Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to either FX or BBC or whatever lucky people own Justified and Sherlock. Not me. :( If I did, Raylan would never have gotten involved with Wynona and there would have been more than three episodes of Sherlock Season One..

Beta by JustWhelmed.

Raylan walked into his boss' office when he was called. "What's going on" he asked when he saw the tired look on the older man's face.

"You know those fires that've been going on in Letcher County?" Art asked, pouring himself a whiskey.

"Meth labs. Going up in flame with the owners dead inside 'em?" Art nodded. "Four so far, right?"

"Five. Another one got torched last night. Three more dead."

Considering that they were meth dealers, Raylan wasn't too shook up. "What's that got to do with us? Thought the theory was some rivals. Local police's job."

"That's what I thought too." He sat down heavily in his chair, feeling his age more than usual. "Until I got a call from Interpol early this morning."

"'Interpol'? As in the International Police?" Raylan just stared at his friend. "What the hell?"

"Apparently, they've got a lead, think it's some sort of international terrorist..."

Raylan snorted. "In Kentucky? In backwoods Kentucky? This is the theory."

"I know, but, the guy on the phone seemed pretty sure. He's coming in soon to explain. And, since this is still technically a fugitive, it's still in our jurisdiction too."

Raylan groaned. "Collaboration investigation." It was every law enforcement officer's worst nightmare. The amount of paperwork needed induced migraines in everyone who ever attempted it and the pissing matches over territory and collar rights were equally bad. "You're assigning me this case?"

Art just smiled and raised his glass in a mock salute.

"That why you're drinking before ten?" Raylan teased.

"Nope. Last explosion-kid was inside. Local boy, named Carter Novack. Thirteen. Brains blown out first with a handgun just like all of the dealers." Art topped off his glass and put the bottle back in its drawer. "I just got a look at the autopsy photos."

That made Raylan just a little sick to his stomach. After a moment of awkward silence, a young guy in crisp suit showed up at Art's door, neatly stepping past Raylan leaning against the doorjam.

"Agent Walker," Art said cordially.

"Deputy Mullen," the agent said equally politely. (Maybe it was just Raylan, but these guys were getting younger everyday) "Marshall Givens?"

"Raylan."

Agent Walker got right to the point, handing each of the other men a copy of the same file out of his black leather briefcase. "Miri Eshel."

The face looking back at Raylan was lovely but cold, like a black-haired ice queen.

The Interpol Agent continued speaking. "She's Israeli, served in the Army like everybody, got a taste for violence I guess. After that, she went to Europe where she became the suspect in four bombings, one of them a synagogue."

"Religious motives?" Art asked.

"Monetary," Walker corrected. "She'll kill for any side that has enough cash. She's also the suspect in over a dozen assassinations."

"Why would she be in Kentucky?" Raylan asked. "It's pretty far from Rome or wherever she usually holes up."

"A few months ago, Interpol and a couple of English detectives were really closing in on her. She figured it out and disappeared. Probably thinks she's off our radar here." He shook his head. "She would've been if not for coincidence and bar security footage. One of the detectives we worked with in England got a look at the tapes and called us."

Walker gave the other two men a sympathetic look. "I don't envy you guys, dealing with this Eshel nutjob. I was two years in Iraq and this chick scares the shit out of me."

"Wait, hold-up," Raylan interrupted. "You're not working with us on this?"

"No, I have a flight to Serbia to catch." Walker picked up his briefcase and headed for the door. "We've got a civilian coming in, if you can call her that. She's the one we worked with earlier, who picked up the pattern, got the footage, and called us."

"'A civilian'?" Art repeated slowly. "Are you serious? That's so irregular that irregular ain't even a good word for it!"

"I know it seems that way, but Farrow Brett is a professional. And a genius. She's bringing in a waiver and it's all been approved by her government and ours. Trust me," Walker did his best to assure them, "you want her on your side. Good day, Marshalls."

"Well," Raylan said after Walker left, "that's weird."

"Whole damn thing is weird," Art groused. "Just, go back to your desk and wait until Einstein gets here." He finished his whiskey and thought about pouring himself a second. He didn't.

Raylan just nodded and did as he was told. As he stared blankly at his computer screen, he wondered what Becky would make of all of this then felt like kicking himself.

Why the hell couldn't he get her out of his head? Yes, she was intriguing, mysterious, brilliant even. In memory, she was almost an enchantress with her raven hair, gray eyes, and her ability to read a man like he was nothing more than a book to be picked up at her leisure. Yes, she had listened to him -the first person to really do so in what seemed like years. True, there were parts of her story that were tragic and made her seem like a vulnerable kid.

Still, damnit! He'd met the damn woman once in a bar two months ago. He'd only talked to her for a few hours. And obviously, she had not though it was worth sticking around to pursue because she had been gone when he finally made it back three days later.

He groaned quietly, rubbing his palms over his eyes. This was really getting stupid.

Someone perched on the edge of his desk. He didn't look up, expecting it to be Tim there to bug him about his bad luck getting the case.

Then he heard a low, English voice say "who's the woman?"