*** A looong chapter for you, since you had to wait for so long. We're getting so close, my friends...the story is wrapping up! And, well, let's just say your nerves may not be so frazzled by the end of this chapter. See? I'm nice! ***
*** And now...on to the party! ***
"Hey boy, you better take cover. I ain't kiddin' these boys are shooters!"
- Dances with Wolves
-o-o-o-
"Now remember... when things look bad, and it looks like you're not gunna make it, then you gotta get mean. I mean plumb mad dog mean... 'Cause if you lose your head and you give up, you neither live nor win. That's just the way it is."
- The Outlaw Josey Wales
Marshall shifted his weight to relieve the cramped muscle in his right thigh and to get a better angle of sight to the main door. The door that Sophie, in the puzzled silence that followed her entrance, was now sliding shut. He cringed with the squeaking scrape of metal on metal as the latch closed, stomach churning with increased anxiety. The task force now had no point of entry nearest the action. No element of surprise as the side and rear entry approach through the barn provided scant visual cover. Of course, Brad and his cohorts had no quick escape either.
"Trapped," Eliot whispered, staring in the same direction as Marshall, apparently also pondering unfavorable logistics.
"Us or them?" Marshall replied. He glanced at the man next to him in time to see a flicker of a grin.
"Depends on who's faster…or who runs out of bullets first, Butch."
Marshall's amusement only lasted for the moment it took him to remember that he was actually not equipped to endure any sort of shootout; ammunition poor, even with Eliot's shotgun. The ache in his lower back reminded him of their poorly defensible position. He glanced at his companion again. He would also bet that Sundance's combat skills were a bit rusty. All in all, three reasons too many to avoid engaging the enemy before the task force was involved. He would consider their situation as a tactical disadvantage…Mary would call it foreplay before a clusterfuck. His musings were cut short as Sophie broke the silence.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Her nod to Brad was barely more than dismissive, all her attention immediately focusing on Jaime. "¿Señor Sancristo, hacer esto rápidamente? No confío en este cajonera."
Brad clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as he looked between Sophie and Jaime. "What the hell is - "
Jaime ignored him to reply to Sophie, "No se preocupe de él. Él es un arenilla… que molesta, pero inofensivo. Y pronto ser muerto."
Marshall's efforts to concentrate on rudimentary translation were suddenly undermined as Brad stepped forward angrily, drew a weapon from his waistband and leveled it at Jaime's head. Three things happened at once: Jaime's driver surged out of the office, large hands cradling a semi-automatic pointed at Brad, Sophie reached (presumably) for her own piece beneath her jacket, and the young cowboy hidden in the shadows stepped forward waving a shotgun towards all the participants. The strands of a well known tune from a favorite Western floated through Marshall's brain as he watched everyone try to watch everyone else. A fleeting stalemate.
"The only one who's going to be fucking muerto is you, you double crossing son of a bitch." Brad's growl rose to a strangled yell, his face red with anger as he stared down Jaime.
Jaime remained calm. Shrugged. "I do not make the rules, my friend. You were convenient, and willing like a puppy. My brother does not let opportunity slip by."
"We had goddamned deal!" Brad shot a nervous glance at Sophie. "What the fuck is she doing here? Who the hell is she?" Sophie grinned and winked, and Brad's face reddened even more.
"This is not happening!" he shouted, glared at Jaime again. "You'll never get out of this barn if you screw me over, Garcia. And Lúcho will never see the girls."
"The girls are already mine," Jamie said. "My men have taken your trucks. It wasn't hard."
Marshall knew the man was bluffing. The radio was abuzz with questions and quick responses affirming that Brad's men were still in control of the trucks. It was a convincing act though, and Sophie took advantage of Brad's momentary confusion to pull her weapon free. It was hard to say who twitched first, but the next thing Marshall knew, Brad was on the ground while his cowboy sidekick fired the shotgun, Jaime's driver fell to one knee, and Sophie caught the backpack that Jaime had tossed into the air. Dust motes and gunpowder swirled into the shafts of sunlight beaming through all the windows, creating a smokescreen worthy of an amateur magician show.
