Controlled chaos. The scene was barely controlled chaos. Sure, it was often like this with these many arrests, but it was looking at it from the outside that just… entertained him. Tim was on administrative duties due to the "threat on his life." Like his job wasn't a threat on his life. He provided protective details, he didn't get one. He took a deep breath, it was infuriating if he thought about it. So, his solution was to not think about it.
Practical.
Tim took a swig of his coffee and continued surveying the scene. Attempted jewel heist next to a grocery store, Marshals were called in to assist with a federal probation violation on one of the thieves, a former bank robber no less, and to help moving the seven conspirators. Which seemed like a lot, until you looked in to how three of the co-conspirators were significant others. Only one of the actual thieves was a woman. Attractive too, but then you would be if you were a jewel thieving gymnast, right?
He spared another brief glance to her before returning to the carnage of the scene outside of the jewelry store. A twenty-million-dollar diamond set was the target, necklace, bracelet and earrings. Had been scheduled to move for the owner's Halloween party. FBI and state troopers had eyes on it as soon as the jewelry had been transferred to the store for pickup. Apparently, the wife had been planning on going as Elizabeth Taylor. They didn't know if a buyer had been lined up yet but that many marked stones were a lot to move and they looked to have invested on a lot of tech for the job, as well.
One of the troopers gestured to him to come over and he tossed his empty coffee cup back into the SUV. Walking over, he said, "Gonna let me play too?"
Trooper Sandford chuckled, his donut belly, as he referred to them in his head, quivered, "Yeah, you looked so forlorn checking her out over there."
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," but he grinned. "What can I do?"
"Need you to take her and your guy over to your offices. Apparently, she's something we're not qualified to handle," he smirked.
"Really?" He allowed his eyebrows to shoot up to play along. Sandford was a good cop and it would pay off to humor him later.
"Note from Washington on her name."
"She didn't give you an alias."
"Sorry. On every name she offered," Sandford looked back at her, leaning docilly against the fender next to their federal violator.
He shifted to reevaluate her. Squinting dispassionately, he noted that she was generically pretty, not beautiful, but she had the bones of it. High cheekbones, not too high. Large eyes, angled up like a Hepburn lookalike. If she ever dolled herself up, she'd probably be stunning. Her coloring was vague as well. Dark eyes, light olive skin tone, dark brown hair, any number of ethnicities could have been attributed to her given what they could do with makeup now. She had a slight build, but a lot of muscle. Even now her posture was perfect, erect but not stiff.
He blinked the word "erect" away. She goosed his neck hair. Nothing else.
"Why doesn't the FBI want her?" They had enough trouble. A shady woman with her looks in Raylan's line of sight would be the death of them.
She had been relatively quiet and obedient through the whole process. Downright inoffensive, given the arresting officers behavior. She'd told the others to shut up and call lawyers, but said nothing herself. Well-practiced criminal. Entirely in black, from her headband to her ballet slippers, she had sweat dripping off her face in the sun, but hadn't make any effort to wipe any of it away. She was completely still.
"They do. Flag says to keep her from them. Consequently, y'all get her. You should be more excited. You could have gotten their lookout."
"What's wrong with the lookout?"
"Rolled in a dumpster to keep people from bothering him while he was watching."
Tim wrinkled his nose. That was dedication. "Well, then," he said, lacking any comment as his wheels spun in place about the woman. "Guess we better get her in the car."
Sandford quirked his eyebrows, "Tell me, she didn't just get hotter."
"She just got scarier," he said honestly.
Peter Calhoun and Sonya Walters, as her name was given, were loaded in the SUV and his multitasking protective detail, Nelson, got in the rear passenger seat, next to her. They'd been cuffed in the front to make it easier to see if they were trying to escape. Calhoun was next to him, directly in front of Nelson.
He pulled out with a nod to his Chief and started back to the office. It would be about an hour and with a few stretches of empty road before they would be back in the city. And he was looking forward to learning just how scary she was. It was research, they hadn't taken that from him yet.
