Sr. Rachel broke out of Martin's grasp the moment the door slammed behind them. Undaunted, she charged forward once more, but Martin had better speed. He caught her again, this time blocking the door with his body.

She shoved his arm off of hers. "Let me back in."

"I'm sorry, sister. I can't do that."

Most women are blessed with the ability to glare. Sr. Rachel had a divine gift. "Do you care to explain why?"

Martin Fitzgerald stayed a cool as the other side of the pillow. "Danny wanted us to clear the room."

"Really? And how could you tell that?"

"He gave me the signal."

"Let me guess. You guys have telepathy now?"

It was Martin's turn to glare back. "No, we use our decoder rings." He motioned towards the closed door. "He's got Kylie talking in there, which is more than we've had in over two hours. Which also means that we just might find the two children who've gone missing from your orphanage. So you might try being a little grateful, instead of biting my head off."

Face flushed, Sr. Rachel stormed across the hallway to steam. Martin gave her room to sulk. The animosity surrounding her was strong; Martin thought it would outlast the interrogation. But to his surprise, after a good ten minutes, its cloud visibly weakened. She must have decided that he wasn't the biggest asshole in the world because she strode back over to him, where he'd propped himself up against the wall.

"Do you really think he's got something?" she asked.

"It's still too early to tell."

Sr. Rachel sighed, and crossing her arms leaned next to him against the wall. "You must be close," she said. "You and Danny."

Martin knew a peace offering when he saw one. He took it. "Well, when you work with someone every day for three years, you get to know a person."

"How long have you been doing this?" she asked.

"All together?" She nodded. "Around seven years. I worked in a number of agencies when I first started out, mostly dealing with white-collar crime. It was where the money was," he explained.

"But it didn't…" Sr. Rachel searched for the right wording. "Do it for you."

A brief laugh escaped from his lips. "No," he admitted. "It didn't."

Nodding, Sr. Rachel looked away, choosing to peer at the closed door of the library, as if staring hard enough would somehow burn a window to the inside. While she gazed forward, Martin gave her a once-over.

Looking her up and down, he asked the question that had been on his mind since the moment he met her. "What made you want to become a nun?"

If he had thought her distracted, he'd thought wrong. "The whole God thing," she said. "Never could get off of it."

He nodded. "Fair enough."

"How about you?" She countered. "What made you get into law enforcement?"

It took Martin a moment to reply. "My father mostly." He could have gone into a million reasons why, but his father – though he hated to admit it – had been the first.

"Uh-oh." She smirked.

"What?"

She put up her hands. "Just sounds like a some classic father/son unrest. That's all."

"Yeah, well, thanks, Captain Obvious. I needed the reminder."

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "It comes with the territory. You spend all day trying to see things people can't see themselves…Trying to shine light in the darkness. And then, when you're 'off duty' so to speak, it's…"

Martin filled in the words. "It's almost impossible to turn it off."

Sr. Rachel and Martin shared something in that moment. Their eyes held the same understanding, like two lighthouse beacons that shone blindingly at each other for just a split second. But like beacons meant to spiral, that second ended. They looked away.

She kept to questions to pass the unbearable time. "Do you like your job?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation. Martin found himself surprised…and smiling. "I do."

"I can hear it in your voice. It must be nice to feel that kind of passion."

"And you don't?"

It caught her speechless. "I…" She brushed wisps of hair out of her brown eyes to buy herself a moment. "I used to."

"Uh-oh."

It was her turn. "What?"

"Just sounds like you have a little unrest yourself."

She stared at her feet. "With my creator, huh?"

"You said it. Not me." To tell the truth, Martin didn't want to do it to her. She seemed the decent sort, especially after the conversation they'd shared. However, an investigation was underway, leaving her in its centerfold. He had felt her out. Now, it was time to make his move. "It must be difficult. Keeping this place up and running. Keeping track of fourteen children. All with the government breathing down your neck… It might make a person overworked…Maybe even resentful."

The smirk faded from her lips. "My," she said. "That concern came rather suddenly."

Martin's voice became tighter. "It's my job to be concerned."

The air about them began to build electricity. "And why would you be so concerned about me?"

"I've just spent some time watching your reactions in that room…the way you responded to the questioning, the hesitation you give with every question I ask."

Her form straightened, like a person turning to stone. Martin could have sworn he felt the room grow a degree cooler. "Are you trying to get at something, Agent Fitzgerald?"

"I think you're more involved in this than you're letting us know, and I think if anyone's holding back information, it's you."

Her hands wrought together, though no other part of her body moved. "You want to accuse me publicly?"

"No."

"Then the point, please."

"I'm here to find two missing children. Two children who were under your care." He eyed her meaningfully. "I'm just giving you fair warning. If you're hiding something, eventually the truth will come out. It always does. So if you've been dishonest with us in any way, now is the time to come clean for your sake, and for the sake of this orphanage."

Her voice was like ice. "Have you ever taken lessons in Catechism, Agent Fitzgerald?"

"I don't see where that has anything to do with my questions-"

"Because if you did," she bit. "You would understand that I have taken an oath before God to protect the children in my care, to help those in need, and to give of myself no matter what the cost. I've taken a vow of obedience. With that vow comes responsibilities to those around me. That might not mean a lot to some people, but it means a lot to me."

Martin's gaze softened at her words, but his message stayed the same. "Sometimes even the most well-intending of people find themselves in situations where the most solemn vows have to be sacrificed."

"And what do you know about my vows?"

"I know you're tired. I know you're questioning your faith."

Her eyes darkened. "You think you know who I am? After only having met me four hours ago?"

"No, I'm just not sure who to trust here."

"Trust Danny," she said softly. "Like you always have."

Martin suddenly frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

A voice beckoned for her from down the hall. Both of them looked towards the sound. In an instant, her disposition changed to one of complete authority. Sr. Rachel regarded Martin once more. "Excuse me," she said. "I have responsibilities to attend to."

Martin nodded, and the nun marched down the hallway to where the voice had hailed for her. When she was safely out of sight, Martin brought up his phone and hit speed-dial.

His superior's voice answered. "Agent Malone."

"I just finished talking with Sr. Corrione."

"How'd it go?"

"About as well as my last root canal. You were right. She didn't take it very well."

"You spooked her?"

"I shook her."

"Okay," Jack said. "Let's see what falls out."