Eliot was trying to get his attention, gripping his shoulder and speaking low and furiously. Marshall couldn't take the time to acknowledge him as he relayed confirmation of the buy, interpreted the flurry of instructions filling his ear from the comm and tried to track the movements of those now beating a hasty retreat. The front and side doors slammed open a moment later as agents rushed into the fray, shouting identification and profanity laced commands to those they targeted. Marshall wasn't sure exactly how the task force had expected this to go down, but he was fairly sure this was likely the last pick on their list. A few sharp reports from a pistol were answered by a staccato of return fire and it was time to get the hell out of there. He spoke rapidly into the transmitter, then grabbed the back of Eliot's shirt and tugged him towards the tack rooms and corral exit.
Eliot protested even as he allowed Marshall to muscle him away from the stall. "We're defensible and I had a target!"
"You're a civilian, we're not in BDUs, and if you fire that gun I'll shoot you myself," Marshall replied over the noise. "You shouldn't even be here."
He shoved Eliot into a dark doorway as the sound of automatic fire filled the air.
"They needed me to visually confirm an exchange, that's it. Now we're out."
Marshall had barely finished his sentence when a figure shot out the gloom and charged towards them, firing wildly. He threw himself backwards, barely avoiding the bullets that instead splintered the doorframe, and tripped over a pile of saddle blankets, landing on his ass as the gunman barreled past the door. He had no time to get off a shot of his own. Eliot scrambled to pursue before Marshall could stop him. He was up and out the door himself a moment later to witness the struggle at the back door.
Eliot had tackled the man, effectively preventing his escape, and the two men now viciously grappled over the control of a handgun. Brad's handgun, Marshall realized as he identified Eliot's opponent. To his horror, the gun went off as the men rolled into the wall. He charged the pair with his own weapon at the ready, not sure if anyone was hit, but fairly certain Eliot was content to keep pummeling the man now beneath him…bleeding or not.
"U.S. Marshal! Stay on the ground! Don't move!" Marshall had no visual on Brad's weapon. "Eliot! Get out of there!"
Eliot heaved himself off of Brad with a grunt and the gun went skittering across the dirt floor to rest near Marshall's boot. He kicked it further away from the man still lying on the ground. Eliot moaned and cursed, pressing both hands to a bleeding wound above his knee. He glared at Brad.
"That goddamn asshole was not going to get away."
Marshall stared down at the battered man squirming in the dirty hay. Brad's face was bloody, his nose surely broken and his jaw probably shared that fate. Blood also soaked one sleeve and the lower half of one leg of his jeans; wounds likely suffered before Eliot had gotten to him. The downed man had been knocked semi-conscious during the struggle, but now he was making a weak attempt to sit up after the wrangler's weight was removed. Marshall pushed him back to the floor with his boot.
"Stay where you are, Christianson. Don't even twitch." The man blinked up at Marshall through one swollen eye, mumbled incoherently, then threw an arm across his face and cursed under his breath. Surrender.
Marshall turned his attention to Eliot. "Is it bad?"
"It won't kill me."
The wrangler's grunted reply was quickly followed by the sound of voices approaching. Marshall held up his badge and called out his ID as agents approached with guns drawn. A few minutes passed before Brad was pulled out of the barn in handcuffs as another agent tended to Eliot's wound, calling in the casualty. Marshall's hands shook as he holstered his weapon and blew out a long, slow breath. He knew from experience that it would take some time for his ears to stop ringing and to restore salivary function to his mouth. But it was done.
Twenty minutes later Marshall still felt vaguely nauseous as he walked around to the front of the barn, squinting into the sunshine. He had no idea where his sunglasses were, and he suspected his hat was on the floor in the tack room. His usual ability to clearly recall the events during an operation seemed to have abandoned him, and he wondered if it was because he had been too worried about protecting Eliot, or if his mind had to pick up the slack from not having his partner at his side. He vigorously rubbed dirt and wood splinters out of his hair, turning his thoughts towards the immediate future. He needed to check in with Stan and Mary.