It had been a week before, his apartment broken into and someone waiting there to take a shot at him. He'd returned fire and winged him, but he'd escaped. Breaking his window and losing him his security deposit. Fingerprints and DNA came back with a former PFC Aaron Wiggs, dishonorably discharged after misplacing a couple of crates of P22's. He didn't know of any connection between them so they had put him at a hotel for a couple of days. Then his room had been broken into when he was on an overnight prisoner transfer. Now Nelson was his shadow.
That was probably the most annoying part, even ahead of losing the security deposit. That he had a fucking shadow.
They passed the first stretch of empty road without incident, Nelson didn't try to make conversation and neither did she. Calhoun on the other hand.
"This is bullshit- "
"Shut up, Peter," she'd say shortly.
Moments would pass, "But- "
"Shut up!"
Nelson smirked, but said nothing. Tim didn't have a lot of faith that Nelson wouldn't open his mouth, he was reliable that way.
After passing the Tom Thumb that started the next stretch Calhoun started, "How much longer?"
"Peter, shut the fuck up," her dark eyes were wide and forceful.
"Now, c'mon," Nelson smirked, "no need for that language."
She looked at Nelson like he was something she scraped off her shoe. He suppressed a snicker from the driver's seat, badly.
Her eyes flickered at him in the mirror, but there was neither appreciation for his laugh at his colleague's expense nor malice. But he got the impression she saw a whole hell of a lot in that millisecond of eye contact before she continued staring straight ahead.
They were going the speed limit but a pickup was coming up on them fast. Older model, white, no front plate, illegal in this state, but could be someone passing through. He stayed in his lane and watched them. When they were close enough to tailgate, he pulled closer to the berm to help them pass, there was no traffic in the opposite lane to impede them and waited. The windshield was too tinted to see if the driver saw.
Shit.
They hit as he was calling Nelson's attention to it. Not that he wasn't already watching it.
He managed to keep it on the road and sped up to get away while Nelson called it in and Calhoun started swearing. She kept her eyes on it and warned when they sped up again. He watched Nelson nod his appreciation to her before they rammed them again. Off-center this time, they spun off the road and the rear panel hit the pines separating the roadway from the wheat fields. The pickup was followed by another SUV and pulled off behind them.
The pickup's engine was smoking and front end damaged. The driver got out, holding a bandanna to his bleeding head and got in the passenger side of the SUV as the driver and passenger got out.
"Everyone OK?"
Calhoun started to open his mouth as she interrupted, saying, "We're fine. Shoot them."
He was really starting to appreciate how succinct she was, whatever her name was.
Nelson drew and was having trouble with the damaged back door, she tried hers. Naturally, the child locks were on on her side.
Tim got out, gun pulled, and opened her door as she leaned back, gesturing for Nelson to crawl over her.
He was not jealous.
Nelson hollered as he slammed the door, locking them both in the damaged vehicle and they both pointed at the incomers, "Stay back, Federal Marshals!"
They were maybe seven yards away and pulled, firing at the SUV.
The marshals could hear Calhoun in the car muttering as he'd ducked inside the armored vehicle. The gunmen pursued them both as they lured them away from the SUV. They fired at each other from either side of the SUV, and all they heard was rounds fired until it was interrupted by a crack and fire stopped being returned. Maybe fifteen or twenty seconds had passed.
He stalked around the car until he saw her standing there, gun pointed at one of them, handcuffs dangling loose, driver door open. Seeing him, she tossed them at him, keeping her gun on the man on the ground. Nelson had come around behind her and all Tim could see was his raised eyebrows.
Coming closer he saw why. She'd snapped the neck of the other gunman.
Upon Nelson's approach, she and Tim having the gunman under control, she set the gun on the hood and opened the back door of the SUV, "You're welcome." She moved to get into the SUV when the undamaged truck the driver had gotten into pulled around the totaled pickup and aimed at them. Tim pulled the disarmed goon back by the collar and she tackled Nelson out of the way.
After the impact, the already injured driver tried to scramble out of the truck and run away but Tim was quicker. Having handcuffed the gunman to the grill of the SUV, he gave chase. Nelson started to follow, but a shot rang out and he fell.
