The morning air was still cool, if not a tad humid, as he walked Natalie out to the Jeep. There was no hiding the greenish cast to her face when she fastened the seatbelt and noticed the rather obvious brown stain on the nylon. Lance made a mental note to replace it as soon as possible. She may still want to wear the jacket, but he didn't want her to be reminded of that day every time she rode in his Jeep.

They rode over to the hotel in silence. Natalie rested her head against the seat rest with her eyes closed. Lance could tell that she was trying to keep her breakfast down, and he managed to reach the hotel without incident. He eased the Jeep into a spot closest to her room and helped her out of the Jeep. Natalie took a steadying breath as she got out.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," she replied, softly. "The last time I was in your car, I was dead. Kind of a tough thing to get my mind around."

Lance nodded. "Here, I'll walk you to your room."

Natalie took a deep breath. "Thanks, I'd appreciate that."

It took her a couple of tries before the key card finally worked, and he followed her into the room. Housekeeping had tidied up while she was gone. The bed was made, the countertop in the kitchen was cleaned, the coffee pot was empty. Natalie slowly made her way to the bathroom as though in a fog. Lance thought it best if he hung around until he was sure she was alright. He just heard the shower start when his cell phone rang.

"Arturo," he answered it.

A few minutes later, and feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders, he hung up, and waited for Natalie to finish with her shower. Ten minutes ticked by, then twenty, then thirty. He knew women were notorious for taking longer to get ready, but they really needed to hit the road. Finally deciding enough was enough, Lance went into the bathroom.

"Natalie?" There was no answer from behind the shower curtain. "Natalie!"

He tossed back the generic white vinyl curtain to find her huddled in the tub, arms wrapped around her knees, sobbing softly as the water continued to pour down on her head. Lance quickly turned off the shower and knelt down next to her. If she noticed, she didn't show it.

"I died," she whispered softly, staring at the faucet. "I really died."

"Yes, you did," Lance replied gently, pushing damp hair away from her face.

"It wasn't some dream," she said numbly, still not realizing he was there, or that the shower was off. "I really did die."

She looked so vulnerable and fragile that he had a hard time reconciling her with the brassy, pain-in-the-ass FBI agent from yesterday morning. Lance pulled one of the fluffy towels from the pile on the counter and wrapped it around her before lifting her out of the tub. He gently set her on her feet before wrapping the towel tight around her shoulders.