And onto Act 2! The plot thickens as our heroes make life-altering decisions and certain characters meet other certain characters!

A couple of weeks passed from the time Mary turned her letters over to the FBI and she heard nothing. Faber had personally made a trip to Albuquerque to retrieve the letters. The pompous ass-hat had practically done a 'happy dance' as he tore the precious letters from her hands. She had gotten her hopes up that the letters might actually be as important as Faber and the FBI seemed to think and that they would find something soon. Mary still didn't know if she actually wanted to see her father but she figured she was at least due for some answers. However, two weeks of silence were wearing her down.

Marshall had sensed her growing agitation; especially over the past few days. Their lovemaking had increased in frequency and, although Marshall wasn't complaining about it, he knew that she was just trying to keep her mind off the recent events.

He took a deep breath and broached the subject one evening over their second beer. "They're going to find him; at some point they have to. It's just a matter of time." He waited, gauging Mary's reaction.

When she neither spoke nor ran he continued. "We could find him first; get you the answers you need before Faber and the FBI get their talons into him."

Mary stared down her bottle as if it were the answer to all her questions. With a sigh, she chugged what was left and leveled her head with Marshall's. "I never wanted you to get involved in all this," she mumbled.

"Why?"

Mary was silent for a moment. She wanted to choose her words wisely. There was no room for interpretation in this scenario and she didn't want to chance that he'd misunderstand. "I didn't want you to run." It was impossible to make her eyes meet his during her admission. She didn't have to look at his face to know that it had a look of surprise on it.

"You thought that I would run," Marshall had a hard time wrapping his mind around the concept of ever leaving her side, "what made you think that I would ever run from you?"

Mary finally found the strength to bring her gaze up from her empty bottle. "You almost did that one time," her voice grew more intense as she continued, "right before you—" her voice cracked.

"Before I…"

"Before you got shot," the tears returned with the memory of her partner struggling to breathe as the radiator hose kept him alive.

Marshall ran a hand through his hair. "You're forgetting the most important part of that day," he moved to kneel by her side and draped his hands around her waist as he looked her directly in the eyes, "I stayed, no, I lived," he leaned up to kiss her on the forehead, "for you."

Mary's eyes closed as his lips made contact with her brow. She pursed her lips together as he looked into her eyes and bit her lip as she nodded. "Let's do it," she said quietly and then with more confidence, "let's look for him."

She sank into the embrace Marshall offered her and she hugged him back as if he would disappear if she let him go.

FBI Special Agent Robert O'Connor met Mike Faber at the airport. He wouldn't usually condescend to pick anyone up at the airport, not even his own mother. In fact, the one time his socialite mother had deigned to travel from her comfortable penthouse on Park to "the sticks" to visit her son, he'd sent his aide to pick her up; two hours late and carrying a sign with her name spelt 'O'Conner'.

But unlike his mother, Mike Faber had something FBI Special Agent Robert O'Connor wanted; badly. Badly enough that he wasted forty-two minutes in traffic and another seventeen standing in a crowd to meet the first class passenger off the flight.

He knew which of the half dozen men in suits was Mike Faber well before the shorter, older, agent stopped in front of him with his hand extended. There was a look about him that just screamed, FBI – or arrogant sonofabitch, which really was the same thing.

"Special Agent O'Connor?"

Agent O'Connor shook Faber's hand firmly, "Welcome to New Jersey."

He waited until they had retrieved Faber's luggage, loaded it in the back of his black Escalade, and navigated onto the I-95 S before he asked about the letters.

"They're in my carry on." Faber answered, leaning his head back against the dark grey leather of the passenger seat. "Pretty sappy stuff; useless if you ask me."

Robert ground his teeth slightly. He'd been on the Shannon case for two years now, and here came an old man out of Denver who'd been hanging on to a wealth of information that Robert had only dreamed of for over two weeks; using them as leverage to get him out of a write up for misappropriation of FBI funds. Rumor had it that good old Faber had taken money from a sting and used it to fund a winter holiday with his latest sex kitten.

"The director doesn't agree."

Faber gave O'Connor a look that was halfway between 'duh' and 'go fuck yourself'. "Well I'm not here for the produce."

It was hard not to tailgate the truck in front of him as he fought to keep his temper in check. "Our analyst is meeting us at the hotel. I hope you weren't counting on getting your eight hours of beauty sleep."

Robert took the right at Gouverneur St. sharper and faster than necessary, almost chuckling to himself when Faber slammed forcibly into the door. A few moments later and the Escalade was snuggled between a Toyota and a BMW in the Comfort Suite's front parking lot.

O'Connor preferred to work outside the FBI main offices whenever possible. It made it harder for his superiors to borrow his men for other jobs if they were off site. And the food was ten times better. Also, it was harder for agents to excuse themselves when they were living at their headquarters.

The FBI analyst and a handful of O'Connor's team were already set up in one of the hotel's conference rooms. Six computers whirred softly while two printers pumped out sheets of data on James Shannon, of which an aide was steadily sorting into folders. The analyst sat in front of three computer monitors, back to the east corner, splitting her attention between the information scrolling across her screens, and the bustle of the room before her.

Robert led Agent Faber directly to her, ignoring everyone else in the room. "Eleanor Prince, this is Special Agent Mike Faber from Denver."

"The one with the letters," the look Eleanor gave Faber was not friendly.

"Nice to meet you, Eleanor," Faber oozed his trademark charm and extended a hand to the brown haired woman who had yet to rise.

She looked at his hand as if it might bite her, "Call me Agent Prince," she said coolly, turning back to her computer in clear dismissal.

Faber raised both eyebrows and stepped back. He was half turned away from her when Eleanor spoke again. "Oh, don't forget to leave the letters when you go."

The next day, Mary and Marshall awoke with renewed vigor. They were in the car en route to the office when Marshall spoke. "You think we should tell Stan?"

Mary considered this several seconds past the moment where the silence between them became uncomfortable.

Marshall drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

When she finally spoke, the words were uncertain, "When we know something?"

"It's your call but I feel like he'd be on our side."

Mary nodded.

"Is that a yes?" Marshall gave her a sideways grin, "I only saw a slight nod in my peripheral vision. Talk to me, Mare."

She sighed, "I don't know. I know he will support us either way... but the FBI and the Director are already halfway up his ass about hiring me with James as a father. I can't destroy his career too."

"I think we should at least tell him what we're doing," Marshall suggested, "and he can be involved to whatever capacity he deems comfortable."

Mary nodded and then remembered that Marshall was driving and therefore couldn't see her. "Alright."

Marshall rested a hand on her leg and absently rubbed his thumb on her thigh, "Ok, we tell Stan."

"One condition for this whole adventure that we're about to embark upon," he squeezed her leg to get her attention.

She shifted in her seat so she could face him full on.

"You can't decide for me whether it's too much for me to handle," he continued, "I'm in this for the long haul, Mare, I want to see it through so don't try to push me away when we're getting into the thick of things."

She didn't respond right away, she couldn't with the lump of emotion clogging her throat. She wanted to push him away now; before she dragged his career down into the mud with her own... and Stan along with them from what it sounded like.

"I love you, Mary, and no matter what, I'm not going anywhere."

She knew he would never leave her. Not of his own free will. But it was at times like this she wanted to shove him so hard he had no choice but to step back.

"Don't even try, Mare," he grinned as he realized what she was thinking.

"No point," she said with a wry smile, "You'd just bounce back like that ridiculous silly putty you're always carrying about." She rested one hand over his. He would never leave her, and she would fight her flight instincts every step of the way.

He grabbed the hand resting in his lap and squeezed it. The rest of the car ride was silent.