FIC: Still Life (In Plain Sight) rated R Part One
See master post for details
ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO
Mary Shannon sighed and laid back on the plastic cushions of her pool-side lounger, doing pretty much fuck-all and loving every second of it.
It was somewhere past eleven at night, and everything was calm. She hadn’t bothered to turn on the backyard lights and the house was dark too, because the moon already shed enough light on her backyard to see where she was going without being obnoxious about it. It was warm enough to wear just her tank top and shorts, and Mary was content with a nice cold beer in her hand. The baby monitor and her phone were on the table next to her; both were quiet and she actually thought they might stay that way. Norah was now sleeping through the night, and all her current witnesses were between one crisis and the next. (What was the word for more than one crisis, anyway? Marshall would know.)
Brandi and Jinx were at a week-long retreat at some New Age spa about getting in touch with your inner self - and if anyone needed that, it was Jinx and Squish. Having said that, Squish seemed to be regaining the calmer, more grown-up centre that she’d found during her relationship with Peter, and Jinx would be celebrating three years sober in a few months.
Somehow, for the first time ever Mary Shannon had managed to stumble into the fucking trifecta of win-at-life; her work was going smoothly - not a single witness had been shot at or otherwise endangered for over a month - her family seemed to be actually taking care of themselves for once...
Then there was Marshall.
Her eyes closed, Mary took a sip of beer and let a stupid smile curve her lips. She found herself doing that a lot when she thought about Marshall these days.
Even Mary knew that she owed Abigail Chaffee a lifetime supply of pie for being the first one to figure things out, and simply ending her engagement to Marshall instead of pulling some kind of soap opera stunt. The detective had walked away with her head held high and dignity intact - not to mention the house, shared custody of Oscar, and the non-refundable plane tickets to Hawaii. (Abby was going with her sister instead, and had promised to bring back a tacky hula-girl dashboard doll for Mary.)
But when the smoke cleared, Mary had finally yanked her head out of her ass and Marshall had scraped up the nerve to give her one more chance.
So now Marshall was in her bed every night and her kitchen every morning, and even though he deserved so much more and could do so much better, he wasn’t going anywhere - and for the first time in her life, she really, truly, believed a man when he said that. Because he was Marshall, and her partner and best friend and now lover didn’t say things like that unless he meant it, and he’d stuck around and put up with enough of her bullshit that he’d already proven that.
She was so full of this weird-ass, Zen-like happiness, she couldn’t even get paranoid about waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Mary put the beer bottle on the table, next to the phone and monitor, and heaved herself off the lounger. Even with the calm night, the peace of the world, and a beer, she was still buzzing too hard to settle into sleep, and right now her best bet for working it off was a swim.
Normally, she and Marshall would be cuddling in bed while they geared up for round two (or even three, if they’d had a slow day), but goddamn Stan had sent him off on a witness transport with Delia. She hated it when Marshall went off without her - just the thought of him getting into trouble without her having his back made her skin crawl - but they were still working out the new edges of their work lives. Technically speaking, the USMS had no rules against fraternization outside direct chain of command, but it was still considered a massively stupid idea. Unless she and Marshall got hitched or something, their out of the office relationship needed to stay in Albuquerque - at least until they could prove that they could still work together effectively. At this point, she and Marshall couldn’t so much as bump against each other in the kitchen without broadcasting love struck vibes.
Delia thought it was ‘so sweet’. Mary had to swallow the urge to gag every time she said that. But at least it kept her fantasies about nailing Marshall on the break room couch under control, so she didn’t traumatize Stan (well, anymore than she had already).
As Mary undressed, casually piling her clothes on the lounger, she couldn’t help but muse on how weird that was, that being married to Marshall actually sounded like something she wanted to do one day. Maybe a day not too far off, either.
When she was down to nothing but skin, Mary walked down the steps of the pool and smoothly launched herself forward into the water, propelling herself along with languorous strokes until she reached the far end, rolling into a somersault to push herself off the wall with her feet and send herself back again.
Mary didn’t know how long it took for her to wear out the day’s energy, but eventually she found herself floating on her back, looking up at the moon with her mind blissfully blank, even while she kept listening for noises from the poolside table. Somewhere along the way, she must have registered the sliding of the glass door, because Marshall’s voice didn’t startle her at all. Or maybe she’d just learned to sense his aura or something.
“You’ll give Mr Henderson next door a heart attack, he sees you like this,” came her partner’s quiet chuckle.
Mary rolled out of her starfish-position float, and lazily trod water as she faced him. “Nah, between the fence and how dark it is out here, he can’t see squat. I thought you weren’t getting home until lunchtime tomorrow?”
Marshall shrugged, before bending to take off his trademark cowboy boots. “Delia’s taking our scheduled flight tomorrow, but I managed to get a last-minute cancellation.” Straightening, he gave her a gentle, loving smile, that lit up his tired face. “I didn’t want to stay away from my two favorite girls a minute longer than I had to.”
He’d left his jacket inside, presumably when he’d put away his weapon and shoulder-holster in the kitchen gun safe, and Mary hummed in contentment as she watched him shed his remaining clothing. He wasn’t stripping for her - Marshall was far too self-effacing for that - but at the same time he was completely unselfconscious about taking his clothes off in front of her. Their romantic and sexual relationship was still new, but their nine-year partnership had given them the comfort levels of a long-time couple. He wasn’t undressing hastily, because they finally had all the time in the world, but he was undressing efficiently, because they’d already wasted so much of it.
Mary smiled in appreciation and a little arousal, as all of his long, lean body was bared to her gaze, and stretched out her hands toward him as he slipped into the pool and moved through the water. He landed directly into her arms, and her body automatically adjusted itself to fit against his, her arms around his shoulders and her breasts slightly flattened against his hard chest.
“Hi,” Mary murmured, giving him a quick, light smooch.
“Hello,” Marshall murmured, in the low rumble that always made her hormones stir. Hell, after nine years of heartbreak and unconscious foreplay, watching him breathe pretty much made her hormones stir up, but this gravelly, sexy-as-hell tone of voice, only recently discovered, revved her up to the red line.
“Welcome home,” Mary purred, before she kissed him intrusively.
Marshall moaned into her mouth, his hands tightening on her hips. Her legs tangled with his, and their bodies dipped dangerously low in the water, before they broke the kiss, laughing quietly.
“Poolside, now,” Mary demanded breathlessly.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Mary wrapped her legs around his hips as they moved to the shallow end; Marshall was so tall he could touch the bottom after just a few feet. Besides, this way she could feel one of her favorite parts of him up close and personal, only this part was long and deliciously thick.
As Marshall slid his arms beneath her backside, and started up the steps, Mary dropped her head down and sideways to plant a trail of tiny kisses up and down his throat. Marshall’s breath hitched, and she could feel him twitch against her belly. She gave him a light nip with her teeth, and Marshall all but stumbled out of the pool.
“Mary,” he groaned in warning, as he moved to the empty lounger.
The plastic frame squeaked and rocked against the concrete as he half-lowered, half-dropped her onto the lounger, immediately sliding his body over hers. With her legs still wrapped around him, all it took was a slight shift of his hips to get into the right position, and Marshall filled her in a slow, steady push that made sparks dance along her whole nervous system.
He kept up his unhurried, measured pace, moving inside her like he’d be perfectly happy doing nothing else for the rest of forever and fully capable of doing just that. Mary moved beneath him in perfect sync, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust; their years of physical training together had long ago taught their bodies how the other’s moved. She scored his back with her nails, marking her territory, and Marshall let out a near-inaudible growl as his thrusts started to gain force and speed. They kissed again and again, their lips never parting for longer than a breath, as the plastic frame creaked and groaned in harmony with their lovemaking.
Mary arched and moaned, as the orgasm swept through her. Marshall kept sliding in and out, riding out her climax though his whole body was shaking with need.
Mary ran her hands down his back, and he groaned in her ear, “Mary, please.”
She knew what he needed; the words that always sent him over the edge.
“Marshall, I love you.”
Marshall’s hips snapped forward, plunging deep into her body as he could, and he buried his face in her hair as he spilled inside her.
As he came down from his high, his whole body shuddering with aftershocks, Marshall slipped out of her with a groan and his body slid down hers, letting his head rest on her shoulder and upper chest. Mary absently started to stroke his hair, her nails gently scratching his scalp, and Marshall sighed as his body cuddled into hers.
“S’good to be home,” he mumbled.
Mary smiled in agreement, even knowing that he couldn’t see it. She was starting to feel Marshall’s weight bearing down on her hips and where her legs joined her body, and she was about to suggest they haul their asses inside when the phone rang.
“Shit,” Mary grumbled, as she lifted her other arm from Marshall’s shoulder to reach towards the table and pick up the phone. “It’s Stan.”
“What is it, Stan? And why couldn’t it wait until I came in tomorrow?” Mary would have snarled, but she was still too full of afterglow.
“Plans have changed, and you’ll need an earlier start tomorrow. Remember that LA to Houston transfer? They needed to overnight here?”
“Thought the LA Marshals were taking care of that?”
Stan sighed mightily down the phone line. “Well, one of them ignored my warnings and decided to eat at All Thai’d Up, and-”
“Fuck. Let me guess, he’s puking up his toenails as we speak?”
“Pretty much. He can totter along to Houston, but his partner’s requested another marshal from us for backup. Delia and Marshall aren’t due back from Detroit until tomorrow-“
“Actually, Marshall’s right here,” Mary replied, her voice catching slightly as Marshall bent his head just enough to press a gentle kiss on the upper slope of her breast.
