***Time to get our duo back on the same page! A bit of a recap of the situation they're in, if you've any questions from the chapter previous.***

***Ladies (you know who you are)...it's gonna be EPIC!***

"Now remember, when things look bad and it looks like you're not gonna make it, then you gotta get mean. I mean plumb, mad-dog mean. 'Cause if you lose your head and you give up then you neither live nor win. That's just the way it is."

- The Outlaw Josey Wales

-o-o-

"I don't like the way you make conversation."

– True Grit

Mary packed everything that could easily travel into her small, overnight bag. The larger duffel would remain, along with any items she didn't need for the next twenty-four hours. You traveled light when there was a breach; gun on your hip, badge on your belt, and enough underwear to keep your partner from leaving you on the side of the highway. She was especially aware of material constraints this time, considering she had to extract not only her witness, but two children as well. Likely to be noisy and relatively uncooperative. Children were easy to maneuver when they were scared, but if not immediately under threat, they would dig in their heels. She hoped their mother would keep them on a short leash.

A final look around the room, and Mary was satisfied that nothing looked out of place. She needed Diane unsuspicious until she didn't show up in the morning. Checking her cell one last time before leaving, Mary growled in frustration as there were no bars showing yet again. She squeezed her eyes shut and sent out a mental plea to her partner, Please be all right, numbnuts. Setting hesitation and second guessing aside, she slipped out of the room to jog across the open common grounds and into the small grove of bushes and trees that separated the maintenance areas of the ranch from the guest houses and barns. There was no time to dwell on the taste of bile in her throat as the chill of the evening wrapped itself around her head and hands, she had a job to do. A job that Marshall would expect her to do. A job he would commend her for as he lie in traction, recovering from the severe beating she would rain down upon him if he was still alive.

A few guests staggered out of the main lodge, singing loudly to the latest karaoke offering as they headed back to their cabins. The party was slowly breaking up with the hour, but Mary doubted the staff would be heading back home for quite a while yet. That gave her plenty of time to stake out Sheryl's house before the woman arrived home, be comfortable with the surroundings and aware of any other watchful eyes lurking about.

"Right," she huffed to herself. "And who the fuck am I supposed to call if the big bad wolf shows up? Little Red Riding Hood?"

Frustration boiled up with dread floating on top. She rubbed her hands over her face and took a few deep breaths. It wasn't time to fall apart. And there was no indication there was even a reason to fall apart. Communications were sketchy out here, and she had no idea as to what damage control Marshall and Stan were dealing with. She was still too close to ground zero to stick her head out and look around, and needed to remain hunkered down and focused.

Finally assured that traffic between her vantage point and the employee residences was nil, Mary began to slowly and carefully weave through the maintenance and power sheds with sights on a rear approach to the cluster of apartments in the distance. The moon hadn't risen yet, she had her hat jammed down tightly on her head, and she was fairly certain she'd make her destination without discovery. Sheryl's nanny would be there, and Mary planned on using the old woman's car for their escape. Just had to figure out a way to convince the woman to keep quiet about it.

Just as she was going to leave the shadows of the last structure for the open field, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Back against the wall, she pulled it out to stare at the screen. Marshall. Relief had her thumbing the answer button right before wariness kicked in. If Marshall had been compromised, anyone could be using his phone.

"Hello?" Giving up nothing.

"Stand down, Cowgirl. We don't think our witness is targeted." The command had an edge to it.

Mary felt like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut. Released from bonds held too tightly for too long. She gripped the phone with one hand while the other stifled the resulting moan as she slid down the wall to squat on the packed dirt. The sound of his voice, and the smell of desert dust and her own sweat triggered memories of whispered vows of friendship and the gut-wrenching uncertainty of seeing another day. Too many things had been left unspoken that night…

"Mary?" He sounded uncertain now, worried.

All the adrenaline that had coursed through her veins for the last hour now metabolized into a growing anger. "So, did you decide to go to dinner and get a lap dance before you thought to call me?" she snarled. "I guess you took full advantage of the town's services before dragging yourself back to the job?"

Marshall sighed. "There were immediate issues that I had to deal with in a very narrow timeframe. And the cell reception out here isn't exactly stellar."

"Shot your wad faster than even I suspected, did you?" She could barely see straight. "Do you want to guess what I've been doing while you cleaned up your mess? Any idea where I. Am. Right. Now?" Mary punctuated each word through gritted teeth. He said her name again, but she talked over him. "Did it even occur to you that I'm damn good at this fucking job, and that I might need a heads up to keep from raining down all sorts of hell when I hear this goddamn thing has gone sour?"

