Disclaimer: All recognizable characters from WTR and SOT belong to Chuck and Aaron Norris and Top Kick Productions. Anything else belongs to the author.

Trent felt something gently wiping at his forehead. As he opened his eyes, he saw Tiny, sitting beside him. He was washing the blood from Trent’s forehead. Trent swallowed, his throat feeling like he had been in a desert forever. Tiny handed him a glass of water.

"Why?" Trent croaked.

"Why what?" A small smile played across Tiny’s lips.

"Why are you helping me?" A shadow crossed Tiny’s face.

"I hate to see an unfair fight." Looking away he added quietly, "Besides, I owe someone."

"Who?" Trent’s words were met with silence.

Before he could pursue the matter further, from down the hall Trent could hear keys jangling and footsteps approaching. They stopped in front of his cell. "I see you got yourself a cell mate, Malloy. Hello, Tiny," the guard said.

"Hello, Mr. Dean, sir," Tiny responded with a smile.

"Malloy, cops want to talk to you. Now."

Trent groaned inwardly and outwardly. He didn’t even know if he could get up, everything ached so badly. As he started to sit up, a tree limb of an arm slipped under him and supported him. "You can do it, Trent. Just take it slow."

The guard gave no outward sign that he was shocked at Trent’s appearance. As he approached the cell door, the guard looked him up and down. "You slip on a bar of soap?" he asked.

"Yeah, that’s it," Trent muttered through gritted teeth, as he waited for the door to open. As the guard held the door, Trent shuffled through it, waiting for it to lock behind him. As he started off down the hall, he glanced back at his cell. Tiny was making himself comfortable on the top bunk.

**

"Holy shit, Trent! What the hell happened to you?" Carlos’ voice was a mixture of shock and outrage at seeing the battered body of his friend. Trent’s face was a mass of purple and black. "Carrera?"

"Yeah, Carrera," Trent sucked in his breath sharply as he tried to sit in the chair opposite Carlos and Gage.

Gage got up from the table and yelled at the door. "Gimme a first aid kit in here." Turning to Trent, he asked, "How did they get you?"

"Guards ‘forgot’ to lock my cell last night," Trent told them. "I would have been…" He stopped as the guard brought in the first aid kit. Throwing it on the table wordlessly, the guard turned and left. Trent continued. "I would have been killed if another inmate hadn’t helped me. So why are you guys here?"

They exchanged glances. Finally, Carlos spoke. "It is a ‘good news bad news’ type of thing. It seems someone took a shot at our witness, Grant. They didn’t succeed in killing him but he is unconscious. We think it was Mitchell but until Grant recovers, we can’t make a positive ID."

Trent was puzzled. "Why would Mitchell take that risk? Do they really want me put away so badly they would fix the case?"

"We don’t know, Trent," Gage said as he bandaged the wound on Trent’s forehead. "We were wondering if he might somehow have ties to Carrera."

"Does the DA’s office know about all this?" The two didn’t miss the hidden meaning behind Trent’s question.

"We don’t know," Carlos told him honestly. "But at the very least it may be grounds for a mistrial if Mitchell is involved."

"Okay guys, just find out what you can." Trent’s face showed what an effort it was to get up from the chair.

"You gonna be okay, manno?" Carlos voice was heavy with concern.

Trent smiled. "Yeah. I think I got myself a body guard." Turning to Carlos, he got a pensive look on his face. "The guy’s name is Jim Jones. Everyone here calls him Tiny. He says he owes someone but wouldn’t say who. Can you guys see if you can find out anything about him?"

"Sure, Trent," Gage smiled. "Good luck and keep your head up." It was obvious that behind the good-natured kidding, both men were worried about Trent.

"Yeah, I’ll do that."

**

As the two men approached the guards, there was an almost imperceptible nod between them. Gage smiled warmly and produced his badge. "Hey, buddy, can I ask you a few questions about an inmate named Jim Jones?" Putting his arm around the man, he guided him away from the desk, far enough away for Carlos to look at the visitors log. Sure enough, he found what he was looking for. Shortly after Trent had been transferred there, Mitchell had visited. And the man he visited was none other than Joey Carrera.

