Chapter 4 – Motel Monologues

Marshall found another cheap motel, not far from the first. He figured their pursuers would go to the first motel, following the tracking device on the medal. They both knew a night attack would be the easiest to pull off, but they were too tired to lie in wait. At least Marshall was. He got Mary to lie down, and soon they both appeared to be asleep.

Dead tired from their harrowing day, Marshall had passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Despite his need for rest, Marshall slept lightly while on duty. This time, his duty was protecting his partner. He stirred after an hour or so. Something had changed. His body sensed the absence of Mary's body heat, even before he was awake.

The room was dark. Light from the street lamp leaked through the heavy drapes that didn't quite meet in the center. He spotted her blonde hair, shining in a spear of moonlight. Seeing Mary, boots in hand, almost invisible in her black leather jacket and dark jeans, ready to leave him, made his heart hammer.

"Mary," he exclaimed in a loud whisper, "where are you going?" He didn't want to startle her. She was capable of creating a scene the other 'guests' would remember. And, she was armed. He had to get her to stop, to get her to think.

Caught in mid sneak, Mary refused to face him, her body still angled toward the door. That gave him hope because she had stopped. She hadn't scrambled through the door-yet.

Since the mountain wasn't coming to Marshall, he levered himself to sit on the edge of the bed and reached up to clasp her elbow. "Tell me what you need," he whispered, turning her face to his.

That familiar selfless phrase broke her. Mary sobbed and turned toward him. She stood tall, breathed deeply and contemplated how to tell him, what to tell him. He rose and stood next to her, still holding her arm. He wanted to wait for her to speak, but couldn't help asking, "Are you going to leave your partner?"

She sighed deeply, remembering just how well this man knew her. "Yeah," she admitted. Maybe if she was honest she could make him understand why she needed to go. For once in her life she wasn't running from someone.

"Why?" He stood and moved his hand to lightly clasp her shoulder, not to restrain her, but to hold her attention.

"They want me. The tracking device was on me. They are following me. I can move faster alone, get to the bottom of this quicker." She spoke quickly, determined to convince him, to convince herself. "If I'm at the motel when they arrive, I can ambush them, sabotage their car, get the bastards," she said letting her anger take hold.

"Mare, no," he pleaded. "We're partners. We do things together, we do this together." He led her to the bed. "Sit down," Marshall requested. "Let's run through this, do a threat assessment. What do we know?" She didn't signal that she agreed, but she didn't bolt. He took that as a good sign. "What facts do we know?"

She sat.

Turning her face up to his she released her fear and anger with a hiss "We know there are some mother humpin cretins who have Jinx and are trying to kill me to keep me from finding her." Cretins? Who says cretins?

This was a leap, but it fit the few facts they had. Marshall was amazed and frightened by her quick unthinking call to action when it came to protecting her family or her witnesses, or him.

Mary had saved the day, saved his bacon several times in their brief partnership. Stunts he would never consider—like initiating phone sex to get the location of a perp—she pulled off. Marshall figured that Saint Inauspicious, patron of the foolhardy, protected her. Anyone else trying the moves she made would end up dead. Focusing on their current situation he added, "But we don't know who did it, who is pursuing you. . . .us," he amended. "We don't know how many goons they have, or what kind of firepower or god help us, explosives they could use. They don't care who goes down with you. That kind of willingness to incur casualties doesn't speak well for your chances of coming back alive."

Taking his face between his hands, he turned her to him. "I can't, I won't," he emphasized, "let your life be put in jeopardy."

"Marshall," she practically whined, "our lives are in jeopardy every day. It's our job.," she insisted. "It's my choice," she added stubbornly.

Looking in her eyes, to make her focus on what he had to say. "Yes, our jobs can be dangerous, but this isn't the job. This is personal, and you have to keep your perspective so we can figure the best way out of this for your mother, for us."

"Right?" he asked, pleading for her to agree. He had to make her understand that action without information would kill her, and that would be the end of him.

"Right," she mumbled, head down, hiding behind her hair. Mary didn't usually allow her choices to be overruled, but she recognized that she was reacting, not thinking. She didn't have a plan, and she knew that without a plan, she could end up dead. Marshall wasn't there just to back her up, he was here to proactively help. This could take some getting used to. But I like it.

"Why would anyone kidnap Jinx?" he wondered.

"To get to me. To bring me here," she theorized. "The fact," she paused to emphasize the word, "that they put that tracker on my medal proves it."

"Everything's always about you, Mary, Mary quite contrary?" Marshall teased, although in this case, it seemed to be.

"Facts," she spit back, in no mood for banter. "You want facts," she hissed. "The tracking device means they planned this. They planned to get me here even before Jinx was taken." Suddenly she looked even more worried, "Shit. They could use Brandi too."

"Who would do that? Who would want you in Jersey?" Marshall asked. This made Mary pause. She'd been so focused on the hit squad she hadn't thought of the broader picture. Who would want her in New Jersey bad enough to come up with this complicated plot?

"Daddy," she said between gritted teeth, "my no good SOB bank robbing fugitive of a father."

Marshall knew Mary's father had scarred her. But this didn't make any sense."He left you years ago. Why would he go through all these hoops to get you to Jersey when you were in Jersey for years?" Marshall's logic derailed her current train of thought.

"Okay, maybe not him." Mary put her elbows on her knees, hands supporting her head. Marshall watched her movements, glad to see her so nimble after her yesterday. He knew she was turning the question over in her mind, looking for answers.