“Mary, what have I told you about the TMI?” Stan grumbled.
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Didn’t have to. Your tone of voice was saying it all for you, and I’m not sure I’m old enough to hear it,” Stan retorted.
Mary snickered.
“Anyway, Marshall’s still going to need a day or so downtime to catch up with witnesses and paperwork, so you’re up. Meet Takahashi and Iannos at the Desert Bloom motel, room 6, seven-thirty AM tomorrow. There’s something else, too. Remember Jamie Martinez?”
Mary thought for a moment. “He was one of mine about... eighteen months ago? Testified against the Crazy Eights biker gang. He got caught on a news report without realizing, and got shifted to Texas a couple of weeks before Norah was born, right?”
“Right. Well, Crazy Horse Johnson’s up on appeal, and it’s looking shaky, thanks to some dumbass in the LAPD evidence locker. While you’re down there, touch base with the Houston office and let them know they may need to keep a closer eye on him for awhile, and might need to move him in a hurry. You got along pretty well with him, as I remember, so if he hasn’t heard the bad news yet, getting it from you might keep him from spooking.”
Mary let out a put-upon sigh. “Alright, fine. Seven-thirty AM, Desert Bloom number 6. Got it.”
She ended the call without bothering to sign off, and dropped the phone back on the table.
Marshall clambered off her with a groan and stood up, offering her his hands. She took them and he pulled her up, just hard enough that she half-fell forward into his arms. They hugged for a few seconds, before Marshall picked up the baby monitor and Mary grabbed the phone she’d just dropped, and they made their way back into the house, their free arms still around each other. Mary didn’t give a shit about her clothes; all she wanted was Marshall wrapped around her in their bed, and given that he dropped a kiss on the top of her head instead of saying anything about morning dew damage on fabric, she was fairly sure he felt the same way.
CORPUS CHRISTI, TEXAS
Mary sighed as she knocked on the door and buzzed the intercom. When she finally managed to ditch the LA marshals, it took half an hour to find out that Martinez had relocated somewhere on the coast, and was now under the aegis of the Corpus Christi office.
How the hell did Corpus Christi get it’s own WITSEC office, anyway? The town was about half the size of Albuquerque. Why hadn’t it been downsized out of existence instead of all the chopping threats to theirs?
Mary frowned. Maybe it was paranoia, but she still thought Alison fucking Pearson had it out for them in Albuquerque.
“Hello?”
Mary leaned forward to the intercom, and held up her ID to the camera-eye. “Mary Shannon from the Albuquerque office. Marshal Rossi from Houston was supposed to call ahead?”
“Oh, that’s right. Come on through.”
Entering the main office, Mary found a half-dozen desks, all of them empty, except for the one in the far corner. A blonde woman, maybe a few years younger than her, stood up from behind the desk and offered her hand.
“Marshal Shannon? Hi, I’m Claire Fawkes, the office manager. Sorry about the lack of people; we’ve only got four Marshals here - one left on vacation yesterday, and the others are all on secondment to the DEA for a set of co-ordinated raids up and down the coast. How can I help you?”
“Hi. One of my former witnesses was relocated down here awhile back. One of the major players he testified against is up on appeal, and he might just walk. I wanted to give you guys a heads-up.”
Claire smiled, and even Mary had to admit it made her look truly lovely. “Thanks, Marshal. What was the witnesses’ name? I’ll check who’s looking after him now.”
“Jamie Martinez. Alias Jamie Wright.”
Claire sat down behind her computer and fiddled with the mouse before punching some keys. “Sorry about this; I only got back from vacation myself yesterday, so I haven’t had a chance to get caught up on the latest movements.”
Normally, Mary would have made a comment about it being nice that everyone in Texas got to take vacations whenever they wanted, but that weird happiness thing was still going on.
“Crap.”
Mary frowned, her blood started to pump. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Claire made a face. “Martinez slash Wright is living in Port Aransas now; it’s about an hour’s drive from here, on Mustang Island. He’s one of Ludlum’s witnesses - the guy who just left on vacation? There’s no note on his file about the appeal, so I can’t tell if Martinez-Wright has been notified or not.”
“I’ll go down and pass on the warning myself, if it’s okay with your supervisor,” Mary offered. “My boss suggested I should go along, anyway; Martinez and I had a good rapport going, and he might take it better coming from me.”
Claire thought for a moment. “They’re supposed to be in briefings all morning; I was asked not to make calls before two, unless it’s an emergency.” She looked at the clock on the wall, and smiled. “I can print you off a map and directions now; if you’d like to grab some lunch, I should have an answer for you by the time you’re done. I can recommend some places to eat nearby, if you’d like.”
TX-286 S
EN ROUTE
Mary growled at the dumbass in the Hummer three cars up, as she put her phone in the hands-free cradle and punched the speed dial.
“McQueen.”
Mary had always wondered if Stan watched seventies cop show reruns to get the right ‘hard-ass cop’ tone to his phone greeting.
“Hey Stan, it’s me.”
“Hello me. I’m me too!” came another voice.
“Hey, Doofus. Just checking in-” Mary broke off to utter a pungent Spanish curse she’d picked up from Raph, and slammed the horn. “Fucking Hummers. The witness formerly known as Jamie Martinez moved out to Port Aransas a few months back, so I had to go to Corpus Christi for the lowdown.”
“Wait, Corpus Christi has a WITSEC office?” Stan interrupted. “How’d that flyspeck on the map get it’s own office?”
“Exactly!” Mary retorted. “Anyway, they’re actually smaller than us, and the only one in the office was their version of Eleanor - nowhere near as bitchy, though. She couldn’t find any records of Martinez being informed, and their Chief hadn’t heard anything either when she called him, so I’m heading out to check on Martinez myself. Claire - that’s the not-Eleanor - got me a sweet ride. 2010 Jeep Cherokee.”
“How’d they get the budget for that?” Stan growled.
“Dunno,” Mary shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve got Martinez’s address, and I should be there in around an hour. Depending on how he takes the news, I may end up commandeering his couch and coming back tomorrow.”
“Alright, check in once you know either way,” Stan told her.
“Yes, Dad,” Mary teased. It didn’t hurt, saying the ‘D’ word. Maybe because she and Marshall had been giving Stan shit about his Papa Bear tendencies for years before James caught that bullet?
“Did you know that Port Aransas is colloquially known as the fishing capital of Texas?” Marshall piped up. “Over twenty fishing competitions are held there every summer.”
Mary rolled her eyes, thankful that even if she was completely in love with Marshall, she hadn’t been sucked deep enough into the gooey swamp of Twu Luv to find his trivia endearing or some shit.
“Bye guys. I’ll call back when I know what’s going down.”
There was a distant noise of a door shutting, and Marshall’s voice turned low and soft.
“I love you, Mare. Please do your best to come home uninjured.”
Mary felt herself go just a little soft all over, and swallowed. “I love you too, Doofus. Watch your ass, okay? No one’s allowed to kick it but me.”
Marshall chuckled, his voice sliding down the scale to low and gravelly. “How about some incentive? If you come home in the same condition you left, we can try out page 83.”
Mary gulped hard and pressed her thighs together. Becoming a couple hadn’t slaked Marshall’s never-ending quest for knowledge; his latest educational reading was the Kama Sutra.
“Marshall-”
“Stay safe, sweetheart.”
The phone cut to static, and Mary let out a ‘arrggh’ of frustration. Fantastic. Now she was inching along in gridlock, and horny with no relief in sight.
Everyone who knew Marshall and her together always thought she was the mean and ferocious one, who snarled and slashed to protect her sweet and goofy partner from the world.
Showed how much they knew.
COWRIE LANE
PORT ARANSAS, TEXAS
Mary pulled the jeep to a stop outside number 12 - which had a wooden sign bearing the cutsie name ‘Seafront Cottage’, though it was in fact three blocks away from the sea and a fully-formed house - and switched off the engine. Casting a searching glance up and down the street and around the yard, everything seemed calm.
There was no answer at the door when she knocked, even after the third loud rapping. Mary tried the door, both annoyed and relieved to find it locked. Annoyed that her progress was blocked even for a few moments, and relieved, both that Martinez hadn’t sunk into this lazy endless summer enough to forget the most basis of security precautions, and because anyone who’d burst into the house to kill or kidnap her (former) witness wouldn’t normally bother to lock up behind them.
Heading down the narrow strip of side garden to the backyard, Mary grinned as she saw the garden gnome pulling a rude face, at the base of the short stairs that led from lawn to back porch. She’d given it to him herself, because everyone and their dog knew how to tell those dumbass hide-a-rocks. Kneeling down beside the gnome, she gently took off his pointy red hat, and pulled out the spare key nestled inside it.
Opening the back door, Mary slipped inside, carefully listening for anything out of place. Only silence greeted her as she cleared the house.
Only silence; there was no whirring from the ceiling fan or humming from the computer in the study. At least the refrigerator was still running, but the milk was dangerously close to it’s sell-by date. Mary holstered her gun, but took a closer look around, with eyes practised from years of looking for traces of missing witnesses, and further back looking for crumbs of a trail of wanted felons.
There wasn’t anything personal in sight; the DVD rack showed empty space at the end, and the only cases left were popular choices still on sale, as if someone had grabbed only the discs that would be hard to replace and shoved the rest back against the left side to hide telltale gaps. The iPod speakers were still there, but no sign of the iPod. She’d bet Norah’s crib that the computer had been set to re-format itself, wiping it clean. A look in the bedroom revealed tidy, but half-empty drawers and closet, bed neatly made but the bedside table was empty, including the drawer.