The sat phones were in the command truck now parked near the two ambulances in the parking lot and he headed that way. Two body bags had been loaded into one bus, the doors now closed as the vehicle prepared to depart, and the other would soon host the stretcher carrying Eliot. He briefly watched the EMTs tend to the irritated man. Eliot glanced up at him and gave a brief salute, and Marshall again thanked God for small favors. As it was, Stan was going to have his hide. Had it gone differently, he'd be burying his career along with a dead civilian. He hoped Mary's afternoon had been infinitely less exciting.
Agent Hardison trotted over, looking grim. "Thanks for your help, Inspector." He crossed his arms and stared at the ambulance now rolling out of the parking lot. "I wish it would've gone more smoothly."
Marshall sighed. "I'm sorry about your man. And I hear the primaries got through the net?"
Hardison rubbed his forehead with a grimace. "The Zeta used Brad's cowboy as cover and managed to slip out the north side right under our noses. She's in the wind…somewhere back in that maze of canyons."
"And Jaime Sancristo?" Marshall asked when Hardison fell silent.
Hardison cursed and spit in the dirt. "We didn't expect Odd Job to pull a modified G36 out of his ass. He laid down fire for a full thirty seconds. I'm surprised no one lost their head. DEA finally got a kill shot, but Sancristo had disappeared. I have no idea where he went."
Marshall placed a hand on the man's shoulder for a brief moment. "It was a good operation. You've got Christianson and we've tucked Sheryl away. You'll at least get positive ID's and a corroborative story. It's better than ghosts and supposition."
Hardison shrugged and sighed. "It's a start. And we also got the girls about thirty miles down the road. We'll get them all processed and on their way home."
"Marshall!" Eliot snagged his attention as he was being loaded into the ambulance, pointing towards the west. There was faint dust cloud. "Here comes the cattle drive."
Hardison shook Marshall's hand, then jogged back towards his team, shouting commands to get things wrapped up. The local police would stay behind to brief the incoming wranglers; limited information with the announcement of Brad's arrest. Marshall headed to the command truck and requested to be patched in to Stan. As he waited for the connection, he saw a deputy sheriff jump out of his car and run over to his boss. The man pointed towards the main ranch, and Marshall could just make out the conversation.
"…huge fire. There's about three houses involved now. The ranch hands are trying to help the fire department get it under control."
An unexplained feeling of dread crept into his bones as Stan then answered the phone.
"Have you heard from Mary?" The Chief's barked greeting only increased his anxiety.
"No, Stan, I have no reception out here. Thus the call on the sat phone." Marshall was equally curt, dread morphing into fear as he watched the Sheriff gather up a few more local cops and head towards their cars.
"The marshal in Tucumcari says her cell is off. He's been trying to reach her for a half hour. She never checked in or called for pick up. Did you change the plans?"
Marshall knew. He knew the fire somehow involved his partner…and their witness. And it was bad. "She's in trouble, Stan. I've gotta go."
Stan protested to empty air as Marshall tossed the phone back to a surprised technician and ran to catch up with the last patrol car pulling onto the road. He startled the officer as he yanked open the door and identified himself, jumped in, and a moment later they sped down the dirt road towards the ranch.
-o-o-o-
Mary and Sheryl stumbled through the unforgiving brush, heading toward the river in fits and starts; coughing spasms and watering, reddened eyes making the journey perilous. In addition, the ketamine still coursed through their systems, making them slow and clumsy and at times unable to clearly remember which direction they had just come from.
Sheryl's familiarity with the path and terrain kept Mary from tumbling headlong into the deeper ditches or patches of prickly pear. She kept one hand tightly closed around Mary's wrist, at times nearly dragging the marshal behind her, and suddenly found herself yanked to a stop as Mary dropped to her hands and knees.