"Dammit, Mary," Marshall growled in return. "I had to talk to Stan - "

"You called Stan first? Are you fucking kidding me?" She stood swiftly and leaned into the phone, pointedly concentrating on keeping her voice low, the stress causing it to shake. "Stan's not the one standing out here looking at the witness' house, is he? He's not the one putting plans into motion that will let all the air out of Taliswell's tires! I couldn't reach either one of you! You left me hanging in the breeze like an untethered nutsack, you ass." She paced behind the small building, the only physical release for stress and tension as Marshall was out of reach.

"Hey," he forcefully interjected. "Step off for a minute. I needed to know the situation…needed to know the sphere of influence. I knew you'd fly solo, and I was counting it down. I called you when I needed to call you…a necessary delay. You'd have done the same." His rare anger towards her spoke volumes about his own stress level.

He was right, and she could feel the rant coming to an end…feel the pent up anger and fear draining out of her. The pacing slowed, and she finally stopped to stare up at the night sky. She wanted him here…standing right here next to her. Wanted to be able to touch him for tangible assurance.

"I thought we were blown, do you understand that? I thought you were…I thought…" Mary leaned on the shed with one hand and hung her head as the tightness returned to her chest.

"Stop," he said. "Just breathe for a minute and listen, okay? I'm fine. I wasn't even there." He was back to Marshall. Soothing now. "Taliswell took the hit and was airlifted to Albuquerque. It's bad, and I don't know if he's going to make it. It could've been me, Mare, and that threw me into self preservation mode. The scene was already compromised when I got there, I needed some answers, and I didn't need Stan lighting people up because he couldn't reach me."

She sucked air in through her nose. "And what, exactly, did you think I would do when I couldn't reach you? You must have seen that I tried to call, Marshall. Some acknowledgement, a courtesy text for chrissake, would've kept me from being this close to blowing my cover." And even closer to losing my mind, she added to herself. She stepped away from the wall and walked to each side of the shed, checking the corners and shadows in the vicinity for any signs of life.

They were both quiet for a minute, lost in their own thoughts and a silent acceptance of mutual explanation. She heard him sigh before he finally spoke.

"If I admit culpability in this malfeasance will you cease in your diatribe so I can fill you in before we lose reception and are reduced to smoke signals?" He sounded tired.

Mary pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes as she ducked back behind the shed, for once glad she needed a dictionary to understand him. "I take that to mean you're sorry?" Marshall's grunt confirmed her suspicion. "Fine. So, what happened? I heard there was a fatality, and if it wasn't Taliswell I'm assuming it was the shooter. And since you're bent out of shape more than normal, I'll also assume it wasn't random violence."

Marshall could still hear a slight quaver in her voice, but the strident undertones of fear and anger had finally faded away. He could just envision her standing there, head cocked impatiently with one hand on her hip. Fuming. He wanted to be able to reach out and smooth the frown lines on her forehead with his thumb, cradle her head against his chest while murmuring words of reassurance and let her relax in his arms. Not that she'd likely allow that…

He refocused on the here and now. "The hit was professional, but we don't know who was specifically targeted. For that reason, and since dead assassins don't talk, it's hard to say whether our role in this whole thing has been compromised. But what I can tell you is that we have been kept in the dark about a number of essential players."

Mary stopped him. "Before you dive into the sordid details, Geraldo, just tell me one thing: do I need to get Sheryl out of here?"

"We don't think so, not yet," he replied, wincing as he knew she'd not like the answer. He wasn't disappointed.

"You don't think so?" she mocked. "Now there's a professional opinion that's going to bite you in the ass if we find her cold, stiff body in the morning."

She was on the move now, he could tell from the change in her breathing as she walked. Despite her derision at his opinion, she trusted it enough to abandon her mission of extraction, likely heading back to her cabin. He suddenly suppressed a shiver of apprehension knowing she was alone, and hurried to fill her in on the latest updates.

"Sheryl is the DHS trump card, it turns out. Her testimony sinks Brad, and he'll cut a deal to stay alive, in the process giving ICE exactly who they want. Despite the seemingly precarious position that puts her in, I don't think the real threat in this whole operation even knows of her existence…yet." Marshall had jumped ahead, the players organized and categorized in his head. "So I'm fairly confident we can keep her in place without jeopardy at this time."

"Wait," Mary sounded irritated. "Brad's not the target? I thought the DEA was hoping to carve that turkey and give thanks to ICE. Even offer some to the FBI." She blew out a loud breath. "Jesus, I just know this explanation has 'Marshall multimedia extravaganza' written all over it, and I'm sure I'd be bored to tears. You got about five minutes before I hang up, so skip the foreplay."