This house showed all the signs of careful packing, for a hasty, but organized flight. Someone who’d run fast, but run smart. Jamie was bright enough for that, Mary knew. But had he done it, or had someone done it for him? None of the people who wanted him dead were smart enough to cover their tracks like this, but they could have hired someone who was.
The gnome wasn’t the only piece of advice she’d given Jamie.
Heading back to the closet, Mary found the loose corner of the carpet, flipping back the rough, unyielding material to expose the small, square lid in the floor. Biting her lip, Mary rummaged through her mind for Jamie’s date of birth - a different one than on the records they’d made up for him. A little obvious, but going for your safe was normally done in stressful situations and the combination needed to be easy to remember.
She’d hoped for an external backup for his computer, or even a personal diary. Instead, all the safe contained was a couple of thumb drives.
NAUTILUS AVENUE
Mary spied a parking slot just down the street from the police station, and snapped into it with the speed of a lazer beam. Marshall had spent years making remarks about her ‘like you stole it’ driving style; it wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone else who’d spent years in living in Newark and had to find parking on a daily basis.
Eyeing the white-stucco edifice from behind her sunglasses, Mary grimaced. It went against the grain to approach the police for help - even if she was posing as an FTF member doing a favor for Prisoner Transport. Hopefully the Chief of Police wouldn’t know enough about the USMS to understand that only a WITSEC Inspector would be in these circumstances. While the DEA and parts of the FBI tended to be fairly clued in, mostly because they either borrowed marshals for ops or dealt with them directly (like Festering Faber with putting witnesses into protection), it really was amazing how little most of law enforcement in general knew about the Marshal service, let alone WITSEC. Bobby D was the only cop she’d ever met who had a good idea from the start exactly who she and Marshall were and what they did.
But her check-in call to Stan had sent her here; after a quick discussion, it was agreed this was the only real option (unfortunately, Marshall was off on witness visits, and Mary had no chance for some payback on the page 83 comment). The only clue to whatever had happened to Jamie was on those flash drives, and Mary hadn’t brought a laptop with her. Even if it hadn’t been intended as a quick overnight trip, she wasn’t allowed to bring her personal computer along on work journeys, and their office didn’t exactly have the budget to issue work-use laptops. Hell, they could barely afford to get the stuff they had in the office as it was! Given the circumstances, Mary couldn’t risk viewing whatever was on the drives in a public forum, such as an internet cafe or library. The local police was the only remotely secure location in town.
Striding in, Mary approached the front desk, and pulled her jacket aside to discreetly flash her badge, hooked on her belt. “I need to talk to your Chief, soon as he’s available.”
The patrolman behind the desk, a blonde and blue-eyed type who looked like he should be hauling kegs for a frat party, mumbled something vague enough to be in a political speech and spoke directly to her boobs, and Mary scowled in annoyance. Yeah, she had damn good boobs and she liked them being appreciated as much as the next girl, but this was a fucking police station, and a fucking policeman should be treating a fellow law enforcement officer with respect. At the very least, he should be talking to her goddamn face.
“Chancellor!” snapped a voice from across the room.
Patrolman Ken Doll almost levitated, and spun around. “Y-yes, Chief?”
A tall, lean man with short, tousled brown hair and eyes to match, clad in jeans and a button-down, stalked over to the desk. “When a US Marshal, or any other fellow law enforcement comes to visit, you talk to their face, dumbass. Especially when they’re wearing a gun. When they want to see me, your first response is to check my whereabouts and see whether I’m available, not to drool over them in a way that invites a sexual harassment suit. Crocker!”
Another, slightly older patrolman jumped to attention several desks away. “Yes, Sir?”
“Take over here til the end of shift, would you? Chancellor’s going to spending the rest of the week working the pooch park and the drunk tank.”
Ken Doll opened his mouth, then took a good look at the Chief’s face and shut it.
The other man turned to Mary with a polite smile. “Jake Taggart, Chief of Police. Please excuse my staff member’s rudeness, Marshal-?”
“Shepherd. Mary Shepherd. Is it possible for us to speak in your office?”
Taggart swung open the gate that separated the waiting area from the bullpen, and gestured her through gallantly.
Mary grinned and stepped through. Now, this man knew how to look at a woman. Even in the quick head-to-toe appraisal Taggart gave her, he communicated, I know how to appreciate a woman properly, in a respectful manner that indicates I value what’s between your ears, but doesn’t lessen my awareness of you as a smoking hot female.
Damn. All that with one look? Not to mention, after spending several months mapping every inch of Marshall’s body with both her fingertips and tongue, Mary was something of an expert in deceptively lean men; Taggart was built on the same lines as her partner-in-everything, and she was certain that Taggart was similarly ripped beneath his loose shirt. Add in melting chocolate eyes that gleamed with intelligence and sardonic humor, and the handsome-in-a-geek-way face, and she’d bet a six-pack of beer that the good Chief got more ass than a park bench.
It was a good thing she had Marshall now - if she’d met this guy a year ago, he would have been an irresistible distraction that she couldn’t afford.
As the door to his office shut behind her, Mary shook off her slightly lewd musings.
“So, what can the Port Aransas police department do for the US Marshal’s Service?” Taggart asked with a grin, leaning to half-sit on the edge of his desk.
Mary grinned and launched into her slightly-altered cover. “I work Fugitive Apprehension, usually, but I was lent out to Prisoner Transport, and while I was in Houston the local office asked me for a favor. They’ve been keeping an eye on one of your locals, and wanted me to check up on him. Problem is, the house is empty and no sign of where he’s gone to, or whether he ran or was taken.”
Taggart frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Who’s the guy? And why, exactly, have your people been ‘keeping an eye’ on him?”
Mary shrugged one shoulder. “He’s not wanted for anything, if that’s what you mean. There’s no indication that he’s a danger to your townspeople. You learn when not to ask questions in this sort of assignment. But if I had to lay odds? I’d say he’s under some sort of protection; but if you could keep that strictly between us, I’d appreciate it.”
Taggart nodded thoughtfully, and Mary hid a wince. It was a good thing Stan had okayed letting out the fairly blatant ‘hint’ about Jamie’s status; she had the distinct impression that Taggart would be doing some discreet digging anyway, to make sure that Jamie wasn’t going to cause him problems later. Even if Jamie had left on his own, he probably wouldn’t be able to come back here regardless.
“And his name is?”
“Jamie Wright, down on Cowrie Lane. I did a quick walk-through of the place, and the only thing I found was a set of flash drives. I don’t have a secure computer to check them out on; I was hoping I could use one here?”
“I don’t remember Wright coming to my attention at all,” Taggart mused. “I don’t see any problems with your looking at these files on my computer. Under my supervision, naturally,” he added blandly. Something about the set of his face warned Mary that he wasn’t going to budge on the last part.
“It will still be my responsibility to act on any information,” Mary countered. She sure as shit wasn’t budging on that, either.
“Fair enough.”
The computer was already running; Taggart quickly typed in his logon and password and Mary sat down in his desk chair. As she plugged the flash drive into the port at the front of the computer, Taggart grabbed the guest chair in front of the desk and dragged it around so he could sit beside her and look over her shoulder.
Mary frowned. The files were all graphics of some sort.
“May I?” Taggart offered. Reaching over her right arm, he grabbed the mouse and clicked on some things that turned the little icons into relatively easy to see previews of the files.
“Looks like they’re all photos. Is Wright into photography at all?”
“Wouldn’t know,” Mary shrugged.
Jamie had been an architect in his previous life, before a night out with a prospective client who’d wanted to ‘walk on the wild side’ led to him witnessing said prospective client get murdered for hitting on the woman of the leader of one of California’s most notorious biker gangs.
Not being able to work in the same field, Jamie had needed some kind of creative outlet that involved his hands in some way. During his time as her witness, Jamie had taken a lot of art courses at the community college - the same one Marshall had attended for several courses a year until he started dating Abigail and had other things to do with his evenings. Now, of course, Mary and Norah kept him far too busy to go back. Marshall was trying to talk her into signing up for kendo lessons, though, as something they could do together that didn’t involve sex, guns, alcohol, or sci-fi DVD’s.
Then and there, Mary made the snap decision that if Marshall pulled off page 83 well enough, she’d agree to try it. It was the sort of thing two grown-ups in a healthy adult relationship did, right? Besides, whaling on other people with a bamboo sword did sound kind of fun.
In his time in Albuquerque, Jamie had gone through origami (on Marshall’s recommendation), pottery, and sketching - which he’d had to drop, as all his works showed too many hallmarks of his previous profession. Photography wasn’t too much of a stretch.
Taggart had started the photo files running in some kind of slideshow, and Mary asked, “Okay, we’ve got... a beach. Close-up of a starfish on sand, sunset over the water - this one’s a cafe further up the street, right? With the two old guys sitting on the bench outside it? It looks familiar.”
“Yeah,” Taggart told her, “These are all local shots. Actually, I’m pretty sure all of them were taken on or nearby the North Jetty. We’ve got a lot of piers around here, because of the fishing.”
“The fishing capital of Texas. Yeah, I heard,” Mary remarked.
