Jack couldn't help but smirk. It was something he would've said. And there was a fleeting thought that in another life they might've been friends as he cupped the guy's chin hard and lifted it for easy access to his jugular. "Good as any I guess...I'll make it quick."

"Wait!"

Jack looked up as Sam stumbled through the doorway, looking pale and unsteady as she hung onto the door jamb.

The guy was forgotten as he stood and took the long strides to get to her, wrapping an arm around her waist for support. "You okay?"

She nodded and winced, patting his arm to let him know she had regained her balance. "We need to find out what he knows."

The guy coughed a laugh. "You might as well kill me. I'm not telling you shit."

Jack ignored him as he looked her over, searching for injuries. A small cut near her hairline was the only thing he could see. He brushed the hair away from it gingerly before palming her cheek and meeting her eyes. "You sure you're okay?"

She nodded, his hard look making her stomach clench. That's when she spotted the blood seeping through the left sleeve of his shirt. "Your arm." He caught her wrist as she reached for it and shook his head.

"It's nothing." He muttered before turning his attention back to the guy. Spotting a chair that had been abandoned on its side against the wall, Jack grabbed it and dragged it over. He tucked the knife into the back of his waistband before pulling the guy up and hefting him on the chair. Sam came up from behind with some old browned binding twine she had found near the workbench on the other side of the room and tied him to it as Jack yanked off the mask.

He had been right about the guy being young. Jack put him in his mid-twenties with dark hair and sharp features. His bloody lips were in a hard line and his rugged jaw was clenched showing his anger, but it was the look in his eyes that revealed the underlying fear of his impending death.

"We really don't have time for this." Jack grumbled as the guy coughed and turned his head, spitting a mouthful of blood on the ground by his feet.

Jack stood in front of him as he pulled the knife from his waistband and hefted it, feeling the balanced weight before spinning the hilt on his palm and twirling it effortlessly through his fingers. "Green beret?"

The guy shook his head and chuckled wryly. "Ranger. You?"

"Delta."

The guy nodded knowingly and managed a shaky smirk. "That explains it. On the other hand, if I hadn't been shot, it might've gone another way."

When Jack didn't answer, the guy thought better of it with a shrug, "Or maybe not."

Shot? Sam looked at Jack, realizing she didn't see his gun on his waistband or anywhere else. "Jack, where's your gun?"

He glanced at her curiously and waved the point of the knife over his shoulder towards the office. "Should still be next to the window."

She shook her head in confusion, "Then who…"

The guy interrupted her, barking out a wet chuckle, "Hey Harry."

Jack and Sam spun to find Harry with his gun trained on them as he stepped in from the office door.

Sam reached for hers in her waistband, but Harry aimed at Jack. "Ah! Now come on Major...don't make me shoot both of you." He motioned his gun down, "Go on, put the gun and the knife on the ground and slide 'em over."

Jack snarled, "Harry, what the fuck is going on?"

"Yeah Harry, tell them what's going on." The guy followed with a rough cough that came out like a spasm, as a stream of bloody phlegm dribbled down his face.

Jack was no doctor, but if what ailed the guy was a Jeopardy question, his answer would be, "What is internal bleeding."

Harry barked back angrily, "Shut up Cruz." He motioned to them again, "Come on, drop 'em, I'm not kidding."

"Harry, I swear to God, if you set us up…"

"Just do it Jack, and I'll explain everything."

Jack met Sam's eyes knowing they didn't have much of a choice. A reluctant nod between them, and they were both putting their weapons on the ground in front of them.

"Easy now." Harry warned as they used their feet to shove them his way.

Jack glared at him and folded his arms over his chest. "Alright, now talk."

Harry exhaled and paused, looking like he was trying to work the words around in his head. As if he had gone over it a hundred times and was trying to remember which way had sounded the best. Finally, he spoke.

"I lied about having a contact. The NID has known about Knight for years," he shrugged, "but we had an understanding. He would help us launder money for funding off-world operations and we would look the other way on his other illegal activities. I went to him as a private contractor a couple of years ago, worked a few jobs under the radar for him here and there for some quick cash." He cleared his throat uncomfortably, "So, when I found out there was a rumor of an undercover cop infiltrating his operation, I provided the info for a good sum."

"You what?!" Sam eyes flared as she stepped forward. Harry took a reflexive step back as Jack grabbed her arms from behind, pulling her to him.

Jack seethed. "Harry, you rat-bastard sonovabitch! Giving up undercover cops? That's a new low, even for you."

Harry put up his other hand like he was taking a pledge. "I swear I didn't know it was Shanahan at the time. I didn't even give Knight a name. Figured there was a good chance with all of the people under him that he wouldn't be able to figure it out. Honest."

He sighed and shook his head, "But when I got the message from you and realized it was connected, it was already too late, and Pete was gone."

Sam sneered, "That's why you were being so Goddamn helpful. Because you felt guilty?"