The woman had retrieved the gun, probably before tackling Nelson, and had shot him in the back from forty feet.
She raised her hands, pistol dangling from her thumb, and set it on the ground. Far enough away from herself and their prisoner before kneeling on the ground, saying, "I'm cooperating. And he'll probably live. What color's the blood?"
The gunman sat on the ground as they waited for a car to pick them up and he leant against the useless fender watching her as she'd returned to staring straight ahead. "Do I want to know where you learned to do that, princess?"
She quirked an eyebrow as she made eye contact.
"I know your name ain't Sonya Walters."
"It ain't princess either," she responded. Dead eyes. Not her first body, he surmised. Maybe that was why she was wanted. Didn't explain why the Marshal's Service didn't know who she was, or why someone didn't want the FBI to have her, though.
"What do you mean- "Calhoun looked at her like he didn't recognize her.
Softly this time, gently even, she said, "Shh, Peter, really."
She didn't say another word during the entire wait or drive to the office.
There was a suit he didn't recognize waiting in the conference room as they were brought in. He was waiting with a suit he knew better than he wanted to. Patel Helvana was the Army officer assigned to deal with the attempts on his life, since the only thing he'd had in common with Wiggs was their military service. Helvana had been tasked with investigating that aspect of the attempts on his life. The suit next to him was probably military too, he imagined.
The new guy got up when they brought in Calhoun and Walters. She stood, cuffs back on, as Calhoun was processed and given to waiting marshals for prison transport. New guy came out as soon as Calhoun left the room and demanded, "Get your cuffs off my officer, Deputy."
She lifted her wrists, bare now, cuffs dangling from a finger. "Really, Q?" her lips quirked in a smile. The first expression they'd seen on her.
Tim noticed how it changed her face, made her cross that line into beautiful. And kicked himself for noticing.
'Q' smiled in approval, "Thattagirl, c'mon. I got bad news." And turned to the conference room where he'd left Helvana.
"But I don't want that," She almost whined, trudging after him. A completely different person after the car ride in. He exchanged glances with Art and the newly arrived Raylan.
They shut the door but not the blinds and he and Nelson could make out Helvana speaking and her being very unhappy with the news. She'd sat attentively at first and her body language changed almost immediately. Her jaw clenched, arms crossed and every few moments her eyes went to the other suit who'd greeted her and was no less unhappy with Helvana's news. After a few minutes, Helvana opened the door, "Deputy Gutterson?"
He went in, followed by Art because it was Art's office and he was Art's Deputy.
Helvana wasn't pleased to see Art closing the door behind them but tolerated it. The other suit didn't bat an eye. She didn't look over, jaw clenched so tight she probably couldn't turn her head.
"This is Taylor Quincy, and you've met- "
"No- "Quincy interrupted. "She's an undercover operative, no matter what strings you've pulled to get her involved in this, her name is not in it."
She let out a breath but didn't look away from the death stare she was giving Helvana.
"Well, your team is now tasked with protecting him so he has to be able to call her something."
"Excuse me? What now?"
"I'm, apparently, kidnapping you to a cabin in the woods attract whoever's after you to make a move where I can kill them," she looked at him with the same dead eyes as the car.
He looked to Quincy, who said, "I don't do field work. You're safer with her until the rest arrive." He glowered, returning his gaze to Helvana, "Which will take time. Two hours at the earliest for the members in the country."
"I don't think this is how Tim reckoned he'd be using his vacation time, either. Or is he on leave for another reason?" Art asked with deceptive mildness. Being Chief Marshal for almost half of his career with the Marshals, he knew how to both engender loyalty and protect his people, physically and politically.
"It's certainly not how my associate was expecting to end her months of undercover work," Quincy crossed his arms and sat facing Helvana, next to his.
"I explained, she's here and has a unique- "
"Set of skills. I recall. We also have six others- "
"You including the caffeine freak?" she interjected.
"Five others," he continued seamlessly, "With the same set of skills, less than two hours away. Could have had them here to meet the deputy after his ride in."
"Where she was already saving his life," Helvana pointed out triumphantly.