"Who have you pissed off lately?" he asked.

She snorted. "Who haven't I pissed off?"

"Bad enough to go through all these steps just to get you here? And why here? Why not just go to Albuquerque? They know where you live. " Marshall didn't want to acknowledge that they could have just taken Mary in Albuquerque. There were brief periods of time when he wasn't with her, couldn't protect her. If there were enough goons, she didn't stand a chance.

"Yeah, that doesn't fit either," she sighed.

Hoping, knowing he wouldn't rat her out, she confessed, "I've gotten letters from him, my dad, from time to time." Marshall saw her seven year old self, miserable and questioning. "He seems to know where I am and where to write me. If he knew I was in Albuquerque he would contact me there. He's never tried to meet me, so he doesn't need me to be in any particular place.

"So," Marshall continued, "he wouldn't take Jinx to lure you back to Jersey."

Not after he left so he didn't have to deal with Jinx. She nodded. "And he wouldn't try to hurt you," Marshall added.

"No," she nodded again. "He wouldn't physically hurt me."Her delivery was flat, as if the thought had never occurred to her before. Marshall would never plumb the depths of Mary's emotional damage – damage caused by her own father. He longed to salve her wounds, sooth the savage beast she could be.

"If it's not your dad, who would want you in Jersey bad enough to take Jinx?" Marshall and Mary thought about that for a while. Mary knew Jersey, knew the criminal element there. She hadn't been gone so long that all the players had changed.

"I don't know," she confessed, shaking her head wearily. "I can't think. Brain's asleep even if I'm not."

"I have to agree, judging by the fact that you were about to go solo on an unspecified number of unsubs."

Despite her need for rest, Marshall had a question he needed answered. "Just one thing," Marshall pressed. "Tell me what you're thinking, why you wanted to leave?"

Anger and frustration fueled her weary reply. "I want to get those sons of bitches who tried to kill me. If I'm at the motel when they arrive I can shoot them. I can keep them from shooting you," she spat the words at him. Turning her head away from him, hiding behind a curtain of hair she mumbled,"I'm thinking they'll kill you."Turning back to look at his face she added, "You'll get shot, just like in that dream. You'll bleed out in some abandoned storefront."

Marshall put his arm around her shoulder, wondering if he was imagining the tremors he felt. "I know that is upsetting. But Mary, nothing from those dreams has happened to either of us since we've been partnered. Why would it start now?"

Head down, she shrugged into his chest. Marshall waited, and waited. Finally she cleared her throat. "I just can't shake that awful feeling, the fear from that . . .that dream, scene, or whatever the hell it is. Every time I think of it, every time I see it, I . . . I'm frozen. I can't move. That's not me," she stated emphatically. "I shoot, I act, I , I can't stand by while you die."

Marshall could hardly imagine Mary motionless. Even sitting at her desk, she seemed to be in a whirlwind of motion, flicking her hair, smacking the monitor, slapping files into their folders. Mary was never still. Tonight, in her brief sleep interlude, she had managed to smack him. Nope, Mary didn't freeze. That she thought she had done so in the dream and would do so in real life was enough to scare her, and him.

Marshall put his arms around her. "I know, I know." He ducked his head to look into her eyes that glistened with moisture. "I get the same feeling every time I think about seeing you in a hospital corridor, on a gurney, gut shot and not breathing." His heart had fallen down through his boots at the memory. "But it hasn't happened Mare. Stay with me and I will do everything to see that it never happens," he promised fervently. "If you want to make sure I don't get shot, you have to stay with me."

She turned her tear filled eyes to his and asked "Really?" Was it was just a ploy to get her to stay? She had to admit, it was a pretty good one.

Hoping the crisis had passed Marshall said as convincingly, "I believe so." She put her arms around his waist and turned her head to hear his heart.

"Trust me?" he asked. Mute, overcome, Mary nodded into his chest.

"Let's get some rest while we can." He stood up, taking her with him. Hands hanging at her side, Mary leaned into him, resting her head below his shoulder. His size always surprised her. He was so gentle; she almost forgot what a big man he is. Lean, but tall, and beneath that t-shirt she could see the definition of his pectorals. Marshall must work out – a lot.

Dragging her baffled brain back from her partner's musculature, Mary whispered, "Okay." Her throat clogged with unshed tears. Mary felt his hands on her waistband.

"Whatchadoin Purvis?" she asked looking at his fingers unsnapping the button on her jeans.

"Just getting you comfortable, so you can rest," he murmured, as if trying to keep himself half asleep, and make her sleepy too. He slowly skimmed her jeans down her thighs, lightly caressing as he went.

Mary cocked her eyebrow and snarked, "Comfortable? So that's what you're doing? Seems more like you're trying to start something, Mann."

Marshall looked in her eyes. He had a silly grin on his moonlit face. "Good to know." He filed away that Mary tidbit for another time.

Mary put a hand on his shoulder and stepped out of her jeans. Her boots lay on the floor where she had dropped them. He took her hand, and tugged her toward the king sized bed they had been sharing. He lightly pushed on her shoulder, and she sat. Marshall pulled her against him then pulled them both down to the lumpy mattress. He grabbed the funky quilted bed cover and pulled it over them.

Mary settled, a few inches away from him. He wanted to hold her, but knew now was not a good time. He felt her hand at her side, between them. He folded his own hand over hers. She turned her hand to clasp his and gave it a brief squeeze. Marshall released a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. It was all right. They were going to be all right.