Chapter 1: Mist

Okay, this is not the story I told some of you I was going to write next ... that one's too complicated to begin nearly two weeks before the start of nanowrimo. Not that I'll finish this one, but it came out of my fingers unlike the other one! So ...

You thought you knew why Lindsay Monroe became a detective, but that's not the whole reason. Meet the other one...

A/N: May 21, 2009 … updating to slip into the current season. Runs after Sex, lies and Silicone to just before Enough. Or that's the plan. We'll see where Marshall takes me, or if he goes anywhere, this time.

Chapter 1:

Neither hot nor cold and a mist more drizzle than fog, the mood of the day was dreary. Dark. Blah.

Umbrellas were useless. They had a case, without leads, and several days without rhythm. The cars drove on by as Lindsay and Danny walked side by side in silence, the roll of tires over wet pavement cascading over and over as everything just moved on.

Whether it was the mood of the city, or the lack of spark in the case, they were silent, bereft of their usual easy banter. But it wasn't awkward in the silence. They were just … returning to the same spot of the crime one more time.

Each had one hand in their pocket, the other on the handle of their case. They'd taken the subway, as the trip was simply another visit logged not far from the lab. It was somewhat of a hunch, some what of an attempt to find something new. They had simply nothing left.

Except Mac always said that you never ran out of evidence.

When Danny stopped, Lindsay looked up and watched his long fingers as he broke the seal on the door and opened it. She'd been keeping her head down, away from the wet of the day. They walked in wordessly, the air stiff and warm.

Together, they set their cases down on the ground, then leaded up, looked around. Lindsay shrugged out of her coat and draped it over her case as Danny propped open the door to let some light and air inside.

Hands on hips, she stood at Danny's side and studied the empty store front.

There was a long stylized counter that sat toward the back, brackets extending from the walls where clothes had once hung. Old signage leaned against the wall. It had been closed for nearly a year when the murder had re-opened its doors.

Danny pulled out his flashlight and ran the beam over the counter. Not even the dust moved.

Rats.

Lindsay ginned at the thought, her own little attempt at humor. Although inner. No little creatures that tended to live in uninhabited areas. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Rats.

She grinned further and started to say the same thing to Danny.

"Any ideas?" he beat her to it.

"No …" she said simply as she followed the light of the flashlight as Danny ran it over the floor. "Except …"

"What?"

"They were here for a reason. But why? Empty store. Descent rental space that can't catch a break in a bad economy. All that's left here is bars to hang the clothes on. And dust. Lots of dust. Yet no rats. No vermin. No--"

"Are you looking for trouble?"

"No, but shouldn't there be. Something? I mean, an empty building like this. A dead body. It's almost as if…"

"Someone's here regularly." He nodded his head, ever so slightly. "Let's look again—"

At that moment her cell chimed on, the little hometown country song reserved for her family. She pulled it out, raised her brows in surprise. "Ah, I need to get this."

He looked at her as if he expected her to elaborate, and feared she would. Then he seemed to shake it off.

Such were the way things were between them. Still. At times.

"Danny—" she said as her cell rang again.

"Nothin' … I'll just go on back and check the office."

Lindsay sighed as she watched him walk away from her, then turned around as her cell pealed off another set of tones. She stepped through the open door, outside into the mist.

"Marshal," she pressed the phone to her ear, used the family name for her mother's father, taken not from his name, but from his former occupation. "How's everything?"

She could almost imagine him tapping some surface twice with his fist before answering. "Just arrived at LaGuardia."

His voice was so familiar, like it had always been. Rusty, dusty. Deep. The weirdness she'd just felt with Danny fell away and left an easy smile.

"The airport? In New York?"

"Skills are getting a little slow little girl," he said, his voice soft with affection. It weakened her. That soft rumble of a voice, with its slight chafing at its center, nearly took her back home to the ranch, sitting by the fire at his knee, watching the flames rise up on a cold wintry day.

But that was Montana. This was New York.

Her home turf.

Montana was further away now than miles.

"Here?" She looked back, watched through the doorway as Danny pulled on his gloves. "I just didn't expect to … Uncle Tommy didn't say anything about … did I miss something—"

He chuckled. The deep rumble that rolled over the phone and straight in her heart, in the same way it had any time she'd sat on his lap as a little girl. It was warmer than Santa's laugh, deeper with more knowledge, understanding grief, Lindsay was now certain.

"I'm not here on family business."

She knew that tone. She frowned as she ran her fingers through her hair. "Marshal. You promised to keep out of—"

"I can never not have my hand in."

"But—"

"Old case came up, the FBI picked up the case, brought me back in to help them go over the old files. I'm not getting back in"

"Just happened to call you."

"Names on the file. Who else were they going to call?"

If you would let your replacement do his job.

"You were a federal marshal in Montana, Marshal. This is New York city."

"Federal marshals are federal marshals, girlie. Just looking into some things,."

"Marshal."

"I need to call in, let my contacts at the Bureau know I arrive. We'll talk at supper—you, me … that young man of yours."

Lindsay held back a sigh and tried again. "You'll bring me in on this case?"

"I'm just bringing in my expertise, letting the young fellas do their thing."

"Marshal—" she'd spoken too loud—it jarred her a bit. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead; a headache was beginning to drum as she looked around. "If I breath a word of this to mom—"

"You wouldn't."

"You'll bring me in."

"We'll talk at dinner," and from his voice, Lindsay doubted that she would get very far with him then either. "Besides, it's about time I met that young man of yours. See how he's treating you."

Oh, she knew that tone.

"We'll work it out."

"Get him to recommend a good steak."

She grinned. "I think I can do that on my own. I haven't forgotten my roots."

"See that you don't."

Despite the fact that she knew she should be mad at him for stepping back into the game, she was smiling as she hung up the phone. He had retired more than a decade ago, but she doubted he'd truly stayed out of the game. Her family had argued with his involvement since then a handful of times.

But she doubted he would be alive and kicking if he ever did quit.

Of course, now she needed to get Danny to dinner. His shift ran later. He'd have to take some personal time, or re-work his schedule. He'd do it … but he might make her wrestle around with him a little just for fun.

Then she heard it. The prickle of silence, then the low rumble of voices.

Reaching to her side, she drew her weapon, and slowly crept forward.

Danny had broken the tape.

No one else should be inside.

And as she edged to the doorway, she saw someone else standing at the edge of the doorway.

A revolver in his hand—pointed directly at Danny.