**

"Judge, in light of the circumstances, this office has no choice than to ask you to declare a mistrial." Alex’s words rang through the courtroom, producing gasps of disbelief. It was usually the defense that asked for a mistrial, not the prosecution.

"Because of the evidence before me, I agree with your conclusions, Councilor. I hereby declare a mistrial. The state has thirty days to refile charges. Mr. Malloy, you are free to go, but I ask you not to leave the state. Court is adjourned." As she was about to strike the gavel, the defendant stood up. "Yes, Mr. Malloy?" she asked

"Your Honour, I request permission to leave the state."

She looked at him in surprise. "This seems rather bold, Mr. Malloy, since you were just freed of a murder charge. May I ask you what is so important?"

Trent cleared his throat nervously. "Your Honour, I am requesting that I may go to New Mexico to see my girlfriend. I haven’t seen her since before all this started…" his voice trailed off.

The judge eyed him. "Is this the same girlfriend involved in this case? The one who is unable to testify because of her mental state?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

She looked at him evenly before responding. "You have permission. Just leave the address where you will be staying with the court." The gavel came down. "Court adjourned."

**

The flock of reporters swarmed Alex as she headed down the steps of the courthouse. Stopping, she spoke calmly and matter-of-factly. "It came to the attention of the DA’s office that our investigator was involved in tampering with evidence, threatening witnesses and allegedly has been associated with known crime figures that have a grudge against Mr. Malloy. DA Pitts decided that we should declare a mistrial at this time and we will weigh all the evidence as we now see it. If the evidence warrants it, new charges will be brought against Mr. Malloy. However, it is Mr. Pitts’ intention to make sure that there is not even a hint of anything improper from this office. He will be making a statement later in the day. Thank you." As Alex waved away the reporters, she quietly seethed. Her gut told her that Pitts had been involved but there had been no direct proof. Rather than stir the pot, she realized it was time to cut her losses and have Pitts owe her a favour. She knew the time would come when she would collect. She just had to wait.

**

"Look manno, you can’t drive like that." Carlos was trying to talk some sense into his partner.

"Says who?" Trent was busy packing stuff into an overnight bag. He was so relieved that he was going to finally see Jessie, he was ignoring the pain, and his partner.

"Why don’t I just drive with you? Honestly, I think the Durango would be a little more comfortable of a drive."

"He’s right, Trent." Sarah smiled, putting a hand on his arm. "Besides, you can share the driving and we won’t have to worry about you. And I already packed his bag for him."

Trent sighed. He knew the next voice would be from his mom, and he was right. "You won’t get to see Jessie any faster if you are alone," Katie told him.

He knew he was beat. Truth was, his hand and his ribs still ached and sleep would be great on the 15-hour trip. "Alright," he conceded. "Just move your ass, now, Sandoval!" Carlos laughed as he retrieved his bag from behind the couch.

Sarah and Katie Malloy took turns planting kisses on Trent’s cheek. "Give her our love," Katie whispered, her eyes telling the depth of her concern as they moistened. "Tell her we love her."

**

They drove in silence, each busy with their own thoughts. Trent slept off and on, his body finding its own way to help with the healing. Finally, after about 6 hours, including at least an hour of begging, Carlos finally convinced Trent to stop for food. Sitting in a booth in a non-descript highway diner, Carlos spoke.

"Gage and I found out about Tiny Jones."

Trent’s interest was piqued. "Yeah?" he asked as he bit into his hamburger. After having prison food, it seemed like the most wonderful food he had ever tasted. He was actually glad they had decided to stop.

"Seems he had a daughter, named Natasha. She lived with her mother after Tiny went to jail, and when the mother divorced him, Natasha used to come up by herself to visit. Unfortunately, when she was about 14, she got sick. Leukemia. She wasn’t able to make to the trip by herself and I guess Tiny was pretty broken up about it. After awhile, Natasha met someone in the hospital that helped her come up for a visit. They told Natasha’s mom that they were going on a picnic. Turns out, it was Natasha’s last visit, because she died about two months after. Tiny kept in contact with the woman after Natasha died, letting her know how much he had appreciated her help. The guard showed Gage the address that Tiny’s letters went to, including the name."