Taggart grinned, and replied, “Well, it does bring in a ton of tourist money, part of which pays my salary, so I’m in no shape to bitch. We have four piers and a jetty for round-the-clock fishing; the North Jetty, on the other hand, isn’t. Mostly it’s only locals that use it-“ he swooped with the mouse and paused the slideshow. “See? Here’s a shot of it in the full daylight.”
Mary examined the photo. Just like the name implied, it was a jetty. Looked fairly worn and well-used, likely to have been around awhile. About three-quarters of the way up, a more recent-looking metal roof arched overhead from one side-railing to the next, covering about six feet long of the jetty flooring and a simple flat wooden bench. The rest of the jetty was completely open.
“Unlike the others, North Jetty doesn’t have any lights, so it’s nearly impossible to see anything out there after dark. The others are all better-maintained and have lots of good places to eat nearby, and stores for a quick snack or to get any fishing gear you might forget - or stores to keep the kids and missus happy so they’ll let you fish in peace!”
Taggart turned the slideshow back on, and several more shots slid by, of several older men fishing off the jetty, and a focused shot of several. The best photos were all of a grumpy-looking guy in his sixties, wearing a red, white and navy plaid shirt and fishing off the jetty. Jamie had caught the guy on a really good day weather-wise, and the picture was absolutely clear, showing a multitude of bubbles where his fishing line pierced the blue-green water.
“Woah, stop it,” Mary exclaimed, fumbling with the mouse.
Taggart grabbed the mouse back and slowly clicked back to the photo that had set her off; a close-up shot of a gorgeous blonde in her late twenties, smiling into the camera as her hair blew across her face. The next couple of shots were of the same woman, wearing a red and white patterned sundress over a blue halter-neck bikini.
“His girlfriend, maybe?” Mary wondered.
“Couldn’t be,” Taggart said firmly. “That’s Violet McCullough, a member of the Town Council. Her husband runs the two most expensive restaurants in town, and he’s the current president of the Chamber of Commerce.”
Mary slid her eyes sideways, trying to observe his face discreetly. Something about Taggart’s disciplined tone of voice was ringing some alarm bells.
“Is she posing deliberately for the photos, do you think?” Mary asked. “Or was it just a telephoto lens and a good angle?”
“Violet’s never mentioned Wright to me; but if he approached her on the beach or something and asked nicely, she’d probably say yes on the spot if they weren’t for commercial purposes.”
“She’s a friend of yours?”
“Yeah, one of the best. Pretty much since the day she moved here a couple of years back.”
“Her husband... he the jealous type?”
Taggart caught her speculative tone, and turned in his chair to look at her head-on. “What are you suggesting? That Mitch got worked up over Jamie taking photos of Violet and made him ‘disappear’?”
Mary shrugged. “I’ve run across stranger things.”
Taggart frowned in thought, and then shrugged. “Mitch is obsessed with his restaurants; he wants to expand to Corpus Christi, but he’s not sure there’s a strong enough market for his kind of high-end food. Also Houston, but there could be supplier issues. It’s fairly common knowledge that he married Violet mainly for her connections; she used to work for the United Nations as a translator, and she’s got a network of contacts through some damn high political and diplomatic circles.”
Mary looked back. “Are you seriously telling me that this guy married a woman who looks like that,” she nodded towards Violet’s image on the monitor, “for her address book?”
Taggart shrugged. “Pretty much. Violet told me he completely forgot their third wedding anniversary last month - and for their second, he took her out to dinner at one of his own restaurants.”
Mary blinked. “Yeah, that’s a pretty bad sign. She should dump his ass.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more.”
Mary looked back at the monitor, carefully hiding her smirk. How many times had Marshall referred to Raph with that exact, cheerfully neutral tone of voice? As the slideshow started again, this time of some kind of kite festival above what Taggart later identified as one of the other piers, Mary mused that there was more than one reason why it was such a fantastic thing she now had Marshall to not only scratch her itch, but soothe and deep-tissue-massage it when needed. She’d bet that six pack all over again that Taggart was only interested in one woman nowadays.
Might be interesting to know whether it was mutual, or if Violet even knew about it. God knows most women weren’t as fucking oblivious about their best friend being in love with them as she herself had been, but then in her case it had been at least partly deliberate, due to her trust issues, commitment issues, and issue issues. If Violet did know how Taggart felt about her... could that have something to do with Wright? Wouldn’t be the first time the man or woman on the side was involved in the violence surrounding a witness - Jay Arnstein’s shooting came to mind.
“Knock knock!”
Mary’s head snapped up to the doorway, to see... well, well, well. Speak of the devil.
“Violet,” Taggart all but jumped to his feet, his voice eager. “I was just talking about you.”
The blonde looked at Mary and gave an engaging grin. “Whatever he said, I didn’t do it. The pics were photo shopped.”
Taggart chuckled. “Funny you should mention photos - that’s how you came up. Vi, do you know a guy called Wright? We’ve got some of his photos here, and you’re in them.”
Violet frowned. “Jamie Wright? Sure, I know him. He’s in the Spanish class I’m teaching at the community center. He asked me to pose for some photos for his photography class.” She looked genuinely alarmed as she asked, “Is he in trouble?”
“That’s what Marshal Shepherd here is trying to find out,” Taggart replied, gesturing towards Mary.
“Any chance we could talk about him?” Mary asked. While she was at it, maybe try to get some hints about how she really felt about Taggart - hey, she was a nosy bitch. And she did kind of like the guy.
Violet shrugged. “You like fish? How about over dinner? My husband owns two restaurants, and there’s no point being married to him if you can’t eat out once in awhile.”
Mary smiled. “Love to. I need to get these printed out first though...”
Vi nodded and smiled. “One of those police-only things? Sure, I’ll just wait in the lobby.”
* * *
Now with a folder full of photos, stuffed into the messenger bag Squish had given her for Christmas, Mary scanned the parking lot of the Deep Blue Sea restaurant as she parked next to Violet’s BMW. Climbing out, she walked across to the other woman, who beckoned her to the edge of the lot with a smile.
“This is my favorite view in town, I think,” the younger woman confided. “Watching the sunset is wonderful, but I like this time of day, too, right before the sunset when all the shadows turn golden.”
Mary bit back a smirk at the poetic description - easy to see why she’d agreed to pose for Martinez - and stood next to Violet companionably. Leaning on the railing that bordered the parking lot, a few feet above the beach proper on a slight artificial cliff, Mary looked over the expanse of sand to where it met the blue water, and took a deep breath, smelling salt water and sunscreen and someone’s beachfront barbeque in the distance.
Huh. She actually kind of liked this place.
Looking down onto the beach, she blinked and a vision of sorts appeared; Marshall wearing a swimsuit patterned with Space Invaders, kneeling on the beach as he put the finishing touches on a two feet high sand-castle, the walls properly shaped from damp sand, complete with those teeth-and-gap edgings on the top, and a tower with a pointy roof on every corner and because it was Marshall building it, probably even a working drawbridge. All the while, Norah sat inside the castle walls and laughed in delight at her Daddy, because after all, every Princess needed a castle.
Digging into the messenger bag and taking out the notebook that served as her on-the-road To-Do list, Mary wrote down ‘check local housing agents re: summer holiday rental’.
Ten minutes later, the two women had been seated at a great table; halfway between the main entrance and the kitchen, able to see everything, but in a booth against the wall to keep anyone from sneaking up from behind.
Definitely perks to being here with the owner’s wife.
Mary looked over the menu, and asked, “How come there are two prices for all the fish?”
Violet laughed. “The cheaper price is for BYO - that is, you bring in the fish you caught yourself and the chef - that’s usually my husband, he switches between here and his other restaurant - will cook it how you want. It’s a pretty common thing at most of the restaurants around here - Port Aransas is known as the fishing capital of Texas.”
“I heard,” Mary said ironically.
“Well, a lot of people come here for the fishing, but are staying in hotel rooms or other places that don’t have a kitchen to cook the fish once they’re caught. So instead of trying to freeze them until they go home or letting them go rotten, most of the places around here will cook them.”
“Cool,” Mary shrugged. “What’s best to eat? We don’t get much fish in New Mexico; it costs a mint at restaurants.”
Violet looked thoughtful. “Well, it’s pretty much a matter of what you feel like. I eat here for free, so I tend to pick whatever’s most common at the moment.”
“Which is?”
“Right now? Redfish. Actually, it’s so common we even have a separate fishing competition for it. Kingfish, red snapper and amberjack are quite common as well, but you have to go out on one of the deep-sea boats for those.”
She didn’t know much about Jamie, unfortunately, other than that he wasn’t very good at Spanish and didn’t talk much about his past (Mary could have told her that!). But despite her having a sunny and cheerful personality, Mary found that she liked Violet McCullough quite a bit. Over pre-dinner mojitos, Mary had to suppress a pang as Violet made a dirty joke that reminded her a little of Mia. When she learned that Mary didn’t have a place to stay lined up, Violet even insisted on calling up a friend of hers who ran a B&B, right on the beach.
The food was delicious - whatever McCullough’s failings as a husband, he was a great chef. Mary couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t come out to greet Violet, even for a few minutes, though the waitress had said she’d tell Mitch his wife was in the restaurant as she seated them. Also, when she asked Violet about Jake Taggart, she downright gushed about him for ten minutes straight.
After dinner, Mary followed Violet to the three-storey house that somehow managed to look shipwrecked without being an actual ruin. The day of travel and investigation had taken more of a toll on her than she thought; she barely managed to update Stan and send a quick text to Marshall before falling into her rather comfy bed. She would have held out for phone sex, but he had his phone off for some reason.
ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO
Mary Shannon sighed and laid back on the plastic cushions of her pool-side lounger, doing pretty much fuck-all and loving every second of it.
It was somewhere past eleven at night, and everything was calm. She hadn’t bothered to turn on the backyard lights and the house was dark too, because the moon already shed enough light on her backyard to see where she was going without being obnoxious about it. It was warm enough to wear just her tank top and shorts, and Mary was content with a nice cold beer in her hand. The baby monitor and her phone were on the table next to her; both were quiet and she actually thought they might stay that way. Norah was now sleeping through the night, and all her current witnesses were between one crisis and the next. (What was the word for more than one crisis, anyway? Marshall would know.)
Brandi and Jinx were at a week-long retreat at some New Age spa about getting in touch with your inner self - and if anyone needed that, it was Jinx and Squish. Having said that, Squish seemed to be regaining the calmer, more grown-up centre that she’d found during her relationship with Peter, and Jinx would be celebrating three years sober in a few months.
Somehow, for the first time ever Mary Shannon had managed to stumble into the fucking trifecta of win-at-life; her work was going smoothly - not a single witness had been shot at or otherwise endangered for over a month - her family seemed to be actually taking care of themselves for once...
Then there was Marshall.
Her eyes closed, Mary took a sip of beer and let a stupid smile curve her lips. She found herself doing that a lot when she thought about Marshall these days.
Even Mary knew that she owed Abigail Chaffee a lifetime supply of pie for being the first one to figure things out, and simply ending her engagement to Marshall instead of pulling some kind of soap opera stunt. The detective had walked away with her head held high and dignity intact - not to mention the house, shared custody of Oscar, and the non-refundable plane tickets to Hawaii. (Abby was going with her sister instead, and had promised to bring back a tacky hula-girl dashboard doll for Mary.)
But when the smoke cleared, Mary had finally yanked her head out of her ass and Marshall had scraped up the nerve to give her one more chance.
So now Marshall was in her bed every night and her kitchen every morning, and even though he deserved so much more and could do so much better, he wasn’t going anywhere - and for the first time in her life, she really, truly, believed a man when he said that. Because he was Marshall, and her partner and best friend and now lover didn’t say things like that unless he meant it, and he’d stuck around and put up with enough of her bullshit that he’d already proven that.
She was so full of this weird-ass, Zen-like happiness, she couldn’t even get paranoid about waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Mary put the beer bottle on the table, next to the phone and monitor, and heaved herself off the lounger. Even with the calm night, the peace of the world, and a beer, she was still buzzing too hard to settle into sleep, and right now her best bet for working it off was a swim.
Normally, she and Marshall would be cuddling in bed while they geared up for round two (or even three, if they’d had a slow day), but goddamn Stan had sent him off on a witness transport with Delia. She hated it when Marshall went off without her - just the thought of him getting into trouble without her having his back made her skin crawl - but they were still working out the new edges of their work lives. Technically speaking, the USMS had no rules against fraternization outside direct chain of command, but it was still considered a massively stupid idea. Unless she and Marshall got hitched or something, their out of the office relationship needed to stay in Albuquerque - at least until they could prove that they could still work together effectively. At this point, she and Marshall couldn’t so much as bump against each other in the kitchen without broadcasting love struck vibes.
Delia thought it was ‘so sweet’. Mary had to swallow the urge to gag every time she said that. But at least it kept her fantasies about nailing Marshall on the break room couch under control, so she didn’t traumatize Stan (well, anymore than she had already).
As Mary undressed, casually piling her clothes on the lounger, she couldn’t help but muse on how weird that was, that being married to Marshall actually sounded like something she wanted to do one day. Maybe a day not too far off, either.
When she was down to nothing but skin, Mary walked down the steps of the pool and smoothly launched herself forward into the water, propelling herself along with languorous strokes until she reached the far end, rolling into a somersault to push herself off the wall with her feet and send herself back again.
Mary didn’t know how long it took for her to wear out the day’s energy, but eventually she found herself floating on her back, looking up at the moon with her mind blissfully blank, even while she kept listening for noises from the poolside table. Somewhere along the way, she must have registered the sliding of the glass door, because Marshall’s voice didn’t startle her at all. Or maybe she’d just learned to sense his aura or something.
“You’ll give Mr Henderson next door a heart attack, he sees you like this,” came her partner’s quiet chuckle.
Mary rolled out of her starfish-position float, and lazily trod water as she faced him. “Nah, between the fence and how dark it is out here, he can’t see squat. I thought you weren’t getting home until lunchtime tomorrow?”
Marshall shrugged, before bending to take off his trademark cowboy boots. “Delia’s taking our scheduled flight tomorrow, but I managed to get a last-minute cancellation.” Straightening, he gave her a gentle, loving smile, that lit up his tired face. “I didn’t want to stay away from my two favorite girls a minute longer than I had to.”
He’d left his jacket inside, presumably when he’d put away his weapon and shoulder-holster in the kitchen gun safe, and Mary hummed in contentment as she watched him shed his remaining clothing. He wasn’t stripping for her - Marshall was far too self-effacing for that - but at the same time he was completely unselfconscious about taking his clothes off in front of her. Their romantic and sexual relationship was still new, but their nine-year partnership had given them the comfort levels of a long-time couple. He wasn’t undressing hastily, because they finally had all the time in the world, but he was undressing efficiently, because they’d already wasted so much of it.
Mary smiled in appreciation and a little arousal, as all of his long, lean body was bared to her gaze, and stretched out her hands toward him as he slipped into the pool and moved through the water. He landed directly into her arms, and her body automatically adjusted itself to fit against his, her arms around his shoulders and her breasts slightly flattened against his hard chest.
“Hi,” Mary murmured, giving him a quick, light smooch.
“Hello,” Marshall murmured, in the low rumble that always made her hormones stir. Hell, after nine years of heartbreak and unconscious foreplay, watching him breathe pretty much made her hormones stir up, but this gravelly, sexy-as-hell tone of voice, only recently discovered, revved her up to the red line.
“Welcome home,” Mary purred, before she kissed him intrusively.
Marshall moaned into her mouth, his hands tightening on her hips. Her legs tangled with his, and their bodies dipped dangerously low in the water, before they broke the kiss, laughing quietly.
“Poolside, now,” Mary demanded breathlessly.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Mary wrapped her legs around his hips as they moved to the shallow end; Marshall was so tall he could touch the bottom after just a few feet. Besides, this way she could feel one of her favorite parts of him up close and personal, only this part was long and deliciously thick.
As Marshall slid his arms beneath her backside, and started up the steps, Mary dropped her head down and sideways to plant a trail of tiny kisses up and down his throat. Marshall’s breath hitched, and she could feel him twitch against her belly. She gave him a light nip with her teeth, and Marshall all but stumbled out of the pool.
“Mary,” he groaned in warning, as he moved to the empty lounger.
The plastic frame squeaked and rocked against the concrete as he half-lowered, half-dropped her onto the lounger, immediately sliding his body over hers. With her legs still wrapped around him, all it took was a slight shift of his hips to get into the right position, and Marshall filled her in a slow, steady push that made sparks dance along her whole nervous system.
He kept up his unhurried, measured pace, moving inside her like he’d be perfectly happy doing nothing else for the rest of forever and fully capable of doing just that. Mary moved beneath him in perfect sync, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust; their years of physical training together had long ago taught their bodies how the other’s moved. She scored his back with her nails, marking her territory, and Marshall let out a near-inaudible growl as his thrusts started to gain force and speed. They kissed again and again, their lips never parting for longer than a breath, as the plastic frame creaked and groaned in harmony with their lovemaking.
Mary arched and moaned, as the orgasm swept through her. Marshall kept sliding in and out, riding out her climax though his whole body was shaking with need.
Mary ran her hands down his back, and he groaned in her ear, “Mary, please.”
She knew what he needed; the words that always sent him over the edge.
“Marshall, I love you.”
Marshall’s hips snapped forward, plunging deep into her body as he could, and he buried his face in her hair as he spilled inside her.
As he came down from his high, his whole body shuddering with aftershocks, Marshall slipped out of her with a groan and his body slid down hers, letting his head rest on her shoulder and upper chest. Mary absently started to stroke his hair, her nails gently scratching his scalp, and Marshall sighed as his body cuddled into hers.
“S’good to be home,” he mumbled.
Mary smiled in agreement, even knowing that he couldn’t see it. She was starting to feel Marshall’s weight bearing down on her hips and where her legs joined her body, and she was about to suggest they haul their asses inside when the phone rang.
“Shit,” Mary grumbled, as she lifted her other arm from Marshall’s shoulder to reach towards the table and pick up the phone. “It’s Stan.”
“What is it, Stan? And why couldn’t it wait until I came in tomorrow?” Mary would have snarled, but she was still too full of afterglow.
“Plans have changed, and you’ll need an earlier start tomorrow. Remember that LA to Houston transfer? They needed to overnight here?”
“Thought the LA Marshals were taking care of that?”
Stan sighed mightily down the phone line. “Well, one of them ignored my warnings and decided to eat at All Thai’d Up, and-”
“Fuck. Let me guess, he’s puking up his toenails as we speak?”
“Pretty much. He can totter along to Houston, but his partner’s requested another marshal from us for backup. Delia and Marshall aren’t due back from Detroit until tomorrow-“
“Actually, Marshall’s right here,” Mary replied, her voice catching slightly as Marshall bent his head just enough to press a gentle kiss on the upper slope of her breast.
