Mary had suffered a lot of awkward moments in her eventful life; moments that, if she was honest with herself, shaped her more than she'd like to admit to.

When Mary was five, she started school with just a copybook and a pencil. Jinx had saved for three months to put enough by for her uniform and books, but her father had found her stash and had blown it on a hot tip at the track. The next week, her father's luck changed and Mary got her books and uniform, but she still remembered the increasingly thin lies she'd had to tell her teachers, and the pity on their eyes.

But that still didn't quite prepare her for that fateful day when, just before her seventh birthday, she watched her father being arrested on the evening news. Since then, life had seemed to be full of awkward disappointments; the kind that are almost inevitable when you're the daughter of an alcoholic, and degenerate gambler on the run from the law.

Mary realised that this was going to be another one of those days.

"Before you ask, I don't know where he is," Lauren said.

"I don't believe you," Mary said flatly. "You lied to my mother, my sister, and to me. You've already proved you can't be trusted and, so far, you haven't done anything to change my opinion."

Lauren took a deep breath. "Okay, I deserve that," she admitted. "But you have to understand my life has been a pretty strange place, the last few months. I went from thinking my Dad was this nice, normal guy, to finding out he is a recovered gambling addict, who used to rob banks for a living - and that's not even bringing up the fact that I've disovered I have two older sisters that I never knew about, and that Dad forgot to divorce your Mom before he married mine."

"And that's it? You're just going to play the injured party?" Mary gave her a disgusted look. "Let me guess, the bug just happened to slip out of your bag and into my house."

Lauren moved uncomfortably in her seat. "Yeah, not one of my finest moments, but you know how convincing Dad can be when he wants to be."

"Not so much, actually," Mary lied. "It's been a while since dear old Dad and I hung out – are you clean now, or is he listening in to this conversation, too? "

"He doesn't even know I'm here," she admitted. "In fact, I haven't seen him since I was here the last time."

Alarm bells went off in Mary's mind. "This was never about coming to see how I was, was it?" she asked, intuitively, as she saw the indecision in Lauren's eyes. "You're looking for something."

"It's a bit of both," Lauren admitted. "I...I...think Dad may be in trouble and you were the only person I knew who might be able to help him – who'd want to help him."

"Lauren, here's a newsflash, Dad's still a wanted felon. Even if was willing to go look for him, I'd still have to turn him in if I found him," Mary said.

Lauren blinked. "Oh my God, I thought you knew," she said. "You know, with you being a marshal and all..."

"Knew what?" Mary asked, not sure that she really wanted to know the answer.

"Dad is in witness protection, he has been for the last thirty years. He got a totally clean slate; new name, new start—"

"New family," Mary finished for her. "I know the drill – shit, how did I not see this coming?" She grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table, wishing it were a scotch.

"The thing is, Dad disappeared about three months ago, and all he left behind was that letter for Jinx, and the listening device, along with your address and three lines: I need to know if they're okay, too. Put it in the house. See you soon - love Dad She took a deep breath. "Five days later, two marshals turned up at the door. They'd found Dad's car and it was a burned out shell – that's when I found out Dad was in witness protection, and that my real name was Shannon."

Mary's mind reeled, her mind going through all the possibilities. "We need Marshall," she decided. "He's better at cutting through all the bureaucratic bullcrap than I am."

"I don't think he likes me very much," Lauren said.

Mary smirked. "He's my partner," she said. "That's kind of his job."

It hadn't taken Marshall too long to find the guest house the hitman was holed up in. In fact, it had all seemed a little too easy.

Marshall sighed silently, as he looked around the guest room. It was immaculately kept, and a quick search of his clothes revealed crisply folded jeans and tightly rolled socks. It appeared some habits died hard. He heard the tremulous cough from the landing, and he turned to look at the door, which was still ajar. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Brian isn't in too much trouble, is he?" the landlady, Mrs Edgar, asked. "It's just that he seemed such a nice young man."

"I'm afraid we have to follow every lead, ma'am," he said, not having the heart to tell her that the name he gave her, Brian Philips, was most likely fake. His eyes flickered around the room, and fell on the router on the small desk. "Does he usually take his laptop with him?"

"Laptop?" the woman echoed "I don't think I've ever seen him with one."

"I see," Marshall looked around the room. He had already checked the wardrobe, the desk and the drawers, which only left one place...

He bent down, and looked under the bed. An old fashioned looking suitcase was pushed under it. Carefully, Marshall checked for obvious signs of tampering, and then slid it out slowly from under the bed. He pressed the release button on the clasp, and the lid popped open. Inside was one of those mini-laptops that seemed to be everywhere nowadays, and the power light was on. Marshall took out a pen, and carefully lifted the lid - a clock was ticking down on the screen.

"Uh, ma'am," Marshall said hoarsely. "Are we the only people in the building?"

"Of course, I don't allow my guests to occupy the rooms until two. It gives me time to clean--"

But Marshall already had her by the elbow, and was ushering her towards the door. According to the clock, they had about ninety seconds - it was timed a little too perfectly. There was something he was missing. He ushered the landlady down the drive, and eyed the properties to either side. They were a good distance. He took out his phone and called Stan.

"I think we may have a probl--"

BOOM!

The windows blasted out, in a shower of glass, And Marshall automatically covered the woman.

