad again. "Yeah, maybe. Who knows, maybe we'll move on to better things…" she trailed off as the next song started up and a member of the crowd waved her over. Smiling a goodbye at Mary, she moved on.

Mary had been there. Been standing in that metaphorical mud puddle at the far end of the dead-end lane. Stuck. Not able to make a plan beyond preventing yourself from sinking deeper into the muck. It was what her witnesses inevitably experienced during those stressful months between accepting the invitation to join oblivion and stepping through the looking glass to the other side. A holding pattern that encompassed their everyday existence, and waiting for the wrong person to say, 'you're not fooling anyone, you know.' She always gave a silent salute to those who could hold it together during that time; knew what it was like to live in that trash compactor of anxiety.

Her attention was suddenly caught by a flurry of motion near the end of the bar. Carter was talking on his phone and gesturing wildly while Brad tried to calm him and herd him into the kitchen. The third man silently slipped out of the room. For some reason, her stomach turned sour as she stared at the damped oscillations of the swinging door the pair of men had vanished through. Something was happening.

Confident no one else had picked up on any unrest, Mary vacated her seat to visit the restroom with the purpose of passing by the kitchen. Her first pass revealed the two men speaking heatedly just inside the swinging door, their words masked by the throbbing beat of yet another lame country song being belted out by inebriated women. Mary returned a few minutes later, slowly approached the kitchen, then jumped back and turned towards the crowd as though watching the show as Sheryl burst through the door. The woman looked spooked; eyes wide and unfocused with one hand rubbing her forehead as she stood behind the bar gripping the sink.

Waiting until the tune was done, the marshal approached the bar apparently looking for a refill. "Sheryl, can I…hey. Is something wrong?" The woman seemed not to notice her for a moment. Finally, she turned towards Mary.

"Just, um, just some trouble in town. It's a small town, you know? Not usually much trouble." Sheryl reached over to take Mary's beer. Hefted the half filled bottle with a shaking hand and raised eyebrow. "You're still full here."

"Just need water," Mary stated. Watching for a moment more as she tried to quell her own nervousness. She needed more information. Something had rattled her witness' cage. "Kids tagging cars? Gas station hold up?" She leaned on the bar as Sheryl slid a glass of water over.

"There was a shooting at a motel. They're saying someone was killed. It's just…" The song ended and the "DJ" called a break while he flipped on the lights. There was a surge of humanity towards the bar and restrooms, and Sheryl was drawn into the requests being called to her. Mary barely noticed. The activity in the room had faded to a droning buzz while she stood motionless, staring at the spot Sheryl had vacated.

…shooting at a motel…someone was killed…The words rattled around in her head like an out of control pinball; producing a throbbing beat that she recognized as her pulse. Pounding. Marshall. Marshall had planned to go to the motel. Before his errands…after his errands…she couldn't remember, and there was no reason to believe their motel was the location of the shooting, but the emotional grave of past panic was too shallow to keep those feelings from bubbling to the surface. She realized Diane and the girls had joined her at the bar and knew she had to get out of there. Regroup and gather information. Recover some semblance of sanity.

Mary fumbled the phone twice as she dug it out of her pocket. Made her excuses to inquisitive cabin mates that she was exhausted and hit the speed dial as she wound her way to the door, uncaring if she was abrupt. The night air carried a chill that quickly seeped into her bones as the call went immediately to voice mail. She took a breath to leave a message when the phone bleeped 'no signal.'

"Godfuckingdammit," she hissed a curse, slapping the phone against her jeans in frustration.

She was dialing again even as she strode towards the parking lot, trying to remember if a large open space was better for reception. "You better not be dead, asshole. I swear I'll shoot you myself." The second attempt at communication had the same results and she changed tactics. Felt queasy. She looked around and decided to just head back to the cabin as reception had been relatively reliable in that direction.

Mary watched the signal icon on the phone offer fleeting promises of bars as she walked, refusing to give in to the temptation to dial. She would wait. She needed to think this through like the trained professional she was. She needed to think like Marshall. The low groan forced from her throat went unnoticed as she began the mental exercises of threat assessment that were nearly second nature. If the shooting in town had something to do with this case, how likely was it that Sheryl's position was compromised…that the marshal's operation was compromised? That her partner was dead? "Stop it!" she hissed to herself, walking faster. The reaction of Carter and Brad to the phone call at the same time Sheryl had heard about the shooting couldn't be ignored. Mary muttered more curses as the likelihood of escalation clamored more loudly for attention.

Reaching her cabin, she ducked through the door and closed it firmly behind her, shutting out the world and all its pursuing demons for a moment while she cleared her head. Leaning back against the rough wood, Mary lightly tapped her head on the hard surface to the rhythm of her mental countdown. Some relaxation technique that Marshall had taught her long ago that actually stuck. At zero she opened her eyes and took a deep breath. "All right, Shannon, you need some intel and you need a plan."

She struck out on the first with three phone calls; Stan, Marshall and Taliswell. The reception was fine, but all three attempts at contact went directly to voicemail, and her final swing at the Albuquerque office was routed to the switchboard. The nausea returned, and Mary stood in the middle of the room with her hand pressed to her mouth as she tried to stare through the wall. Those stats classes came back to her now. Calculations of permutations of bad scenarios that prevented her from reaching her entire team.

