Riches to rags, Amy thought, as she looked around the motel room they had rented for the day to lie low and sleep.

The guys had all been awake all night, so now three of them slept at a time while one stayed on guard. Amy had slept most of the night despite thinking she wouldn't, and had woken up to Murdock handing her a cup of coffee. Until her memory sorted itself out she'd stared up at him, thinking, "what the hell am I doing in a hotel room, with Murdock, in bed with no dress on?" When she did regain her senses she didn't know whether to be relieved the killer hadn't shown up or annoyed that they had to go through it all again.

Now she couldn't sleep and spent most of the day writing up exactly what they'd been up to the last couple of days. She wasn't certain how she'd end up using the notes. She couldn't write a newspaper story in jail. On the other hand, she'd have plenty of time to write a book.

Murdock, on watch late in the afternoon, smiled to see her working and said it reminded him of the old days in the Army, writing reports.

"Someone has to record it," Amy said. "One of my old professors at college used to say, 'if you don't write it up, it didn't happen'."

It made it real, the ink on the paper. Otherwise, it was just memories and it died with whoever carried them. She had to wonder about all the things that happened in the lives of Celia Hartley and the other victims that would go forever unrecorded. Gone the same way as their ambitions and wishes and fears.

"Murdock." She hesitated a moment, when he looked at her and then went on. "What will you do once this is all over?"

Murdock stiffened a bit, where he stood by the window, and frowned.

"Tried not to think about that too much yet." He went silent for a while and she thought that was all she was getting, but then he spoke again. "I can't go back to the VA now. My name's been in the papers and on TV. Decker would be all over me like a rash."

"So everything has changed really. You're... well, of course you always were a member of the team, but in a different kind of position. Now you'll be on the run with them. Does that scare you?"

"It's going to be different, I guess." He didn't look at her as he spoke, kept watching out of the drawn blinds, creating a peephole in the slats with his fingers. "On the move most of the time, sleeping in motels, sometimes even in the van. When that's only for a few days a time, a couple of weeks, it's an adventure. Like going camping, but knowing I'd go home to my bed. As a permanent situation, it could get old pretty fast."

"Yes." Amy sighed. "Yes it will."

"Amy." Murdock turned to her. The slats of the blind cracked back into place and Hannibal stirred on his bed. Murdock glanced at him, and then spoke softly to Amy. "You still have time to go back. You don't have to throw anything away yet."

"Oh, I know," she said, forced brightness into her voice, "I... I know things could still be okay."

She knew for sure that hadn't convinced him. Time to change the subject.

"Murdock, do you think this plan can work? I mean really? Isn't it like looking for a needle in a haystack?"

"Not at all," Murdock said. "It's like building a haystack and waiting for a needle to happen along."

"Ah, that's very reassuring."

He shrugged. "For now, it's the plan. Keeps us busy until something else happens or Hannibal comes up with a better plan. Sometimes that's the only way to play it."

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In the afternoon, as BA stood guard, Amy slept at last, curled up on a double bed, beside Face. Sleep was good. When she slept, she didn't have to think.

She slept most of the night at the second hotel after Murdock sent her to sleep with long, funny but rambling anecdotes that left her grasping at the threads of a story, trying to follow it, and missing.

That second night was as uneventful as the first. They left the hotel in the morning, taking a sample from the champagne bottle and Hannibal dropped it with his drug-testing friend.

Amy had little to write up the second day. She tried to watch TV, but the one in their motel room was broken. So again she lay beside one of the others, feeling safe and yet lonely. Eventually she slept again, right until they woke her up to get ready for the next stakeout.

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Murdock and Amy put on their little show in the lobby, ordered the champagne and went to the room. Almost a routine now, Murdock thought. How many more of these they would try?

Busywork. As he'd told Amy, they kept occupied until they figured out a better plan. Or until the police figured out the same thing they had and started questioning hotel staff and checking employment records. But who knew? They could hit the jackpot. Fortune favours the bold and all that. Hannibal had a double dose of bold.

Staying awake had been hard the night before and he suspected would be harder tonight, despite sleeping most of the day. He wished Amy carried a larger purse as part of her outfit, so he could put in a book to read.

Seeing it was almost eleven o'clock, Murdock decided to check out the news, and flipped on the TV while they waited for the champagne to arrive.

They were the lead. Not Face this time though, not exactly, but Amy. Reporter Missing, believed to be with fugitive A-Team. The story was all questions. Was she their prisoner, or had she finally admitted what people had suspected for so long - that she was in fact a member of the A-Team? The police refused to comment.

Amy stared at the screen, at her own picture, and Murdock wondered if she could smell smoke as her bridges burned behind her. Well, one thing for certain, staying awake shouldn't be a problem. They had some talking to do.

A knock on the door and a shout of 'room service' made Murdock turn off the TV and the two of them began the little routine they'd practiced for two nights now.