“Mary, what have I told you about the TMI?” Stan grumbled.
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Didn’t have to. Your tone of voice was saying it all for you, and I’m not sure I’m old enough to hear it,” Stan retorted.
Mary snickered.
“Anyway, Marshall’s still going to need a day or so downtime to catch up with witnesses and paperwork, so you’re up. Meet Takahashi and Iannos at the Desert Bloom motel, room 6, seven-thirty AM tomorrow. There’s something else, too. Remember Jamie Martinez?”
Mary thought for a moment. “He was one of mine about... eighteen months ago? Testified against the Crazy Eights biker gang. He got caught on a news report without realizing, and got shifted to Texas a couple of weeks before Norah was born, right?”
“Right. Well, Crazy Horse Johnson’s up on appeal, and it’s looking shaky, thanks to some dumbass in the LAPD evidence locker. While you’re down there, touch base with the Houston office and let them know they may need to keep a closer eye on him for awhile, and might need to move him in a hurry. You got along pretty well with him, as I remember, so if he hasn’t heard the bad news yet, getting it from you might keep him from spooking.”
Mary let out a put-upon sigh. “Alright, fine. Seven-thirty AM, Desert Bloom number 6. Got it.”
She ended the call without bothering to sign off, and dropped the phone back on the table.
Marshall clambered off her with a groan and stood up, offering her his hands. She took them and he pulled her up, just hard enough that she half-fell forward into his arms. They hugged for a few seconds, before Marshall picked up the baby monitor and Mary grabbed the phone she’d just dropped, and they made their way back into the house, their free arms still around each other. Mary didn’t give a shit about her clothes; all she wanted was Marshall wrapped around her in their bed, and given that he dropped a kiss on the top of her head instead of saying anything about morning dew damage on fabric, she was fairly sure he felt the same way.
CORPUS CHRISTI, TEXAS
Mary sighed as she knocked on the door and buzzed the intercom. When she finally managed to ditch the LA marshals, it took half an hour to find out that Martinez had relocated somewhere on the coast, and was now under the aegis of the Corpus Christi office.
How the hell did Corpus Christi get it’s own WITSEC office, anyway? The town was about half the size of Albuquerque. Why hadn’t it been downsized out of existence instead of all the chopping threats to theirs?
Mary frowned. Maybe it was paranoia, but she still thought Alison fucking Pearson had it out for them in Albuquerque.
“Hello?”
Mary leaned forward to the intercom, and held up her ID to the camera-eye. “Mary Shannon from the Albuquerque office. Marshal Rossi from Houston was supposed to call ahead?”
“Oh, that’s right. Come on through.”
Entering the main office, Mary found a half-dozen desks, all of them empty, except for the one in the far corner. A blonde woman, maybe a few years younger than her, stood up from behind the desk and offered her hand.
“Marshal Shannon? Hi, I’m Claire Fawkes, the office manager. Sorry about the lack of people; we’ve only got four Marshals here - one left on vacation yesterday, and the others are all on secondment to the DEA for a set of co-ordinated raids up and down the coast. How can I help you?”
“Hi. One of my former witnesses was relocated down here awhile back. One of the major players he testified against is up on appeal, and he might just walk. I wanted to give you guys a heads-up.”
Claire smiled, and even Mary had to admit it made her look truly lovely. “Thanks, Marshal. What was the witnesses’ name? I’ll check who’s looking after him now.”
“Jamie Martinez. Alias Jamie Wright.”
Claire sat down behind her computer and fiddled with the mouse before punching some keys. “Sorry about this; I only got back from vacation myself yesterday, so I haven’t had a chance to get caught up on the latest movements.”
Normally, Mary would have made a comment about it being nice that everyone in Texas got to take vacations whenever they wanted, but that weird happiness thing was still going on.
“Crap.”
Mary frowned, her blood started to pump. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Claire made a face. “Martinez slash Wright is living in Port Aransas now; it’s about an hour’s drive from here, on Mustang Island. He’s one of Ludlum’s witnesses - the guy who just left on vacation? There’s no note on his file about the appeal, so I can’t tell if Martinez-Wright has been notified or not.”
“I’ll go down and pass on the warning myself, if it’s okay with your supervisor,” Mary offered. “My boss suggested I should go along, anyway; Martinez and I had a good rapport going, and he might take it better coming from me.”
Claire thought for a moment. “They’re supposed to be in briefings all morning; I was asked not to make calls before two, unless it’s an emergency.” She looked at the clock on the wall, and smiled. “I can print you off a map and directions now; if you’d like to grab some lunch, I should have an answer for you by the time you’re done. I can recommend some places to eat nearby, if you’d like.”
TX-286 S
EN ROUTE
Mary growled at the dumbass in the Hummer three cars up, as she put her phone in the hands-free cradle and punched the speed dial.
“McQueen.”
Mary had always wondered if Stan watched seventies cop show reruns to get the right ‘hard-ass cop’ tone to his phone greeting.
“Hey Stan, it’s me.”
“Hello me. I’m me too!” came another voice.
“Hey, Doofus. Just checking in-” Mary broke off to utter a pungent Spanish curse she’d picked up from Raph, and slammed the horn. “Fucking Hummers. The witness formerly known as Jamie Martinez moved out to Port Aransas a few months back, so I had to go to Corpus Christi for the lowdown.”
“Wait, Corpus Christi has a WITSEC office?” Stan interrupted. “How’d that flyspeck on the map get it’s own office?”
“Exactly!” Mary retorted. “Anyway, they’re actually smaller than us, and the only one in the office was their version of Eleanor - nowhere near as bitchy, though. She couldn’t find any records of Martinez being informed, and their Chief hadn’t heard anything either when she called him, so I’m heading out to check on Martinez myself. Claire - that’s the not-Eleanor - got me a sweet ride. 2010 Jeep Cherokee.”
“How’d they get the budget for that?” Stan growled.
“Dunno,” Mary shrugged. “Anyway, I’ve got Martinez’s address, and I should be there in around an hour. Depending on how he takes the news, I may end up commandeering his couch and coming back tomorrow.”
“Alright, check in once you know either way,” Stan told her.
“Yes, Dad,” Mary teased. It didn’t hurt, saying the ‘D’ word. Maybe because she and Marshall had been giving Stan shit about his Papa Bear tendencies for years before James caught that bullet?
“Did you know that Port Aransas is colloquially known as the fishing capital of Texas?” Marshall piped up. “Over twenty fishing competitions are held there every summer.”
Mary rolled her eyes, thankful that even if she was completely in love with Marshall, she hadn’t been sucked deep enough into the gooey swamp of Twu Luv to find his trivia endearing or some shit.
“Bye guys. I’ll call back when I know what’s going down.”
There was a distant noise of a door shutting, and Marshall’s voice turned low and soft.
“I love you, Mare. Please do your best to come home uninjured.”
Mary felt herself go just a little soft all over, and swallowed. “I love you too, Doofus. Watch your ass, okay? No one’s allowed to kick it but me.”
Marshall chuckled, his voice sliding down the scale to low and gravelly. “How about some incentive? If you come home in the same condition you left, we can try out page 83.”
Mary gulped hard and pressed her thighs together. Becoming a couple hadn’t slaked Marshall’s never-ending quest for knowledge; his latest educational reading was the Kama Sutra.
“Marshall-”
“Stay safe, sweetheart.”
The phone cut to static, and Mary let out a ‘arrggh’ of frustration. Fantastic. Now she was inching along in gridlock, and horny with no relief in sight.
Everyone who knew Marshall and her together always thought she was the mean and ferocious one, who snarled and slashed to protect her sweet and goofy partner from the world.
Showed how much they knew.
COWRIE LANE
PORT ARANSAS, TEXAS
Mary pulled the jeep to a stop outside number 12 - which had a wooden sign bearing the cutsie name ‘Seafront Cottage’, though it was in fact three blocks away from the sea and a fully-formed house - and switched off the engine. Casting a searching glance up and down the street and around the yard, everything seemed calm.
There was no answer at the door when she knocked, even after the third loud rapping. Mary tried the door, both annoyed and relieved to find it locked. Annoyed that her progress was blocked even for a few moments, and relieved, both that Martinez hadn’t sunk into this lazy endless summer enough to forget the most basis of security precautions, and because anyone who’d burst into the house to kill or kidnap her (former) witness wouldn’t normally bother to lock up behind them.
Heading down the narrow strip of side garden to the backyard, Mary grinned as she saw the garden gnome pulling a rude face, at the base of the short stairs that led from lawn to back porch. She’d given it to him herself, because everyone and their dog knew how to tell those dumbass hide-a-rocks. Kneeling down beside the gnome, she gently took off his pointy red hat, and pulled out the spare key nestled inside it.
Opening the back door, Mary slipped inside, carefully listening for anything out of place. Only silence greeted her as she cleared the house.
Only silence; there was no whirring from the ceiling fan or humming from the computer in the study. At least the refrigerator was still running, but the milk was dangerously close to it’s sell-by date. Mary holstered her gun, but took a closer look around, with eyes practised from years of looking for traces of missing witnesses, and further back looking for crumbs of a trail of wanted felons.
There wasn’t anything personal in sight; the DVD rack showed empty space at the end, and the only cases left were popular choices still on sale, as if someone had grabbed only the discs that would be hard to replace and shoved the rest back against the left side to hide telltale gaps. The iPod speakers were still there, but no sign of the iPod. She’d bet Norah’s crib that the computer had been set to re-format itself, wiping it clean. A look in the bedroom revealed tidy, but half-empty drawers and closet, bed neatly made but the bedside table was empty, including the drawer.