"Marshall? Marshall/ are you still there?" Stan's voice was shouting down the phone, and Marshall winced as he slowly stood.

"Stan, I'm fine," he said, as he helped Mrs Edgars to her feet. "But we're going to need a fire brigade, and an ambulance...and a CSI team."

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Mrs Edgar said, as she stared at the blaze erupting from the second floor of her home.

"It was a bomb?" Stan asked.

"It had a timer and went boom," Marshall drawled. "I think it's a fair conclusion." He eyed the street for anything unusual. Nothing stood out, but he didn't really expect it to. Whoever this guy was, he was a pro.

"Damn it!" Stan muttered, "It's official. We have a leak."

"I'm guessing it's from outside the Marshall's office," Marshall agreed. "Or else he wouldn't be wasting his time trying to flush me out. The Butlers would already be dead."

"You realise he's probably watching you right now?"

"The thought has occurred to me." He said evenly. "But seeing as I can't exactly do anything about that, I'm just going to stand here and act natural until the cops turn up."

"I'll get a marshal in from LA to cover you—"

Marshall pulled a face. "I'd rather you didn't," he said.

"Tough," Stan said. "If you'd agreed to work with someone while Mary was out of commission—"

"Aha, aha, ha," Marshall said. That's funny, Stan, that really is - because Mary isn't pissed enough at the moment."

"Marshall, you can't always tiptoe—"

"I'm guessing that I'm off the Butler case until this guy is caught, right?" Marshall interrupted.

A sigh came down the phone. "Yeah," he admitted.

" I'll just go pay Mary a visit, then," Marshall said. "If that's okay with you?"

Another sigh. "Knock yourself out," Stan said. "Just try not to blow up the hospital."

"So, let me get this straight," Mary said slowly. "One day everything was sunshine and roses, and the next he just disappeared?"

Lauren nodded. "Pretty much, yeah."

"And the marshal's that came to your door didn't have any leads?"

"No. Nothing."

"Right, I'll need their names. Maybe I can—"

There was a soft tap on the door, and Mary looked up as Bobby's popped head in. "Special delivery." he said, holding up a carry all. Mary recognised it as one of her own.

"At last," she said, "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've left the house unarmed?"

"Grade school?" Bobby teased.

"Oh, you're a real comedian," Mary grumped, snatching the bag from him. "Ooooh, chocolate!" She wrinkled her nose at the other item in the bag. "And a pager." She snorted. "As if I was going to give Brandi her phone back anytime soon."

Bobby shook his head in bemusement. "You know you're not quite right in the head, don't you?"

"It this going to be another one of those backhanded compliments," she asked.

"Not when you're wearing that nightie, it isn't," he said.

Mary looked down at the flannel nightshirt she was wearing. It had been a present from Marshall and had penguins on it. She shrugged, "I have chocolate and ammunition," she stated, as she began to load her gun. "Nothing is going to get me down." There was tap on the door, and Mary groaned. "If this is one of those karmic moments, I am so gonna be pissed," she said. The door slowly opened, and Mary rolled her eyes.

"Oh, for crying out loud, just come in, already, Mike," she said, impatiently, as her phone began to ring. A quick glance at the screen told her it was Marshall. "I don't know what Dershowitz told you, but I not that scary—"

Her eyes flicked up, and it took her a moment to process the fact that Mike had a gun to his head; her eyes automatically went to her gun on the bed, but she already knew she'd be dead before she reached for it. Bobby was already raising his hands in his air, as was Lauren, but there was no way in hell Mary was going to risk pulling her stitches just to oblige this guy. The cell phone rang out, and she calculated how long it would take for Marshall to get to the hospital. Twenty, twenty five minutes, tops.

"This isn't very bright of you, you realise," she said, aloud. "You're holding a gun on two cops and a federal agent; they'll never stop hunting you now."

"I notice that you didn't ask me who I was," the hitman said.

"I don't need to know who you are, just what," she said. "And, I've got to say that this is pretty sloppy work."

"As long as it gets the job done," he said. "You." His eyes fell on Dershowitz,. "Put your piece on the bed, beside the marshal's gun – slowly." He paused. "And the piece on your ankle too."

"I don't understand," Lauren said. "What's going on here?"

"A bad day at the office," Mary muttered, as Brandi's cell phone began to ring again. The hitman grinned.

"He's pretty insistent, isn't he?" he asked. "You'd better answer."

"Nah, it's probably nothing," Mary said. "He probably forgot where he left his doughnuts again. I'll call him back later."

His face went cold. "Answer it," he said, as he pushed his gun into Mike's temple. "Or I'll blow this rookie's head off."

Mary reluctantly picked up the phone, and answered. "Hey, Marshall," she said.

"Shit," he said, at once. "He right there with you, isn't he?"

"Yup," she said.

"I should have seen this coming. Hang tight, I'm on my way."

"Marshall, don't do anything stupid—" But it was too late, he'd already hung up.

The hitman smiled once more. "Let's make ourselves comfortable while we wait, eh?" he said, as he snatched the guns from the bedcovers, and pushed Mike over to Bobby's side.

Lauren whimpered quietly, but Mary couldn't allow herself be distracted by that. In less than twenty minutes, Marshall was going to come through that door and, knowing him, he'd do anything to make sure she got out of this room alive.

Even if it ended up killing him.