"Mary," Sheryl pleaded quietly, "we have to keep moving. We're almost there."
Mary reared back onto her knees and pulled at her jacket. "Jesus. I'm burning up. We need to get further from the fire."
Sheryl looked up towards the apartments, now only able to see the black smoke billowing into the sky. Only black smoke. No water was being laid down on the fire yet. She wondered how long it would take the fire to spread to her neighbor's house…how long it would take before the ranch hands arrived and set up a water relay.
A rabbit dashed onto the path behind Mary, startling Sheryl out of her thoughts. The animal stood staring at her for a moment, nose twitching, and she listened to the blood pounding in her ears while expecting a Mad Hatter to show up next.
Late for a very important date, indeed. She rubbed her burning eyes with the heels of her hands and turned back to her still struggling companion.
Mary could feel the fire at her heels, certain her jacket still smoldered, soon to ignite her hair in a fireball that would consume her in its agonizing fury. Her back burned and she reached behind her to check for flames, only to stumble and fall into the dirt. The sudden change in position caused her head to spin and her fingers tingled as she dug them into the dusty soil.
Why wouldn't her limbs work? Where was she going again? Another flash of heat radiated along the back of her shoulders and she sat up to take off the offending jacket. Suddenly there were hands helping her. Sheryl's voice pulled her back to reality as cool air hit her arms and neck.
"Here," Sheryl said, sounding frustrated as she pulled the jacket off and tossed it aside. "On your feet, Mary. It's not much further."
Mary coughed, punishing her already raw throat, and held up a hand for Sheryl to wait.
"Give me just a minute." Another short coughing fit. "Just a minute. My legs are rubber." She didn't recognize her own voice.
She watched Sheryl's legs pace a dusty pattern for a minute or two and thought she heard the faint sound of sirens on the breeze. Sheryl was back then, grabbing her wrists and pulling her to her feet.
"Your minute is up and my nerves are shot. Let's go."
They headed away from the burning house and towards the trees lining the river. The sound of sirens became real, and Mary wondered if she shouldn't head back to the fire. Surely Marshall would be looking for her, and she needed his help to get Sheryl and the kids into town. Her witness kicked up the pace slightly as the trees grew nearer, and Mary had to focus on her footing, unable to ponder operational plans any longer. One foot in front of the other, and soon she could smell the damp sand of the river bed.
Sunshine gave way to dappled shade, and Sheryl began to call for the kids while Mary tripped over exposed tree roots at the edge of the water.
"Dammit," she hissed, falling to one knee on a particularly knobby protrusion. The deep pain cleared her mind as she watched Sheryl shade her eyes with one hand while scanning the riverbank.
Another round of calls from Sheryl and a faint answer was heard from about twenty yards north. A dirty Leanne appeared from behind a clump of bushes and washed up tree branches, spotted her mother and ran towards the grateful woman. She was quickly overtaken by her determined brother, and Sheryl met them halfway, the three of them falling into a disheveled lump of tears on a pebbly sandbar.
Mary heaved herself to her feet and wobbled towards her charges. It was time to step back into her role as protector despite the circumstances. Sheryl would, no doubt, lay down her life for her children, and Mary could only hope her own presence would keep that from happening. She reached the group and prodded them back towards the hiding spot the girl had emerged from. It was far enough from the path to conceal them, but close enough that she would hear anyone approaching. They crowded into the small, damp space next to the river bank and sank down onto the dirt.
Deep fatigue quickly clawed its way back into Mary's limbs, pulling her down to rest against a bunch of branches and stare up at the sky. The sky was so blue; a hypnotizing cobalt sea that enticed her to just sit and breathe for a few minutes, and the seductive murmur of running water and rustle of leaves soon lulled her back into a dreamlike state.
Sheryl had gathered the children into her lap, whispering endearments…encouragement…bits of sibilant solace that tugged at Mary's heart even as her eyelids fluttered shut. It had been a very, very long time since she had felt so treasured. The words followed her into unconsciousness.