This house showed all the signs of careful packing, for a hasty, but organized flight. Someone who’d run fast, but run smart. Jamie was bright enough for that, Mary knew. But had he done it, or had someone done it for him? None of the people who wanted him dead were smart enough to cover their tracks like this, but they could have hired someone who was.
The gnome wasn’t the only piece of advice she’d given Jamie.
Heading back to the closet, Mary found the loose corner of the carpet, flipping back the rough, unyielding material to expose the small, square lid in the floor. Biting her lip, Mary rummaged through her mind for Jamie’s date of birth - a different one than on the records they’d made up for him. A little obvious, but going for your safe was normally done in stressful situations and the combination needed to be easy to remember.
She’d hoped for an external backup for his computer, or even a personal diary. Instead, all the safe contained was a couple of thumb drives.
NAUTILUS AVENUE
Mary spied a parking slot just down the street from the police station, and snapped into it with the speed of a lazer beam. Marshall had spent years making remarks about her ‘like you stole it’ driving style; it wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone else who’d spent years in living in Newark and had to find parking on a daily basis.
Eyeing the white-stucco edifice from behind her sunglasses, Mary grimaced. It went against the grain to approach the police for help - even if she was posing as an FTF member doing a favor for Prisoner Transport. Hopefully the Chief of Police wouldn’t know enough about the USMS to understand that only a WITSEC Inspector would be in these circumstances. While the DEA and parts of the FBI tended to be fairly clued in, mostly because they either borrowed marshals for ops or dealt with them directly (like Festering Faber with putting witnesses into protection), it really was amazing how little most of law enforcement in general knew about the Marshal service, let alone WITSEC. Bobby D was the only cop she’d ever met who had a good idea from the start exactly who she and Marshall were and what they did.
But her check-in call to Stan had sent her here; after a quick discussion, it was agreed this was the only real option (unfortunately, Marshall was off on witness visits, and Mary had no chance for some payback on the page 83 comment). The only clue to whatever had happened to Jamie was on those flash drives, and Mary hadn’t brought a laptop with her. Even if it hadn’t been intended as a quick overnight trip, she wasn’t allowed to bring her personal computer along on work journeys, and their office didn’t exactly have the budget to issue work-use laptops. Hell, they could barely afford to get the stuff they had in the office as it was! Given the circumstances, Mary couldn’t risk viewing whatever was on the drives in a public forum, such as an internet cafe or library. The local police was the only remotely secure location in town.
Striding in, Mary approached the front desk, and pulled her jacket aside to discreetly flash her badge, hooked on her belt. “I need to talk to your Chief, soon as he’s available.”
The patrolman behind the desk, a blonde and blue-eyed type who looked like he should be hauling kegs for a frat party, mumbled something vague enough to be in a political speech and spoke directly to her boobs, and Mary scowled in annoyance. Yeah, she had damn good boobs and she liked them being appreciated as much as the next girl, but this was a fucking police station, and a fucking policeman should be treating a fellow law enforcement officer with respect. At the very least, he should be talking to her goddamn face.
“Chancellor!” snapped a voice from across the room.
Patrolman Ken Doll almost levitated, and spun around. “Y-yes, Chief?”
A tall, lean man with short, tousled brown hair and eyes to match, clad in jeans and a button-down, stalked over to the desk. “When a US Marshal, or any other fellow law enforcement comes to visit, you talk to their face, dumbass. Especially when they’re wearing a gun. When they want to see me, your first response is to check my whereabouts and see whether I’m available, not to drool over them in a way that invites a sexual harassment suit. Crocker!”
Another, slightly older patrolman jumped to attention several desks away. “Yes, Sir?”
“Take over here til the end of shift, would you? Chancellor’s going to spending the rest of the week working the pooch park and the drunk tank.”
Ken Doll opened his mouth, then took a good look at the Chief’s face and shut it.
The other man turned to Mary with a polite smile. “Jake Taggart, Chief of Police. Please excuse my staff member’s rudeness, Marshal-?”
“Shepherd. Mary Shepherd. Is it possible for us to speak in your office?”
Taggart swung open the gate that separated the waiting area from the bullpen, and gestured her through gallantly.
Mary grinned and stepped through. Now, this man knew how to look at a woman. Even in the quick head-to-toe appraisal Taggart gave her, he communicated, I know how to appreciate a woman properly, in a respectful manner that indicates I value what’s between your ears, but doesn’t lessen my awareness of you as a smoking hot female.
Damn. All that with one look? Not to mention, after spending several months mapping every inch of Marshall’s body with both her fingertips and tongue, Mary was something of an expert in deceptively lean men; Taggart was built on the same lines as her partner-in-everything, and she was certain that Taggart was similarly ripped beneath his loose shirt. Add in melting chocolate eyes that gleamed with intelligence and sardonic humor, and the handsome-in-a-geek-way face, and she’d bet a six-pack of beer that the good Chief got more ass than a park bench.
It was a good thing she had Marshall now - if she’d met this guy a year ago, he would have been an irresistible distraction that she couldn’t afford.
As the door to his office shut behind her, Mary shook off her slightly lewd musings.
“So, what can the Port Aransas police department do for the US Marshal’s Service?” Taggart asked with a grin, leaning to half-sit on the edge of his desk.
Mary grinned and launched into her slightly-altered cover. “I work Fugitive Apprehension, usually, but I was lent out to Prisoner Transport, and while I was in Houston the local office asked me for a favor. They’ve been keeping an eye on one of your locals, and wanted me to check up on him. Problem is, the house is empty and no sign of where he’s gone to, or whether he ran or was taken.”
Taggart frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Who’s the guy? And why, exactly, have your people been ‘keeping an eye’ on him?”
Mary shrugged one shoulder. “He’s not wanted for anything, if that’s what you mean. There’s no indication that he’s a danger to your townspeople. You learn when not to ask questions in this sort of assignment. But if I had to lay odds? I’d say he’s under some sort of protection; but if you could keep that strictly between us, I’d appreciate it.”
Taggart nodded thoughtfully, and Mary hid a wince. It was a good thing Stan had okayed letting out the fairly blatant ‘hint’ about Jamie’s status; she had the distinct impression that Taggart would be doing some discreet digging anyway, to make sure that Jamie wasn’t going to cause him problems later. Even if Jamie had left on his own, he probably wouldn’t be able to come back here regardless.
“And his name is?”
“Jamie Wright, down on Cowrie Lane. I did a quick walk-through of the place, and the only thing I found was a set of flash drives. I don’t have a secure computer to check them out on; I was hoping I could use one here?”
“I don’t remember Wright coming to my attention at all,” Taggart mused. “I don’t see any problems with your looking at these files on my computer. Under my supervision, naturally,” he added blandly. Something about the set of his face warned Mary that he wasn’t going to budge on the last part.
“It will still be my responsibility to act on any information,” Mary countered. She sure as shit wasn’t budging on that, either.
“Fair enough.”
The computer was already running; Taggart quickly typed in his logon and password and Mary sat down in his desk chair. As she plugged the flash drive into the port at the front of the computer, Taggart grabbed the guest chair in front of the desk and dragged it around so he could sit beside her and look over her shoulder.
Mary frowned. The files were all graphics of some sort.
“May I?” Taggart offered. Reaching over her right arm, he grabbed the mouse and clicked on some things that turned the little icons into relatively easy to see previews of the files.
“Looks like they’re all photos. Is Wright into photography at all?”
“Wouldn’t know,” Mary shrugged.
Jamie had been an architect in his previous life, before a night out with a prospective client who’d wanted to ‘walk on the wild side’ led to him witnessing said prospective client get murdered for hitting on the woman of the leader of one of California’s most notorious biker gangs.
Not being able to work in the same field, Jamie had needed some kind of creative outlet that involved his hands in some way. During his time as her witness, Jamie had taken a lot of art courses at the community college - the same one Marshall had attended for several courses a year until he started dating Abigail and had other things to do with his evenings. Now, of course, Mary and Norah kept him far too busy to go back. Marshall was trying to talk her into signing up for kendo lessons, though, as something they could do together that didn’t involve sex, guns, alcohol, or sci-fi DVD’s.
Then and there, Mary made the snap decision that if Marshall pulled off page 83 well enough, she’d agree to try it. It was the sort of thing two grown-ups in a healthy adult relationship did, right? Besides, whaling on other people with a bamboo sword did sound kind of fun.
In his time in Albuquerque, Jamie had gone through origami (on Marshall’s recommendation), pottery, and sketching - which he’d had to drop, as all his works showed too many hallmarks of his previous profession. Photography wasn’t too much of a stretch.
Taggart had started the photo files running in some kind of slideshow, and Mary asked, “Okay, we’ve got... a beach. Close-up of a starfish on sand, sunset over the water - this one’s a cafe further up the street, right? With the two old guys sitting on the bench outside it? It looks familiar.”
“Yeah,” Taggart told her, “These are all local shots. Actually, I’m pretty sure all of them were taken on or nearby the North Jetty. We’ve got a lot of piers around here, because of the fishing.”
“The fishing capital of Texas. Yeah, I heard,” Mary remarked.