"I was saving my own ass as much as anyone's. Let's not make heroes out of pragmatists, Sparky," she said. "He's not defenseless and spends his days providing protection. I don't. I also just spent more than nine months earning their trust, my contract says I get a one hour incommunicado for every day I spent there. I have 190 minimum hours of not taking anyone's calls, texts or emails. I'm very attached to that time coming to me, and you're depriving me."
She'd leant forward during her explanation and Helvana had stepped back. He pressed his lips together for a moment before saying, "I don't want her for a protective detail."
"There you go," she said quickly, leaning back, "you can't force him to trust someone he met under arrest."
Helvana stared at him a moment. "I assure you, former Master Sergeant Gutterson, that her professionalism, while not on display right now- "
"Meow."
"- Is not to be undersold. Nothing will happen to you under her protection."
"My concern is far more chauvinist." He didn't want to be alone with her. He was too aware of her for this to be anything but a bad idea. "I'd be too busy wanting to protect her. It's not her place to protect me," it pricked a bit to offer that as his explanation as to why he definitely didn't want to be trapped in a cabin fearing for his life next to her, but it seemed more practical than just accepting her.
I wasn't that he didn't trust her capabilities. She was scary capable. It wasn't even that he was attracted to her, which he acknowledged he was on a level. It was that she creeped him out, he told himself. However, many questions the fact that she was a trained government operative answered, it raised too many others for him to want to risk it.
But he'd been raised to follow orders. His father's, then the army's.
It was up to her to keep this from happening.
She looked at him like she could see right through him, but apparently desired her earned time off more than an explanation as to why he decided to be a dick now. "I'm sure the deputy will be safe here, until you can find someone who would be more conducive to his misogynist leanings," she offered politely.
And he just couldn't help himself, "I didn't say I was a misogynist, I said my concern was chauvinist. Two different things."
"So, your concern has to do with your legitimate belief in my inferiority rather than a belief that all women are incapable of your protection?" Clearly, she couldn't help herself either, if Quincy's clenched jaw and closed eyes at her response were any indication.
"Anyway- "
He interrupted, "I think we can agree these two shouldn't be alone relying on the other for their lives. And we can get someone here by," he actually checked his watch, "half past seven?"
Helvana just stared, "I think it would probably be good for both of them to be in a room together."
"And I think they'd have really obnoxious children, so let's not," Quincy replied.
Art snorted, while she just narrowed her eyes at Quincy. "I agree they shouldn't be in a room together."
"Doesn't matter. It's too late. That's the assignment, any changes will have to wait for tomorrow morning," Helvana set out a file. "The cabin isn't far outside the city. Security has been given a walk through, emergency response time is less than ten minutes- "
"No one can bleed out in that," she quipped, clearly unhappy.
"You can be on site within the hour, details of the security plan are in there, and I'm sure Deputy Gutterson won't mind driving," Helvana gave a generic smile and rose. "Rest of the team can meet them there. Those that are domestic, of course."
Quincy rose as well and offered his hand.
He took it and Quincy squeezed it and said, "Nice to have met you, asshole. If anything happens to one of my people, because of how you're playing this shit, I'll end you." He released him with a grim expression, "Have a great night."
Helvana recovered himself quickly, "If she's as good as they say, and daddy didn't get her the job, it'll be a cakewalk." He turned to the deputies, "Goodnight."
Art watched him leave and said, "Something seem fishy?"
"Strings were pulled to get us in here to protect a former Army Ranger and Deputy Marshal. Nothing fishy there at all." Quincy looked down at her, "How's the plan?"
"Seems well-thought, not having seen the house." She looked up at him, "What'shisface still have a place around here?"
"Yeah. Rather stay there?"
"If I can't keep him in the trunk until they're caught," She gestured to Tim with her chin. "Helvana doesn't exactly inspire a lot of confidence. Do they even know who they are?"
"Still investigating. Who's daddy?" Tim offered.
"Not who he thinks he is," she shot back still looking at Quincy, who looked at Art.
"Do you trust him enough to put your deputy in his house?"