"Tom ho' ichema…love you…love you…"
Mary's dream began with a muscled, jean clad thigh beneath her cheek while long fingers caressed her cheek. Maybe it hadn't been so long after all.
-o-o-o-
Marshall jumped out of the sheriff's car as it slid to a stop on the dusty road, running before his feet even hit the ground. He had spent the last ten minutes gripping the dashboard so hard he was sure he left dents, urging the deputy to go faster as the plumes of smoke took up more and more of the sky and the flames became visible when they pulled into the ranch.
There had been no messages from Mary. No calls. No texts. He had called her repeatedly, only to be told the device was out of service. Not off. Not ignored…out of service. The computerized voice had not been swayed by his demands for explanation, and only pleasantly repeated its message despite his abuse.
He charged towards the scene now, the appalling sight of the conflagration seared into mind as the heat began to seep through his clothes, disregarding the police tape holding back the horrified onlookers. Ranch hands and firefighters shouted commands through the gloom of smoke, barely heard over the roar of the fire and rumble of the ladder engine's pumps. Marshall had zeroed in on the fire chief when he was grabbed from behind.
"Hey! You need to get out of here!" A local cop tried to pull him back. "Get behind the tape."
Marshall yanked his arm free, held up his badge and shouted over the noise. "What happened? Where did it start?"
They both flinched as the sound of breaking glass penetrated the noise. The flames consuming the houses swelled in glee at their destruction, racing along the eaves and up the roof of yet another home. A collective cheer went up as a hose was finally turned on the inferno, but everyone fell back as the water assault filled the air with mist and steam. Marshall quickly scanned the crowd, but as expected, saw no sign of his partner or her witness. A group of women were clinging to each other in tears as they watched their homes burn. The officer leaned in to talk over the noise.
"It must've started with the house there," he pointed at the roasting shell of Sheryl's home and Marshall felt his throat tighten up. "By the time we even got here the two houses next door were burning too. It looks like we're going to lose two more, but both wells are accessed now so we should be able to put it down. Chief says it was likely arson…too hot and fast to be accidental."
Marshall's mouth was dry as he asked the question, "Did you pull anyone out? Was anyone here when you arrived?"
"Buddy, we haven't even been able to get close to that thing. If anyone was in there, they're well beyond crispy now." The officer gave him a concerned look. "Why?"
But Marshall was done talking. Mary was not a burnt corpse in that house…he could feel it in his gut, his heart. He would not believe that until he was forced to pick through the rubble himself after exhausting all other options. His mind raced as he tried to think like his partner. If she had somehow become cut off from her resources, what would she do? Where would she go? But he didn't know the circumstances. Had she even been here when the fire started? A fresh plume of steam startled a flock of birds from the trees and they wheeled towards the river.
"Idiot!" he chastised himself, turning to swiftly stride towards a group of the cowhands trying to be useful at the edge of activity and waved a few over. He didn't realize the officer had followed him until he began to give instructions.
"I want you to search the area along the northwest edge of the apartments. Away from the fire and towards the river. Quickly and quietly."
"What are we looking for?" A smoke smudged boy asked.
"Anything that suggests someone escaped that fire. Footprints, items of clothing…bodies. Anything."
The boys nodded, satisfied with their purpose, and trotted towards the brush. The officer stood still and squinted at him.
"I can't tell you," Marshall answered the silent question. "But I could use your help."
A few minutes later the four man search crew quietly bushwhacked on the opposite side of the apartments from all the activity. They had their work cut out for them, and Marshall's hopes began to flounder as he found nothing within the hard soil, animal prints and unforgiving flora.
Oh, God, Mary…don't you die on me. He squeezed his eyes shut in momentary prayer.
"Hey!" A quick shout by one of the boys now deep in the brush had them all jogging over to his position. He held up a jacket.
