Three Weeks Earlier

Deputy US Marshal Tim Gutterson was in a foul mood. The FBI had swept in on their doorstep with some bullshit or other about a shared case, and needing someone to go undercover… and Tim had drawn the short straw because it needed to be a guy, and apparently all the world knew Raylan and Nelson was too old, and the other guys in the office weren't suitable and only Tim would do. Art volunteered his services.

Tim had gone for the orientation meeting, and realised that Art's understanding of what Tim would be required to do was somewhat imperfect.

He wasn't waiting tables. He was supposed to be the table.

And Tim was not down with an undercover assignment that required him to lose all his body hair from the neck down, and lie flat on his back while people ate their sushi and sashimi off his mostly naked body. He just had little choice in the matter.

Three hours and an excruciating appointment at a beauty parlour later, and Tim was ready to shoot the first person who crossed his path. He stalked back to the office to give his report.

The conference room was full. Fibbies, Raylan, Rachel, Nelson and Art. All watching him expectantly. Dammit.

He made his report, trying to make it as dull as possible. Perhaps he could bore them all into submission, because he was not looking forward to the explanation of what he would be doing while they were outside in the van listening in.

He started to explain, mostly because they were going to have to re-think the wire he was wearing. There was complete silence, Art and the senior Fibbie, whose name Tim hadn't bothered to learn, were staring at him.

Into the silence dropped a tiny, quiet, bat-like squeak. Tim shot a furious look at his co-workers. Rachel's eyes were on her note pad, Nelson was staring off into space, eyes wide, face a mask and jaw clenched so tight Tim could hear his teeth grinding. Raylan's head was down, the brim of his infamous hat shielding his face from Tim's angry gaze. Tim scowled and started to continue, another tiny squeak, Raylan's whole body quivered, and the lanky marshal held up a hand, one finger extended skywards. Rachel's eyes rolled sideways and her lips twitched.

Nelson broke.

And that was it. Rachel and Raylan were quivering with the effort not to break down, but Nelson and the two junior Fibbies were in hysterics. Even Art and Fibbie Senior were laughing.

Tim folded his arms and glared. Trying not to mind too much about the sticky residue from the wax that reminded him exactly where his arm hair had gone.

"Ha… ha…" If this mess wasn't serious, Tim would probably find it funny too. But he hadn't survived deployment in Afghanistan to ignore his gut instincts now. He knew his gut was right. There was a hell of a lot more to this than met the eye.

Since it was his neck on the line, now was the time to yank this back on track.

"The wire is out. I need a bug that's small enough to slip under a table edge or something." He leaned back against the wall, forced himself to relax. As though he hadn't a care in the world.

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The bug was tiny, the FBI had come through, Tim just hoped that the equipment was up to the task.

He made his way back to the restaurant a few minutes early. Never hurt to suggest a little enthusiasm, and it gave him a little extra time to plant the bug.

The locker room was empty when he entered, although he could hear someone in the showers. He would have to move fast then. He did a quick check to make sure no one would catch him and slipped into the private dining area he had been shown earlier.

The bug was an easy plant under the edge of the slightly raised seating, where no one would find it. Feeling a little more confident he turned to go when the thought occurred to him. The bench he was supposed to lie on was wide enough for two.

Well if he hung around brooding about it, someone might start asking questions. With a final glance to check that the bug was properly hidden, Tim slipped out and made his way to the locker he had been given earlier.

He rounded the bank of lockers and stopped. Someone was in the locker next to his. He could see the back, part of a long shapely leg, and a wrapped towel that said the person was female. He was just about to announce his presence when the locker door shut.

He opened his mouth to introduce himself, and the words just dried in his throat. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life before.

"ze barracudas will eat you alive." Tim was vaguely aware that she was speaking, that she had this cute little accent which he couldn't quite place, as this grin spread itself across his features. He was even aware that this grin did not speak highly for his intellect but somehow he couldn't help himself.

The girl, who he judged to be roughly his own age, didn't even seem to notice. "Adele Fournier." She stretched out her hand, and Tim took it, found his voice hiding somewhere behind his libido, "Tim Gutterson." He gently raised her hand, bent and kissed it, all the while wondering where the hell that had come from because he had never done that in his life before.

Adele smiled, fondly, even a bit indulgently, and Tim was sure he could hear his heart beating double time.

"Barracudas?" As questions went it had the dignity of positive imbecility, but this sweet beautiful, glorious girl seemed determined not to notice that Tim's IQ had dropped off about thirty points.

"Ze reason ze last Adam left." Adele smiled. "Ze women zat hire ze private dining experience. Zey are like animals." Something hardened in her eyes for a moment. "We work together. You have done zis before, no?"

Tim shook his head.

"Do as I do, and stay wiz me, do not let zem try to get you alone."

She looked him up and down, and reached into her locker. "Zis should fit," she handed him a soft robe, dark grey in colour, "we are ze same size, and zis is ze real zing, better zan ze cheap, nasty ones zat zey provide."

Tim thought he could sit and listen to Adele read from the telephone directory. In a daze he reached into his locker, putting his jacket away.

Adele dropped her towel on the bench, and reached into her locker for a robe.

Tim swallowed. She wasn't just beautiful, she was perfect. Long limbs, creamy skin, body in lovely curvaceous proportions. He had never been shy about taking his clothes off before, but in the face of that perfection, he suddenly felt a little awkward.

She seemed to recognize the problem as he dithered, she reached out a hand, patted him gently on the cheek, and leaned in to kiss him on the other cheek. "You will be fine. I can tell."

Oh god, she isn't just beautiful, and perfect, she's sweet and kind too. He had never really had a check list of characteristics that he thought about when considering the perfect girl, but if he had, Adele would definitely be ticking all his boxes. For a second, the thought of the ruse and how he was lying to her right then and there bothered him.

She was sitting on the bench, bent over, brushing her long brown hair. It was a glossy, dark chestnut, and he had a mental vision of her hair spread out on the pillow as he hovered above her.

Dammit. He pulled himself together. He had a job to do, and perhaps when all this was over, Adele would see that he wasn't lying to her out of choice. There was a definite connection between them. He could feel it.

He took the towel and headed for the shower.

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It was just a job, Adele told herself. She was there to do a job, and then this guy walks in and suddenly her brains have gone to mush. Tim Gutterson, well her boss had warned that they were sending someone in from the official investigation, only he hadn't warned her about Tim.

Oh god, he's perfect. Cute, slightly bashful smile, beautiful expressive blue eyes, and he was charming, kissing her hand made her want to blush and giggle like a child! He had done that on impulse, not the practiced ease of the womanizer.

Damn… damn… damn.