Art looked at the suit and pursed his lips, "Tim, you've dealt with him longest…"
"Thank you for respecting that, sir, "he said ironically. "And this turn seems…"
"Shady as fuck?" She offered.
"Helvana has his reasons- "
"And you trust them? Without knowing why he'd want to remove you from the protection of your colleagues?" she scoffed.
"I do, because the threat has been former military and Helvana is military."
"And this office has never apprehended anyone former military?" She looked at Art.
"Do we get to know the details of this cabin?" Art asked, gesturing for Raylan to come in before crossing his arms.
"Which one?"
Art pursed his lips. "The one you'll have my deputy at. What can we call you?"
"For this purpose, my name is Walters," she said to Art as Raylan came in. "Your boy wants to trust Helvana, that's less paperwork for me in the long run. I get shot at, though, and he will hear about it and we will play it my way for the remaining time." Turning to Quincy, "What's the time on Tommy-boy and Juggalo?"
"Juggalo is out of town, Tommy will be here 4 hours with Les. Jake's closer. As far as cabin details, we can leave copies of their security reports here for you but I'd prefer as few people as possible know about it or plan B, say, just the two of you?" Quincy asked.
Arthur nodded, "Paper rather than email?"
"Less to risk hacking. Give me five," he pulled out his phone and started calling.
She'd begun marking through the security file on the cabin suggested to them, notes in the margins and highlights through the paragraphs.
"What are we supposed to do until your team gets here?" he asked.
"I'd prefer to wait in the security of the courthouse but Helvana doesn't want us to so I suppose it's up to you," she said absently flipping through the pages.
"The guy you killed. He was in the Army the same time as me. Owen Jackson. Did two tours, then moved to a private security firm over there," he sat and watched her work.
"Am I supposed to feel bad for killing him? He was trying to kill you and it didn't see like he had a lot of regard for the rest of us, either."
"Who taught you how to shoot like that?" he changed tactics.
"My mother," she said holding his eyes in hers.
They were a deep green-brown. Like a forest. Cool and deep and dangerous to the uninitiated. He suppressed a shiver.
"What's up?" Raylan asked to break the tension.
"Tim is going to be out of town for a little bit, I need you to follow up on what Wiggs and Jackson those other two yahoos had in common with Tim and to do it quietly."
Quincy nodded his approval as Tim ground his teeth. "If you're going to go, go now so you can recon before dark."
She nodded and looked to Tim, "I'll get my go bag."
The drive was pretty. She could at least admit that. Sigalia "Lia" Wintriev, or Sonya Walters, as she was currently being known, was usually good at admitting annoying facts. Her mind enjoyed turning them around and twisting them, generally to the annoyance of others. But it calmed her.
The deputy hadn't calmed her, before things went sideways he unnerved her. He'd been watching her. She'd felt his eyes on her for hours it seemed. Even driving, he watched her from the corner of his sniper's eye and every move she made had to be calculated.
Shit would be easier if he wasn't cute.
Not that that was worth admitting. The hat was more attractive anyway. If only the hat had the ability to make her shiver with a look. Stupid assholes with sniper rifles.
Helvana bothered her too. What was his angle? He'd mentioned her father twice, he put the flag on her that she wasn't supposed to be taken in by the FBI. Which had been the plan for more than nine months. She goes in with the FBI and then she goes home to see Uncle Peter before he passes. Plan involved him being out of the hospital but Q's updates had killed that hope.
Peter Wintriev had protected her, kept her fed and away from her father, had bent over backwards to protect her and her mother when they couldn't protect themselves, and she owed it to him to be there when he passed.
Sniper had noticed that she was quiet.
She hated snipers. Maybe because her father had a penchant for a rifle after his years in the Marines. Almost as much as with the cigars he'd pressed into her mother's skin, and then her own. Maybe because she didn't appreciate the idea that nowhere was safe from a long-distance shot. Either way, Lia would from here on out attribute everything she didn't appreciate to the fact that he was a sniper.
"What have you decided?" He asked it mildly, turning into the cabin's drive.
She'd let the trip get away from her. "I decide nothing. You and Helvana are running this shit show for now."