Harry shrugged, "What else could I do? I couldn't bring him back, so I tried to at least get you two set up somewhere safe. At least give you guys a fighting chance."

"I hope to hell you're not waiting for some kind of thanks Harry." He pointed at him accusingly, "This is a fire you started. Pete's blood is on your hands."

Harry nodded slowly, "I know…I know Jack. And if I knew how to get us out of this, I would."

"Us!?" Sam raged, her face turning red. "It's our lives that have been destroyed here!"

Harry winced as he shifted his arm, "Well, you'll be happy to know that you're not the only ones with targets on your backs now." He glared and lifted his head towards Cruz, "I'm guessing when he saw me with Daniel, he put two and two together and told Knight. Now there's a price on my head too. Ain't that right Cruz?"

Cruz managed a smile, his voice straining. "Oh, Knight was not happy Harry. Not happy at all. To be honest, I'm surprised you made it."

"I was wondering why you shot at him first instead of us." Jack muttered.

Cruz shrugged, "He was facing me and could pinpoint my location quicker. Purely strategic. And if I hadn't needed to stitch up my thigh, I would've bagged all three of you right then and there." He smirked at Sam and lifted his head, "Nice shot by the way."

Harry sneered, "So, dead or alive then?"

Cruz shrugged, "For you and him it's either way. As for the princess here, there's extra incentive to keep her alive. Knight would like to have a little fun with her first...a little payback for her cop not being able to keep his dick in his pants."

"What?" Sam shook her head. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jack's blood ran cold as he turned towards Cruz.

Harry sighed, "Jack, you didn't tell her?"

Cruz barked out a laugh, "Wait, she doesn't know? She doesn't know that he was fucking Knight's wife?"

"What?...Jack?"

He could hear the pain in her voice behind him, but it was the hint of betrayal accompanying it that gripped his heart like a vise. Like a coward he acted like he hadn't heard her; instead focusing his wrath on the mouth that revealed the secret he had failed to divulge. Pointing at Cruz, he took a step toward him, "Shut up or I'll..."

"Or what? Or you'll kill me?" His weak laugh was short lived; looking defeated as he shook his head slowly. "It doesn't matter. I had until eleven to contact him and let him know I had you. I missed my deadline, which means your contracts now go from closed to open."

Sam could barely think straight as she looked down, struggling to make sense of anything. "Open?"

His breathing was labored as he explained. "You're on the market princess, to whoever wants it. There's a tracker on my car. As soon as the deadline ended, my last known position was forwarded." He gurgled a laugh, "They're already on the way, homing in as we speak. It's just a matter of..."

Jack saw movement out of the corner of his eye and spun, wrapping Sam in his arms and turning his back to Harry as the two shots rang out.

When silence followed, they glanced up to see Cruz with two holes in his chest and watched as his eyes closed and his head lolled forward. They turned to face Harry and saw his clenched jaw shift back and forth, "He already knew too much, and he was driving me nuts with that incessant talking."

Jack opened his mouth angrily and Harry raised his hand to cut him off.

"Jack, I can't blame you for being pissed off, but what's done is done. Your stuff is outside and I'm taking the car. I suggest you two use the time you have to catch your train instead of coming after me."

He walked backwards towards the door to the office slowly and shrugged, "You know, for what it's worth, I'm sorry." Not waiting for a response, he turned and slipped away.

Jack looked at Sam while she looked down between them, gripping his shirt in her hands and shaking her head to fight the tears.

He felt sick. "Sam, I was going to tell you…"

She avoided his eyes and cut him off angrily. "We don't have time for this…"

Pulling out of his arms and swiping at her face with the back of her hand, she walked to Cruz and started digging through his pockets. The second pocket she checked held the car keys she was looking for.

Jack left the guy's rifle across the room and picked their weapons up off of the floor, handing the gun back to Sam as she passed by. She took it without a word, stuffing into the back of her waistband as they headed for the office. Jack collected his gun from the ground before climbing through the window after her and sure enough, their bags were sitting on the ground. They watched as the bumper of Harry's rental disappeared behind the far corner of the building and hurried to Cruz's car.

They realized quickly that it didn't matter if the car was tracked or not. They had twenty minutes to get to the station and no other options. She got into the driver's seat and as soon as Jack threw the bags in the back seat and got in, she hit the gas.

Jack held onto the handle above the door tight as she raced through the town before taking another turn on two wheels; wondering in the back of his mind if there was alternate reality out there where she was a Nascar driver and he was part of her pit crew.

When she skidded to a stop in a tow away zone in front of the station, he risked a glance at her. "We need to get rid of the guns."

Stone-faced, she took hers out of her waistband and handed it to him. He wiped them down with the bottom of his shirt before breaking them both down quickly. After stuffing the full magazines down behind him in the crevice of his seat, he put the parts of the guns into one of the plastic shopping bags from the back seat and rolled it up. Opening the trunk, he lifted up the cover that hid the spare tire and used the knife to cut into the rubber. Then stuck the bag inside the slit he created and flipped the tire over to hide the damage, before putting the cover back down and shutting the trunk lid.

