Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.

After the false fire alarm and a completely uneventful night of watching/listening to Marybeth Tucker snore, Winston, with the help of Ames and Ilsa, had completed doing a full examination of her background: Finances, family, friends, colleagues, jobs, academic achievements, online activities, neighbors, recreational activities… They would have been faster with Guerrero, but Guerrero was still unavailable.

It was hard to tell how Ilsa was dealing with the situation. She never talked about her relationship with Guerrero. Only lately they had started showing their affection openly. With Philippa's demise that had come to a screeching halt again.

It was not only what he was about to do... cold blooded murder. A still abhorrent thought, to just... let it… happen… let him do this… More so, much more so, however, they were worried about Guerrero. In contrast to common perception, he didn't enjoy killing. He never let on what he felt, but Winston remembered his attempt at a confession while they had been in that deathtrap of a plane over the Andes well. The things he did… they were taking a toll on him.

Could they really just watch…?

But on the other hand… he had a point. Protecting Ash had always had top priority, for all of them. Now the enemy was not coming from the outside… they had to protect him from himself. No one was better at reading people than Guerrero and as much they would have preferred thinking of Ash as the little boy with the crazy ideas and the charming smile, Philippa's death had changed him. There was a darkness about him… the thirst for revenge was intoxicating, it could completely cloud your mind, make you throw away everything else… engulf you…

Both Guerrero and Chance had been there, done that.

Better not tempt Ash.

"Tell me you found something – anything – that involves organized crime. Or blackmail. Bribery!", Chance exclaimed rather desperately. He had brought Marybeth to the warehouse, insisting a change of location was very important for her personal safety. In truth he just hadn't wanted to sit through the annual meeting of Associated Californian Linguists with Caledonian Roots scheduled for the early afternoon.

Ames made a face. "Hate to disappoint you…"

"Insurance scam? Tax dodging?"

She shrugged helplessly, lopsided smile on her face. "Zilch."

"Shop lifting? Illegal parking?"

"We think at the department of linguistics' last Christmas party she might have claimed bringing home made muffins but they were actually from a local bakery…"

Ames was genuinely crestfallen.

Chance sighed, smiled and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Maybe it's all a mistake and SFPD was right from the start. The snitch might have made the whole thing up or overheard something wrongly."

The telephone in Winston's office rang. They heard Winston answer it, then nothing for quite a while. Apparently he was listening. Ames silently offered Chance a cup of coffee and Chance accepted it, equally silent. They both watched Winston frown, his facial expression growing graver and graver.

Instinct made Chance turn his head towards the far end of the office, where Ilsa was sitting with Marybeth. Was she alright? Bless her heart, brave Dr. Tucker was still working on her essay about pre-Celtic suffixes, despite the fact that her life was in danger, she was under the protection of a whole team of bodyguards and sitting holed up in a shady office in the Tenderloin.

Chance couldn't help but admire her dedication.

Winston hung up the phone.

"That was our contact at SFPD", he said. "Guerrero's still out of reach, is he?"

Chance gave him a questioning look. "Definitely. Why?"

"We need someone here to watch over her while you and I go sightseeing."

If Winston voluntarily suggested Guerrero should take over protection duties…

"Ames and Ilsa both know how to deal with guns." Chance rested his eyes on Ames. There was no doubt in his expression.

With a start Ames realized that he trusted her. Not just with his own life, but with a client's life. When it came to Chance, there was no higher proof of his trust. She would not disappoint him.

Chance walked over to Ilsa and placed one of his guns in front of her. Marybeth Tucker was so deeply lost in her thoughts, she didn't even notice.

"Are you up to it?", he asked her quietly.

No need for further specification. Ilsa knew exactly what he meant. She took the gun and put it on the chair next to her, in direct reach.

"So which of Frisco's famous sights are we going to see?", Chance asked Winston.

"The world famous city morgue."

… … …

"You know the guy?", Lieutenant Peele asked, studying both Chance and Winston carefully. As usual, however he couldn't read their body language at all.

Which was good since they were about to lie to him.

"Never seen him", Chance shrugged.

"Nope", Winston confirmed.

In truth, of course, they knew him well. The bald mean with the extensive tattoos covering his chest and arms in greenish-blue prison ink went by the name Johnny the Shark.

Yeah, well… but it conveyed pretty well his work ethic and general attitude towards targets.

Hunt 'em down and shred 'em.

Anyway, it seemed his surging career as a hit man had come to an untimely and definite end now. One bullet to the temple, another one to the heart.

Someone had been thorough. Definitely a pro's handwriting.

Peele started skipping through the file in his hand. "This is what we found in his possession", he finally said and handed Chance and Winston several photos and copies with rows of data. The data consisted of telephone numbers, credit card numbers, all sorts of pin codes, addresses… the photos had all been taken from a distance, some through windows, and showed a middle-aged woman pouring over a book, a text, her lunch, another text.

Marybeth Tucker.

Someone had given one of the best assassins on the market a portfolio with all necessary info to eliminate her.

And someone else had eliminated said assassin.