He pursed his lips and put the car in park.
He had pretty attractive lips.
Fucking snipers.
And then she thought about that.
She suppresses the thought a millisecond later with a shake of her head and met his eyes. "I go in first."
He nodded, looking mildly confused.
She pulled the handgun that Q had procured for her. She was still in the black sweater and leggings of what was going to be her adventure in air ducts but the boots from her own go bag were heavy and substantial on her feet.
The cabin was a tiny house experiment. She didn't think it even had space for insulation, much less other walls. She walked around it, as she'd been taught and seen Les do a million times. Les being the actual security expert of the team. She wasn't dumb, she knew what she was looking for, she was just better at other things.
The area immediately around the cabin was clear. There were a few footprints that made her suspicious but they could have been from the previous security team. Inside the cabin itself was the issue.
The windows only had sheers.
Who the fuck said that was ok?
How had that passed muster?
She pulled her cellphone from the waistband of her leggings and called Q, "There are only sheers in the cabin. I don't like this. File didn't mention window coverings at all, if I recall. But this is outrageous."
Q cursed, and turned to explain the issue to someone with him. Lia returned to watching the marshal in the car. He was watching her too.
His eyes were too gray. Too stormy. That was why she didn't like him. That and he was a sniper.
The self-aware part of her wondered how many excuses she could make before she admitted she was attracted to him. The childish part responded by saying hundreds.
Focus, Wintriev. Yes, she told herself, you've been up since 2:30 that morning and hadn't had a meal in almost a year to pull off this getup, but that's no reason to let a pretty sniper distract you. Not that he was pretty.
"What's Tim say?" Q asked.
"Huh?"
She could hear the smile in his voice as he responded slowly, as if to one of his kids, "You said you were letting Tim and Helvana run the show, for now, did you tell Tim?"
"I'm still in the cabin, he's in the car."
"He's not unequipped," Q said softly. "You want to go home? Use the resources we have."
"He's the protectee. I don't think going home will be nearly as satisfying if I let him die."
Q's smirk was clear through the phone line, "Sure, kid, that's what it is." And hung up.
She finished her walkthrough, the only bed was in a loft above the kitchen, there were windows all along the back of the house. No coverings but those damn sheers and the bathroom was off one side of the kitchen, which blissfully had a full refrigerator of hopefully un-poisoned food, and the bathroom featured a shower and conventional toilet. There were also a lot of lamps. If those could be rearranged, it might offer them some cover during the night.
She went back out to the car to see him reading on his phone, off her quirked eyebrow he said, "Nook app. How's the cabin?"
"Window sheers along the back wall."
"Well, shit." He clenched his jaw, thinking. "How long on your people?"
Looking at her watch, "3 hours, little less if Jake's driving."
"Your boss said Jake was closer," he recalled.
"Jake handles communications. He's not bad in a firefight but his specialty isn't this."
"No, mine is," he said flatly.
"Thought yours was up in trees and in clocktowers?" she shot back.
He flinched slightly and she felt half an inch tall.
"Look," she started again, "I'm sorry. I'm a bitch. Even when I'm not hungry and tired and in charge of things I don't normally do. I don't like the sheers. They weren't in the file. I don't like that he tapped my team without notice or wanted us out here before they arrived. I think you were safer in the courthouse. This stinks of bait to me and I don't know the terrain well enough to be the one setting the trap. It bothers me."
Instead of admitting to her wisdom, respecting her honesty, and motioning her back into car; he got out. "I was only gonna say it hurt you didn't give me more credit for creativity. Trees and clocktowers are overdone."
Seriously? "Well, fuck you then," she reached past him to get her bag and made the mistake of taking a breath that was full of him.
He was the Voldemort to her Harry Potter. For neither can live while the other survives.
Tim didn't mean to antagonize her. It was just right there. He really did only flinch to bother her. And it kind of warmed his heart that she cared that she hurt him.
He was on book five of the Ministry of Curiosities. It was all about a young necromancer being discovered by the ministry and used to help save the empire from her father, a ret-conned Victor Frankenstein. In the course of the books the head of the ministry had fallen in a very proper, and courtly love with the necromancer and sent her away from the only home she knew to protect her.