Assuming it was a rental, no one would discover the guns until they needed the spare, and there was a damn good chance there would be a multitude of renters covering every surface they'd touched with their prints by the time that happened. Not that it mattered much, his blood was all over that plant. There would be yet another dead body the police would be tacking onto his impending rap sheet.

Sam handed him one of the new t-shirts she had bought for him and when he pulled off his polo, he noticed the gash on his left bicep had stopped bleeding. It could've used some stitches, and would probably leave another scar, but right then he was just glad it had clotted on its own as he tugged on the black Harley Davidson t-shirt.

Sam had their passports and IDs in hand as she draped the backpack over her shoulder and started walking. Jack wrapped the knife in the bloody polo and grabbed the duffel. Without breaking stride, he deposited the shirt in the trashcan by the automatic sliding doors and followed her inside.

Even with the short security line, they barely got onto the train in time and were still finding their way to the sleeper car as it jolted into motion, the annoying squawking of the conductor over the speakers barely discernable.

She led the way as he followed silently, wondering what he could say or do to make things right.

He should've told her. And at first he was going to, as soon as they were alone. But then he convinced himself that what Harry had said in the car made sense. Why tell her something that would hurt her until he knew for sure? And even though there had been some logic behind it, it was still a cop-out. He really just wanted to avoid the discussion altogether and couldn't blame her for being pissed at him.

As they walked through the cars, he let his eyes wander up her back, noticing the lingering dirt marks from the floor of the plant. He spotted a sliver of glass near one of the marks, reminding him of how the window frame had exploded next to her face and the utter terror he had felt when she flailed backwards into harm's way. Once again, he had been close to losing her.

He tried his best to tamp down the nagging panic building as his eyes landed on her neck. It was ramrod straight and visibly tense, and when he looked at the slope where he had claimed her with his teeth the night before, the faint red marks called out to him like a lighthouse beacon.

His panic was replaced by a wave of arousal and the next thing he knew, flashes of the previous night flooded his senses. Her warm, wet walls pulsing rhythmically around his fingers as he drove them into her…rolling her from one orgasm into the next until she cried out and came apart in his arms. Thrusting into her hard and fast as she gasped his name over and over again.

Just thinking about it made his whole-body tingle with need and he did his best to will it away, risking a quick adjustment to ease the pressure of his growing hard-on as he averted his gaze above her head.

Jesus. He had some serious issues.

When she opened the door to their room, he was pleasantly surprised. He'd never been in a private room on a train before and noticed the bunk bed situation immediately. Although comically small, they even had their own toilet and shower practically stacked on top of each other.

He was hyper aware of her simmering anger as she walked to the small chairs by the window facing each other and set down the book bag.

"Sam."

His voice sounded small and he cleared his throat.

He dropped the duffel against the wall and stepped to her as she turned around, his big frame blocking her path, forcing her to decide whether to push him away or stop. She stopped, looking at his chest as she spoke. "When did you know?"

"Harry told me at the rest stop yesterday. Said it had been implied but he didn't know for sure…"

"And you said nothing...again." She finished tersely.

His chest tightened. Shit.

"I…I wanted to wait until we were alone…"

His voice faded because that's where he knew that she had him dead to rights. Because if that was his reasoning, as soon as they were in the room, he should've told her. Right then.

"But when we were alone, you fucked me instead…"

He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. There's no excuse."

"Finally, something we agree on." She shook her head and pushed passed him, "I need some space…don't follow me." Then she was out the door before he could think of something to say to change her mind.

It had been three hours since she had walked out of the room, and it was driving him crazy. He had tried to distract himself, managing a shower in the tight space and changing into a fresh pair of boxers and jeans that didn't have old faded blood stains on them. Then he put the Harley shirt back on and sat down to wait.

He knew it was her way of dishing out punishment, by denying him the one thing he wanted and needed most. Her. But as another hour passed, he couldn't stand it any longer. And as he walked out to track her down, he told himself that once he laid eyes on her and made sure she was okay, he would come back to the room to serve out the remainder of his sentence.

After traipsing through the club car and the dining car, he finally found her in the lounge car, drinking at the small bar in front of the busy room, sitting with her back to him. His mind screamed at him to leave, but when he heard her laugh at something the guy next to her said, he froze. The guy was younger…mid-thirties, dirty blond hair and blue eyes. Wearing a suit and tie, he was clean cut and teemed with confidence as he openly flirted with her. He watched as the guy leaned in as she spoke, turning his chair and brushing his knee against hers as he smiled. It was something he used to do to her in the briefing room to make her blush.

He cringed; the jealousy was instantaneous.

There was punishment and there was torture. This was torture.