Taggart grinned, and replied, “Well, it does bring in a ton of tourist money, part of which pays my salary, so I’m in no shape to bitch. We have four piers and a jetty for round-the-clock fishing; the North Jetty, on the other hand, isn’t. Mostly it’s only locals that use it-“ he swooped with the mouse and paused the slideshow. “See? Here’s a shot of it in the full daylight.”
Mary examined the photo. Just like the name implied, it was a jetty. Looked fairly worn and well-used, likely to have been around awhile. About three-quarters of the way up, a more recent-looking metal roof arched overhead from one side-railing to the next, covering about six feet long of the jetty flooring and a simple flat wooden bench. The rest of the jetty was completely open.
“Unlike the others, North Jetty doesn’t have any lights, so it’s nearly impossible to see anything out there after dark. The others are all better-maintained and have lots of good places to eat nearby, and stores for a quick snack or to get any fishing gear you might forget - or stores to keep the kids and missus happy so they’ll let you fish in peace!”
Taggart turned the slideshow back on, and several more shots slid by, of several older men fishing off the jetty, and a focused shot of several. The best photos were all of a grumpy-looking guy in his sixties, wearing a red, white and navy plaid shirt and fishing off the jetty. Jamie had caught the guy on a really good day weather-wise, and the picture was absolutely clear, showing a multitude of bubbles where his fishing line pierced the blue-green water.
“Woah, stop it,” Mary exclaimed, fumbling with the mouse.
Taggart grabbed the mouse back and slowly clicked back to the photo that had set her off; a close-up shot of a gorgeous blonde in her late twenties, smiling into the camera as her hair blew across her face. The next couple of shots were of the same woman, wearing a red and white patterned sundress over a blue halter-neck bikini.
“His girlfriend, maybe?” Mary wondered.
“Couldn’t be,” Taggart said firmly. “That’s Violet McCullough, a member of the Town Council. Her husband runs the two most expensive restaurants in town, and he’s the current president of the Chamber of Commerce.”
Mary slid her eyes sideways, trying to observe his face discreetly. Something about Taggart’s disciplined tone of voice was ringing some alarm bells.
“Is she posing deliberately for the photos, do you think?” Mary asked. “Or was it just a telephoto lens and a good angle?”
“Violet’s never mentioned Wright to me; but if he approached her on the beach or something and asked nicely, she’d probably say yes on the spot if they weren’t for commercial purposes.”
“She’s a friend of yours?”
“Yeah, one of the best. Pretty much since the day she moved here a couple of years back.”
“Her husband... he the jealous type?”
Taggart caught her speculative tone, and turned in his chair to look at her head-on. “What are you suggesting? That Mitch got worked up over Jamie taking photos of Violet and made him ‘disappear’?”
Mary shrugged. “I’ve run across stranger things.”
Taggart frowned in thought, and then shrugged. “Mitch is obsessed with his restaurants; he wants to expand to Corpus Christi, but he’s not sure there’s a strong enough market for his kind of high-end food. Also Houston, but there could be supplier issues. It’s fairly common knowledge that he married Violet mainly for her connections; she used to work for the United Nations as a translator, and she’s got a network of contacts through some damn high political and diplomatic circles.”
Mary looked back. “Are you seriously telling me that this guy married a woman who looks like that,” she nodded towards Violet’s image on the monitor, “for her address book?”
Taggart shrugged. “Pretty much. Violet told me he completely forgot their third wedding anniversary last month - and for their second, he took her out to dinner at one of his own restaurants.”
Mary blinked. “Yeah, that’s a pretty bad sign. She should dump his ass.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more.”
Mary looked back at the monitor, carefully hiding her smirk. How many times had Marshall referred to Raph with that exact, cheerfully neutral tone of voice? As the slideshow started again, this time of some kind of kite festival above what Taggart later identified as one of the other piers, Mary mused that there was more than one reason why it was such a fantastic thing she now had Marshall to not only scratch her itch, but soothe and deep-tissue-massage it when needed. She’d bet that six pack all over again that Taggart was only interested in one woman nowadays.
Might be interesting to know whether it was mutual, or if Violet even knew about it. God knows most women weren’t as fucking oblivious about their best friend being in love with them as she herself had been, but then in her case it had been at least partly deliberate, due to her trust issues, commitment issues, and issue issues. If Violet did know how Taggart felt about her... could that have something to do with Wright? Wouldn’t be the first time the man or woman on the side was involved in the violence surrounding a witness - Jay Arnstein’s shooting came to mind.
“Knock knock!”
Mary’s head snapped up to the doorway, to see... well, well, well. Speak of the devil.
“Violet,” Taggart all but jumped to his feet, his voice eager. “I was just talking about you.”
The blonde looked at Mary and gave an engaging grin. “Whatever he said, I didn’t do it. The pics were photo shopped.”
Taggart chuckled. “Funny you should mention photos - that’s how you came up. Vi, do you know a guy called Wright? We’ve got some of his photos here, and you’re in them.”
Violet frowned. “Jamie Wright? Sure, I know him. He’s in the Spanish class I’m teaching at the community center. He asked me to pose for some photos for his photography class.” She looked genuinely alarmed as she asked, “Is he in trouble?”
“That’s what Marshal Shepherd here is trying to find out,” Taggart replied, gesturing towards Mary.
“Any chance we could talk about him?” Mary asked. While she was at it, maybe try to get some hints about how she really felt about Taggart - hey, she was a nosy bitch. And she did kind of like the guy.
Violet shrugged. “You like fish? How about over dinner? My husband owns two restaurants, and there’s no point being married to him if you can’t eat out once in awhile.”
Mary smiled. “Love to. I need to get these printed out first though...”
Vi nodded and smiled. “One of those police-only things? Sure, I’ll just wait in the lobby.”
* * *
Now with a folder full of photos, stuffed into the messenger bag Squish had given her for Christmas, Mary scanned the parking lot of the Deep Blue Sea restaurant as she parked next to Violet’s BMW. Climbing out, she walked across to the other woman, who beckoned her to the edge of the lot with a smile.
“This is my favorite view in town, I think,” the younger woman confided. “Watching the sunset is wonderful, but I like this time of day, too, right before the sunset when all the shadows turn golden.”
Mary bit back a smirk at the poetic description - easy to see why she’d agreed to pose for Martinez - and stood next to Violet companionably. Leaning on the railing that bordered the parking lot, a few feet above the beach proper on a slight artificial cliff, Mary looked over the expanse of sand to where it met the blue water, and took a deep breath, smelling salt water and sunscreen and someone’s beachfront barbeque in the distance.
Huh. She actually kind of liked this place.
Looking down onto the beach, she blinked and a vision of sorts appeared; Marshall wearing a swimsuit patterned with Space Invaders, kneeling on the beach as he put the finishing touches on a two feet high sand-castle, the walls properly shaped from damp sand, complete with those teeth-and-gap edgings on the top, and a tower with a pointy roof on every corner and because it was Marshall building it, probably even a working drawbridge. All the while, Norah sat inside the castle walls and laughed in delight at her Daddy, because after all, every Princess needed a castle.
Digging into the messenger bag and taking out the notebook that served as her on-the-road To-Do list, Mary wrote down ‘check local housing agents re: summer holiday rental’.
Ten minutes later, the two women had been seated at a great table; halfway between the main entrance and the kitchen, able to see everything, but in a booth against the wall to keep anyone from sneaking up from behind.
Definitely perks to being here with the owner’s wife.
Mary looked over the menu, and asked, “How come there are two prices for all the fish?”
Violet laughed. “The cheaper price is for BYO - that is, you bring in the fish you caught yourself and the chef - that’s usually my husband, he switches between here and his other restaurant - will cook it how you want. It’s a pretty common thing at most of the restaurants around here - Port Aransas is known as the fishing capital of Texas.”
“I heard,” Mary said ironically.
“Well, a lot of people come here for the fishing, but are staying in hotel rooms or other places that don’t have a kitchen to cook the fish once they’re caught. So instead of trying to freeze them until they go home or letting them go rotten, most of the places around here will cook them.”
“Cool,” Mary shrugged. “What’s best to eat? We don’t get much fish in New Mexico; it costs a mint at restaurants.”
Violet looked thoughtful. “Well, it’s pretty much a matter of what you feel like. I eat here for free, so I tend to pick whatever’s most common at the moment.”
“Which is?”
“Right now? Redfish. Actually, it’s so common we even have a separate fishing competition for it. Kingfish, red snapper and amberjack are quite common as well, but you have to go out on one of the deep-sea boats for those.”
She didn’t know much about Jamie, unfortunately, other than that he wasn’t very good at Spanish and didn’t talk much about his past (Mary could have told her that!). But despite her having a sunny and cheerful personality, Mary found that she liked Violet McCullough quite a bit. Over pre-dinner mojitos, Mary had to suppress a pang as Violet made a dirty joke that reminded her a little of Mia. When she learned that Mary didn’t have a place to stay lined up, Violet even insisted on calling up a friend of hers who ran a B&B, right on the beach.
The food was delicious - whatever McCullough’s failings as a husband, he was a great chef. Mary couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t come out to greet Violet, even for a few minutes, though the waitress had said she’d tell Mitch his wife was in the restaurant as she seated them. Also, when she asked Violet about Jake Taggart, she downright gushed about him for ten minutes straight.
After dinner, Mary followed Violet to the three-storey house that somehow managed to look shipwrecked without being an actual ruin. The day of travel and investigation had taken more of a toll on her than she thought; she barely managed to update Stan and send a quick text to Marshall before falling into her rather comfy bed. She would have held out for phone sex, but he had his phone off for some reason.