Marshall turned onto the highway and headed towards the Circle R. Mary's choice of words almost dragged him back to the remembered heat of the day, but he could see the lights of the ranch in the distance and knew he'd have to resume a relaxed persona in about ten minutes. No time to ruminate, or elaborate.

"Brad's involved with the Betrán-Levya Cartel, he just doesn't know it. In fact, he's a very small fish swimming unknowingly in piranha infested waters. And he's going to get eaten. By whom, depends a bit on us…and Sheryl."

"The fuck?" hissed Mary. "The Cartel? Did Stan know about this?"

"No," he replied. "In fact, he and I got the info at the same time. He's far from amused." Marshall paused for a minute as he passed a decrepit pick-up on the highway. "The hit was professional…Serbian. And we know who they sleep with south of the border. Seems the Hatfields and McCoys have adopted Mexican accents and brought their feud to a little place called Tucumcari. And the Circle R Ranch is supposed to be some sort of neutral ground. A 'you show me yours and I'll show you mine' scenario. Brad's just the smokescreen."

Mary was quiet for a moment, mentally sorting and sifting through data as she walked. He gave her the time she needed, knowing not to underestimate her ability to quickly make pertinent connections and fill in the gaps. There were two brains in this partnership. She didn't disappoint him.

"Brad thinks he's buying into a local drug ring that'll help him funnel his girls to Mexico. But the merchandise being put on the table isn't for him at all, is it? Someone else is going to be at that buy, and once the exchange has been made…" She trailed off and Marshall picked up.

"Brad will no longer be needed."

"But, Brad's not stupid," Mary replied. "He's going to know the deal is bogus as soon as the other team shows up…" She inhaled sharply and finished in a rush, "Unless he doesn't know the other team is the other team. Dammit, Marshall, why do I suddenly feel like there're about a thousand eyes watching me?"

"Relax," he drawled, her nervousness somehow able to reach through the phone lines and tickle the hairs on the back of his neck. "There is a high probability that the Zetas have a sleeper at the ranch, but we don't know that for sure. If you start jumping at shadows, someone's going to notice."

"I'm not worried about shadows, idiot, I'm worried about the asshats standing in plain sight." She loosed a humorless chuckle. "At this point, I'm not even sure I could narrow down a suspect list."

Marshall slowed as he approached the turn lane for the ranch entrance. "We'll powwow about it tomorrow. And, Mary?" He paused to make sure she was listening. "I'm sorry I scared you."

She said nothing for almost a moment too long before replying in a hushed tone, "Yeah, well…I just couldn't - " Her response was cut off by an exclamation and a curse. He heard another voice speak to her.

"Miss Shepard, didn't mean to nearly bowl you over. Your friends were starting to worry about you." Carter's drawl was easy to recognize, and Marshall suddenly had a lump in his throat. What had the man heard?

Mary chuckled slightly and spoke into the phone. "Hey, Mike, I'm gonna have to let you go. Just ran into a friend here."

Marshall mentally rushed a car traveling the other direction so he could make the turn into the lot. "I can be there in five minutes."

She could hear the sound of the other women's voices drawing near, and Carter didn't look unfriendly. Mary flashed the man a smile and held up a finger indicating her need to finish her conversation. "Nah, that's all right. If you were here we'd just end up playing strip poker…and you'd lose, as always."

Marshall chuckled. "I've seen you play poker, remember? Definitely deal me in."

There was a velvety undertone to his voice that caused some recently cooled embers to spark to life low in her belly. With Carter watching her, Mary made a point to let her voice slide into its own sultry pace. "You're on, Slim. I'll catch you on the other side."

She hung up and winked at Carter before turning to head towards the approaching women. "All work and no sex makes him a needy boy."

Marshall pulled into the parking lot, parked near the barn and stared over in the direction of the cabins as the engine ticked and cooled. He was sure there would be no problem. Mostly sure. She said there were others in the vicinity. It wasn't like she was in a bad neighborhood with no backup, right? He viciously chastised the mocking voice in his head, threw open the door and began to haul packages out of the backseat. It was going to be a long night.

His phone chirped a text message as he made his second trip into the barn with supplies. Dumping the objects onto the nearest surface, he stopped to read it.

"This is a text message. With the girls and perfectly safe. See how this works, numbnuts?"

Marshall sneered and muttered a sarcastic response under his breath as he shoved the phone back into his pocket, visions of gunfights and sweaty poker games wrestling for dominance in his mind. A very long night, indeed.

***They're back on track...with a few added undertones. The pot is mixed, the brew is boiling, and we'll just have to see who overheats first ;) Please REVIEW to let me know what you think! You *know* I love them :) ***