The character was dumb to deny their attraction and he was dumb to send her away when he was better equipped to protect her beside him, Tim thought. Take your happiness while you could because life is fleeting.
Tim also figured he might follow his own advice if he was stuck with her next to him anyway.
He grabbed his bag and chased in after her. Catching her arm on the step, he was beneath enough to look in her eyes. "I'm sorry. Truce?" he offered her a hand to underscore his words. It would be hell to be trapped with an angry woman, much less an angry one he was attracted to.
She took his hand hesitantly, the tentative contact stinging and shocking. She pulled her hand back as soon as contact was made and went inside, agreeing, over her shoulder, "Truce."
Well, shit if it wasn't mutual.
He grinned before he thought better of it. And made his way in with a lighter step than he'd had since Wiggs had broken in his apartment. He didn't appreciate the sheers, but the cabin was gorgeous. The woods, either maple or dark stained walnut. The furniture heavy and substantial with light colored natural fabrics and no noticeable country theme. Tossing his go-bag up to the loft he reached for hers.
"I'm on the couch," she was ransacking the fridge.
"You're gonna leave me up there defenseless?"
"I wouldn't know what to do with the high ground if I had it," she said sweetly.
He moved to stand too close to her and look over her shoulder at the sandwich she was making. "Hungry?"
"I haven't had a meal in a year. You want a sandwich? Make your own. Approach mine? Lose an arm."
He nodded, leaning closer.
She elbowed him gently, and turned while he was rubbing his stomach. Pointing the mustard stained knife at him, she said sternly, "Ours is professional relationship, Deputy. Not a 'you stand super close and try to smell my hair' relationship."
"You need a shower before I smell your hair. I was more thinking it wouldn't violate my security if I was in there washing your back," he didn't think he was going to get anywhere but closer by planting the idea in her head, and his, of being wet and soapy together. Given how her eyes closed in frustration at his suggestion he figured he was getting somewhere.
She opened her eyes to glare at him, "Why am I trying to keep you alive again?" and returned to her sandwich.
He wanted to be serious, but it had a been a week since the last attempt and they had one in custody and one in the ICU. He had been through too much to allow it to stop him from living. He turned back to the windows and tried to be serious. While he wasn't expecting them to make a move so soon, her life was on the line as well. She sat at the little half table with her sandwich and cracked the seal on a bottle of water. "You should get yourself something to eat," she said around her first bite.
"You want me to eat with you?" he said slyly.
"With me. With the fishes. No one should starve," she said before her next bite, giving that same sickly-sweet smile, he wanted to kiss off her face.
Apparently, telling himself it was ok to admit his attraction, magnified that attraction.
"My idea for the curtains," she continued, ignoring any undertones, "was to move all the lamps to the floor between the sheers and the windows. What do you think?"
She wasn't just a pretty face and he did approve of the idea, but it would blind them as much as anyone outside. So, would blackout liners though. He nodded, "Sounds good. Sunset is still an hour away." And started moving lamps.
He'd only gotten plugged in before she was finished. Wiping the crumbs from her hands over her plate after she finished, she rose and washed the plate before coming to help him. She started on the other end of the cabin and they met in the middle with all six available lamps on the floor, next to the windows.
Tim was looking out when he saw it. Grabbing her wrist for attention, he gestured at the doe that was maybe ten feet from the sliding glass door. She gasped and relaxed her arm. He slid his hand down to hers as the doe bent its neck to nibble on the bush.
She shivered before she could stop herself.
The doe sensed it and raised its head to stare at them and they both tried to stay frozen.
And failed as she pressed her lips together, shoulders starting to shake.
Walters managed to hold off her laughter until the doe was gone and then just lay on the floor next to him. He was still holding her hand. She was crazy.
Was it sleep-deprivation?
"I'd love to know what's so funny."
"You," she managed to gasp. "there's this beautiful moment with nature and you decide to make a pass and hold my hand."
"Worked though." He wanted to hold onto his pride, but she wasn't wrong. "When was the last time you slept?"