Murdock let the waiter in, and memorised him quickly. Early forties, or possibly late thirties, hard to say, face prematurely lined from the sun. Light brown hair, well built. That done he turned away while the man opened the champagne, to give him the opportunity to slip in the drug. He looked at Amy and she smiled at him, a smile that suddenly froze below her staring eyes.

Instead of the pop of a carefully uncorked champagne bottle, Murdock heard a click behind him. A familiar sound.

"I knew you would come."

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Face frowned and tapped his earpiece. A moment ago, it had switched from the voices of Murdock and Amy in the hotel room, to an earful of static.

"Hannibal, you receiving me?" Face said over his walkie-talkie. "I just lost the audio from the hotel room."

"Me too," Hannibal said, and Face's heart sank, knowing it couldn't just be his receiver on the fritz.

"Mine too." BA's voice came over the air.

"Should we radio Murdock?" Face said.

"No," Hannibal said. "We assume trouble. If anyone's in the room, we don't want to let them know we're coming. Move in."

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Murdock turned slowly. The waiter held a gun, pointed at Murdock.

Murdock's mind raced. Does he know the guys can hear us? The walkie-talkie hasn't made a peep. If he does know, has he already taken care of that problem somehow? Taken care of the radio? Taken care of the guys? Am I alone here, the only one between Amy and a man who's already murdered at least eight women? Hope Amy doesn't start yelling for the guys, because if he doesn't know we're wired it makes no sense to tip him off. Do I try to draw or do I disarm him first?

All of this went through his mind in the time it took the man to speak again.

"I knew I just had to wait for you to come to me."

Murdock made the decision even before the waiter - killer - finished the sentence. He lunged and tried to knock the gun flying with a swipe of his hand. But the man was ready for him, grabbed his wrist, closed on him and smashed the butt of his pistol into Murdock's face.

Murdock hit the floor on his knees, stars dancing in his eyes, tasting blood. Damn, he's fast! Somewhere in the background, beyond roaring in his ears he heard Amy yelling his name.

"Won't let him hurt you." Murdock promised, thinking he'd spoken, not sure. He swung, his fist starting right up from the floor, as if the punch could drag him up to his feet. But the gun came at him again and he tried to turn the swing into a block. It didn't work, he couldn't move fast enough, too dazed, couldn't see well enough and pain exploded in his skull.

Murdock fell against the foot of the bed. A comb, a mirror, bits and pieces of make-up, bounced in his vision, as Amy dumped out her purse onto the bed and grabbed the walkie-talkie.

A shadow loomed over Murdock and he twisted around, bringing up his arm. Too slow. The pistol butt fell again, this time catching him on the temple.

Murdock blacked out.

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Face moved from his position in the parking lot, where he'd lurked in an unlit car. He headed fast for a fire exit he'd checked and unlocked earlier. Slipping inside, he found himself at the bottom of a flight of concrete stairs, bleak emergency lighting showing up damp patches on the walls. He drew his pistol and climbed the stairs fast, reporting his position to Hannibal as he went, heard Hannibal and BA reporting theirs.

He reached Murdock and Amy's floor and poked his nose out into the corridor. A movement at the end of the corridor ahead of him caught his eye, someone turning the corner.

Face followed, fast and silent, staying near the wall. He wanted to head straight to the room, but if something was happening, then that someone up ahead might be a someone Face needed to grab before they got away. He heard a door closing just before he reached the corner. A quick peek showed him a short corridor. No numbered hotel room doors here, just closets or storerooms marked 'Private' and, at the end of the corridor, a door marked Stairs. Face ran to open it and found an identical staircase to the one he'd climbed.

He could hear someone on the stairs below him, footsteps echoing on the concrete, coming up. Face crouched beside the handrail of the upwards flight and covered the downwards flight with his pistol, ready.

A man came turned onto that flight and Face sighed and dropped his head. BA stopped, then recognised Face and lowered his gun, came on up the stairs.

"You okay?" BA asked as Face stood up.

"Yeah. Chasing shadows. Seen anyone?"

"No, I..."

Face felt the breeze behind him, heard a tiny creak as the door opened. BA's expression froze and he raised his gun again, pointing at, no, past, Face.

Face started to turn, but didn't make it all the way, as a strong hand shoved him in the back. He stumbled, put one foot down onto nothing and the world reeled, as he fell back, making a hopeless grab at the handrail.

"Face!" BA yelled, as Face crashed into him, knocking him over like a bowling pin, sending them both rolling to the bottom of the flight of stairs, to slam onto the landing, Face half underneath the groaning BA, his legs trapped.

"Get off me!" Face yelled, trying to push BA off.

"Man, I think I broke every bone in my body," BA moaned.

"You don't get off me, I'll make sure of that!" Face, tossed aside a gold necklace he'd been lying on and tried to drag himself out from under BA's weight. "I have to get him! Get the hell off my legs!"

He won't get away this time.