Marshall felt dizzy. He snatched the jacket from the boy and quickly flipped it over. It was Mary's, he was sure. It had to be. His deft fingers felt the buttons and he hissed affirmation when he identified the third button down as the button cam. The jacket reeked of smoke, another clue that Mary had escaped that fire.
His conclusion was verified by the calls of the other boy. People had traveled along the now visible cattle trail towards the river. More than one. The men now moved swiftly in the same direction, Marshall and the officer on point with weapons at the ready. He was sure his heart was going to pound right out of his chest, more anxious now than he was at that barn. There was no telling what they would find, if anything. He tried to keep from thinking of the more horrific possibilities.
When they reached the tree line, Marshall instructed the boys to wait on the trail while he and the officer slowly crept into the shade. The river was quiet with no signs of life larger than a chipmunk. Marshall's elation began to wane. The tracks had ended, and the water lapped at their boots while they scanned the shoreline and bushes around them. Had the women (he hoped Mary had Sheryl with her) come upon some of Brad's men here? Had they reached safety only to be snatched back into danger without being able to fight back?
His increasingly troubling thoughts were interrupted as the officer stilled and raised one hand in warning.
"Listen," he whispered to Marshall, nodding towards an area upstream.
Cold water seeped into one boot while he stood motionless, straining to hear…something. Something that sounded like suspiciously like a sniffle. And then a cough that was quickly smothered. Not chipmunks. A child.
A few hand signals later, and the two men slowly approached the tangle of brush and trees that hosted the foreign sounds. Marshall called out.
"Mary? Sheryl?" No answer, but a few of the bushes shook slightly. "Kids? It's Marshall from the ranch. I have a police officer with me. It's safe to come out. Is your mom with you?"
There were sounds of a brief, quiet argument before a small voice rang out.
"Mommy's sleeping!"
"Dammit, Tyler, shut up!"
The curse from the young girl had Marshall's mouth twitching with a grin as he cautiously came around the side of the small hiding space. The girl reminded him of his partner in too many ways. Even with weapon at the ready, he was taken off guard by the rock lobbed at his head. He ducked and it grazed his ear.
"Whoa! Easy…it's okay." He held up his hands in surrender as he took in the scene before him, slightly wary of the ten year old with another rock loaded in her hand. "It's me, Leanne. I'm Mary's friend. We're here to help you and your mom. Please put the rock down."
The girl seemed to deflate, sinking down next to her unconscious mother and starting to cry. Tyler watched, wide-eyed, then noticed the officer and ran over to hug his legs. The man holstered his own weapon and picked up the child, wading over to the bank to hunker down beside Sheryl and Leanne.
"What are they doing here?" he asked.
Marshall, who now only had eyes for his partner who was folded up on a pile of branches near Sheryl, didn't feel the need to explain. He was focused on the scratched and soot covered body of the woman whom he couldn't imagine being anywhere but at his side. He swiftly crossed to her and reached out to feel for a pulse. Warm and strong. Unshed tears of relief burned his eyes as he continued to check her over. She seemed unbroken; no wounds that looked serious, but the soot around her mouth and nose concerned him. As did her raspy breathing.
"Sheryl's alive." The woman moaned softly as the officer tended to her, and Marshall formulated a plan.
"Let's see if we can wake them. Get them moving again." He dipped a handkerchief in the water and began to wipe Mary's face. "Then here's what I need you to do."
It took about ten minutes to rouse the women, and they were sluggish and confused upon awakening. Sheryl settled quickly, checking on her children and talking to the officer while watching Marshall. Mary, however, became combative, not immediately recognizing Marshall and only perceiving a threat based on prior circumstance. He warded off her blows; grunted as she landed a solid elbow to his ribs.
"You know, you really fight dirty, Cowgirl. Someone ought to teach you some manners."
He had a grip on both her forearms now, and she finally stopped struggling to blink up at him.
"Marshall?" her croak turned into coughs, and Marshall maneuvered her into a sitting position, settling beside her and supporting her against his side while she struggled to catch her breath. The fit seemed to jar her back to full consciousness.