"Samantha Baker," they said in unison.

"Did you know?" Carlos asked.

Trent sighed, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I remember Natasha. Really nice kid. Sam met her when she was in the hospital after…" Trent hesitated slightly. "Being stabbed. I’d just met her, remember?" Carlos nodded. "I remember her telling me that ‘Tasha had helped keep her spirits up so she wanted to do something to help her. She said she was going to take ‘Tasha out for a picnic. She said it was no big thing, just a day to get both her and ‘Tasha out for awhile, just a day for the girls. I had no idea they had come here."

"Yeah, but that’s not all. Do you remember the name of Sam’s attacker?" Carlos knew that like himself, Trent would never forget the name of the monster that had not only attacked Sam but had killed 6 other women.

"Lawrence Nash," Trent muttered through gritted teeth.

"And remember what happened to him?"

Realization filled Trent. "He was killed in prison."

"Bingo. There was no proof but they suspected Tiny might have been involved. I mean, it’s not unusual that perverts like Nash get killed in prison but I guess Tiny had been around. No one will admit it directly but Tiny pretty much has run of the prison. They just never knew of any direct motive." Carlos grew quiet. "She wrote to him up until her death."

"I never knew." Trent sat, pensive. It was amazing to him that Sam’s act of selfless kindness had come back to save his life. It was as if she were still looking out for him. "It must have been hard for her, knowing that Nash was here," he said, thinking aloud. "Do you know how Tiny knew about my relation to Sam? Does he know she’s gone, why she stopped writing?"

"He knew about you. I guess Sam told him all about you in her letters. Sarah told him about Sam’s death. Sarah had found one of the letters addressed from the prison and asked Sam about it. Sarah actually told me most of this last night. It was she that wrote to him to let him know Sam had died. Sam didn’t want you to worry about her corresponding with a criminal, or visiting the prison, so Sarah never told you."

Trent nodded, unsure what to say. It was surprising to say the least that his wife had harboured such a secret.

**

Carlos yawned and stretched, stealing glances at his friend behind the wheel of the Durango. It was obvious that Trent was still in pain, but he refused to ‘shirk’ his driving duties, as he put it. Carlos thought about all the things that his friend had been through…the murder of his wife, the kidnapping of his girlfriend, jail. It was amazing to Carlos that Trent still had the strength to go on. And now, Jessie. Trent hadn’t seen Jessie, hadn’t seen how she had withdrawn. Carlos hoped that Trent wouldn’t expect miracles.

"You okay, manno?" Carlos asked.

"Yeah," Trent muttered, not taking his eyes off the blacktop that stretched before them.

"Trent," Carlos started, his voice indicating that something was weighing heavily on his mind.

"What?"

"I feel that I have to warn you," Carlos was staring through the windshield, watching the highway speed by.

"About what? Jessie?"

"Buddy, you haven’t seen her. She’s … It’s like she’s not there, Trent." The words tripped over his tongue. "She may never be able to come back to Dallas, Trent."

A silence fell over the two, so complete that Carlos wondered if Trent had heard him. Just as he was about to speak again, Trent let out a slow breath. "I know Carlos, but I have to see her, and try to reach her. Maybe if she knows that I’m not dead, she might…. I don’t know, Carlos, but I have to try."

Carlos saw the pain and frustration in his friend’s face. He had seen it before. "Trent, you are in no way responsible for any of this."

"If I had been more attentive to her problems, Carlos. I should have known something was wrong. Maybe I could have done something. Instead, I was too wrapped up in myself."

Carlos shook his head vehemently. "NO! You didn’t ask Dave Henderson to shoot himself in front of Jessie. This guy Oates used that against her. He was gunning for her specifically. You couldn’t have known." Carlos sighed. ‘Manno, we all feel like we could have done something, anything to protect her. But we couldn’t. You weren’t ‘wrapped up’ in yourself, you were recovering from a life-threatening bullet wound."

"Thanks, Carlos. For everything." Trent only wished he convince himself that his friend was right.