Sheryl. It was time to go. If all was well, then she would take full responsibility for the early extraction, but she saw no other acceptable action if this operation was in the process of being flushed. She could take the time to attempt covert surveillance of Brad and Carter, but she needed to make sure Sheryl was tucked away first. At least get her somewhere where the duo couldn't find her.

Mary had warned Marshall that she was going to play this one by her gut. Tears pricked her eyes as she began to pack her small bag. That moron better still be around to back me on this.

/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\

Sheryl refilled, mixed and poured drinks numbly, her mind focused on the short radio news story that now infused her with dread. The cowgirl chatter around her was as relevant as the static the old kitchen radio usually spewed, and she just tried to get through this break in activities so she could pass her apron to another staff member and get out of the lodge. She had to check on the kids; had to get back to her apartment in order to make sure their little corner of the world was still safe.

Doubt coated her anxiety. She wasn't truly sure the shooting in town had anything to do with her precarious situation or the operation that was being put into place, but the reactions of Brad and Carter were just too strange to ignore. They had almost tumbled into the kitchen just as she was listening to the end of the news report, Carter talking low and fast to someone on his phone while Brad began to pace. Neither noticed her standing by the walk-in freezer, and Sheryl took the opportunity of invisibility to slip around the corner; out of sight but still within earshot. The conversation that she had overheard was too damning.

"I thought this was supposed to be quick and quiet," hissed Brad. She could still hear Carter muttering a few words into his phone. "Who the fuck screwed up?"

Carter's voice overrode Brad's, "Parker said it was shut down tight before he could even get there. He doesn't have any damn details, and…" he sighed heavily.

"And, what?" Brad demanded.

"He was told to go home and stay there. Not to leave his house. Says he thinks he's being watched." Carter was nearly spitting the words. "You just had to put your fingers into this fucking pie, didn't you? Parker will roll over quicker than his girlfriend if the feds put the screws to him."

One of the men slammed their fist into the wall. There was a brief period of silence, and Sheryl began to creep towards the far end of the kitchen to avoid detection should they move past the doorway.

"Take Alvarez out to Parker's later tonight," Brad said. "Social visit."

"Jesus, Brad…" Carter whispered.

"Shut the fuck up and do it. We might have company coming and I've got enough cleaning up to do around here. Don't come back if you can't do your part." Brad pushed back through the swinging doors as Carter cursed some more, and Sheryl bolted into the employee's restroom.

She just couldn't shake the sinking sensation that she was part of the clean up Brad was talking about. Knew he was just itching for an excuse to eliminate her and the kids from any equation that wouldn't add up to the payoff he expected. Whatever had happened in town, and whoever was involved, was clearly outside his plan and he was now spooked.

Again she debated calling the marshal. Again she mentally reviewed all interactions between her and the guests during the week for any clue as to who it was. There were a few of the women who could conceivably fit the bill, but she just wasn't sure and she certainly didn't want to take a chance of showing her hand. Not now. Not when she was so goddamn close. No…not yet. First, she needed to get home to check on the kids and make sure they were all ready to go at a moment's notice. If the fiasco in town endangered her, she had to have faith that the marshals would know…and they would get her out.

Finally free of the lodge after a torturous hour, Sheryl jogged home with her heart pounding harder than it should've been for the easy run. There were no outward signs of trouble, and the living room light was on as she expected. Maggie would be watching her stories that Sheryl DVR'd for her. Standing under the porch light, she wiped her face and straightened her shoulders while slowing her breathing. She didn't want to spook Maggie.

The older woman was surprised to see her, worry lines appearing on her brow as she took in Sheryl's flushed and slightly breathless state.

"What in heavens is wrong, dear?" she asked, muting the television.

Sheryl cleared her throat with a smile, "Nothing wrong, Maggie. Just feeling a bit under the weather and needed to come home a little early. Thought I'd use the rest of my night off to actually rest."

The nanny needed a few more minutes of convincing, but she eventually relented, checked on the children and ambled out to her ancient car to head home. Sheryl waved with a forced grin then shut the door before the soft sobs could overtake her. Stress and anxiety that had built up for hours forcing their way out through hot tears of semi-relief. It was quiet, and it was normal, but she still couldn't stop shaking. Finally making her way to the kitchen, she stood over the sink with a glass of ice water and stared at the pale sage backsplash with a realization; what the hell was she going to do if they did come for her? How could she fight them? How could she save the children?

The ice rattled against the glass as she set it down on the counter while turning scenarios over in her mind, losing every time. She needed some back-up that didn't have a badge. Someone in her corner just in case all hell broke loose before the cavalry could arrive. Heaving a resigned sigh, Sheryl pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed before she could lose her nerve. It went right to voice mail.

"Hi, this is Eliot. I can't take your call right now…"

She stared at the phone in frustration, then hung up before the message finished. "Dammit!" The man picked a fine time to be unavailable. Where the hell was he? Moving back into the living room to shut down the TV and lights, Sheryl considered calling back to leave a message. But what would she say? What request or plea would sound anything other than slightly panicked and certainly off the tracks?

The sure of sense of urgency from earlier was beginning to wane with the continued normalcy of the evening, and by the time she reached her bedroom she had made a new decision: tonight was not the time to lay her trust in the lap of a man who should not bear that responsibility. Maybe she would talk to him tomorrow.

*** Well, dang. Still don't know what's happened inside that motel room, but it's not good. Let me know what you think...should Mary take the witness and run? Should Sheryl try to call Eliot again? REVIEW, my dear readers...please REVIEW! ***