He rubbed her back as she spit into the sand and perused the scene. Trailed his fingers along her spine and ribs, needing to feel her breathe and let her warmth seep into his side. Alive. He was a little surprised when she reached over to grip his knee, leaning into him and letting her head rest on his shoulder.
"They'll find Carter in the house," she murmured for his ears. "It was Sophie."
He watched Tyler try to catch tadpoles for a moment as he thought about the timing of the afternoon's events. Sophie, he concluded, was more than she seemed. He stroked Mary's hair as he glanced around the river bed. Sophie was also still out there. The knowledge made him nervous.
"Tim," he called to the officer, now knowing his name. "Time to get moving. You've got the numbers to call."
The man nodded, spoke a few reassurances to Sheryl and the kids, then was off back the way they came. The adults silently watched the kids for while, Leanne at first reluctant to leave her mom's side, but far too curious as to what her brother had trapped in the shallows to stay still for long. The intermittent breeze carried with it the faint sound of sirens, further sobering the mood until Tyler excitedly called his mother over to see his captured prize. Sheryl wobbled to her feet, unable to ignore the pleas of her youngest, and was soon a few more yards down the bank, crouched next to the kids and engrossed in their activity.
"She saved my life, Marshall." Mary said quietly. They both stared at the small woman on the riverbank. "She could've left me there to burn. Drugged and tied up and left to die..." her voice broke and she cleared her throat. Shuddered. Emotions too close to the surface for her comfort.
Marshall tightened his grip and turned his head to nuzzle her temple, placing small kisses along her hairline. He didn't want to hear about what had happened yet, didn't think his frazzled nerves would deal well with the images it would conjure up. Mary pulled back suddenly, tugging at his shirt. He looked over to see her examining blood stains near his collar.
"Jesus, Marshall." She reached up to gently touch cuts on his neck. "What the hell happened?"
He gave her a rueful smile and used his thumb to gently brush some dirt off her jaw. "I've never seen so many dogs in my life."
Mary looked confused for a moment before understanding furrowed her brow and she sighed deeply, dropping her hands back into her lap with a wince.
"What's the bad news?"
"We only got Brad," he replied. "Garcia and Sophie are in the wind, and Hardison lost a man." It wasn't the time and place to include Eliot's involvement and subsequent injury.
Mary closed her eyes and swore under breath, leaning over to rest her elbows on her knees. Marshall watched her for a moment before continuing.
"We still have Sheryl, and the border patrol is on alert for Garcia. He's got to head home sometime."
"The girls?" she asked, now staring at the pebbles at her feet.
"Secured." He thought he saw Mary's shoulders relax slightly.
Gravel crunched as Sheryl stood and walked back over. Stood before them as she sniffled and wiped at her eyes, smearing soot across her nose. "So," she said, "what happens now."
Mary straightened and reached up to smooth her hair, reflexively pulling it into a ponytail, but had no band to secure it. She cursed. Marshall reached into his back pocket and a moment later presented her with a black band dangling on his index finger. He grinned when she glared up at him.
"Seriously?" she asked, snatching the band off his hand.
"What else would I keep in my back pocket?"
The soot on her face disguised the blush that crept up the back of her neck as she busied herself with taming her hair. Marshall smothered a chuckle as he turned his attention back to Sheryl.
"Now it's time to start a new life."
*** Breathe...there now...better? Comments, questions, rants and raves? Please REVIEW and let me know! It's not done *quite* yet...there may yet be another small twist...stay tuned! ***
Translations:
"¿Señor Sancristo, hacer esto rápidamente? No confío en este cajonera." – Mr. Sancristo, can we do this quickly? I don't trust this (low class) idiot.
"No se preocupe de él. Él es un arenilla… que molesta, pero inofensivo. Y pronto ser muerto." – Don't worry about him. He's an annoying insect…bothersome, but harmless. And soon to be dead.