"Last night," she hiccupped. Which set her off again. Her hand tightening on his with every giggle-fit.
"For how long?" he asked patiently.
"I don't know." She stared up at him from the floor, "Is that how you get all the girls, Deputy? Strategically located fauna?"
"How much sleep did you get?"
She narrowed her eyes, "My sleeping habits- "
"More or less than an hour? You had to be early to get in that air duct," he squeezed her hand.
She tilted her head to where he was still holding her hand. Suddenly serious, she whispered, "let go of my hand."
She didn't pull it away until he raised his thumb off from where it had been rubbing her knuckles.
"How much sleep?" he whispered softly.
"An hour or so, I've been up since before 3," she conceded, glaring at her hand.
"Go take the bed. I'll stay down here and wake you at sundown," he tried to say it softly but he was angry.
She sat straight up. "I'm not sleeping until my people get here, Deputy. You're the damned protectee."
"You're exhausted and you shouldn't be here. You need a nap and a meal. You're skin and bones," only a slight exaggeration.
"Excuse me!" She stood up in outrage and he followed.
Saying wearily, "Yes, you have muscle on those bones, but not much else, and you could stand another fifteen or twenty pounds to keep you from blowing away in a stiff wind."
She smacked him.
And it fucking hurt. Girl had an arm.
She stepped nose to nose. Well, as close as they could get since he had eight inches on her tiny frame. "You will shut the hell up and recognize that you are the protectee. I am the security. Yes, I am fucking exhausted. And your bullshit doesn't help. I'm sorry you're not in your office doing your job. I'm sorry you're stuck in 'the hills have eyes' with me. I'm sorry you have to put your safety in the hands of someone you met while under arrest. But back the fuck off and get over it. Fluctuating between hitting on me and pulling my metaphorical pigtails isn't helping the situation."
"Take a damn nap." He shifted and armchair so his profile wouldn't be visible from outside, "I'll be right here."
She blinked. "No. What are you doing? We were fighting."
He looked up at her. "I may be an asshole, but I don't want anything to happen to either of us. Get some rest. You'll feel better."
She lay down on the couch across from him, tugging a throw over her body and setting her boots on the arm, "You're not moving from that chair?"
"No, ma'am."
"I don't know if I trust you," the way she was eyeing him suspiciously made that clear.
"Well, I want us both to live, so let me work on that." And he shut his own eyes to keep from seeing her reaction.
Lia closed her eyes more than a moment after he shut his. What the hell? She put all her marshal related confusion in a box to rest.
And was shortly less-than-enjoying kibbutz flashbacks with her mother.
They'd fled to Israel, her mother's homeland after Peter had gotten them away from her father. Divorce was not something American Ambassador's do. But then again beating their wives and daughters was supposed to be off the table too. She'd been ten before the escape and the kibbutz was a dramatic difference from her previous private schools and ballet classes. It was hot and sweaty with the threat of potential terrorism outside of Jerusalem, where they'd settled first.
They'd fought a lot those first few years. Lia didn't know how extensive her mother's abuse had been. She'd been focused on the dramatic change her life had taken, and in childish narcissism, had taken it out on her mother. It wasn't long after that that her mother was gone, leaving her care to cousin in Tel Aviv, while Peter was still hiding her from her father.
They still fought in her mind. Lia never should have risked her father finding her again. Even after her time in the IDF and her Homeland Security recruitment.
Her mother wouldn't forgive her.
"You ok?" he was still reading on his phone when she opened her eyes.
She didn't respond but flinched when the glass broke.
Points to her, she tackled him first.
They stared at each other for a too-long moment before they both rolled to a crouch and withdrew their weapons. He peered through the window behind one of the lamps. There was movement at the base of a pine and heading west northwest, or a roundabout way to the house.
She pulled him a few inches away from the window by an ankle like he was a child and he wondered what she'd put in that sandwich. "Get back towards the kitchen. Stay behind the door."
"Is that where you're gonna be?" he whispered back.
She rolled her eyes and positioned herself by the window in a defensive posture, gun out.