The intervening weeks were an intense blur. Harlan County, as ever, took up much of Tim's time and energy, but whenever he was alone in his apartment, or out at the bar, Tim found himself wondering about Kathryn. How she was doing. What she was doing.

If she was thinking of him. Whether she was safe as she awaited trial.

It was no way to live, if he was being honest, and so he poured himself into his work, re-doubling his efforts to be the fastest Marshal in the office when it came to follow-ups and incident reports. He found his brain less able to focus on memories of Kathryn when he was trying to figure out how to diplomatically phrase the words "fucking skeezy junkie rapist," so he could submit his paperwork.

It was a Wednesday evening when he got the call from Reed. Tim had been sipping a beer with Rachel and Nelson, lamenting how he'd somehow traded the Odessa Mafia for their dipshit Dixie cousins and wondering how to disentangle himself from Raylan's interpersonal bullshit, when he'd excused himself to the parking lot to answer.

"Gutterson."

"Hi, Deputy Gutterson. This is Special Agent Matthew Reed."

"I know who it is. You're not some one night stand I picked up at last call, I didn't delete your number."

Tim could sense the humor in Reed's voice when he responded, "Good to know I managed to sneak into your contacts, then," he paused, "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming to my office to help me with an interview."

"Who you interviewin'?"

"I believe you'll remember Delia, the woman who held you hostage in the parking garage?"

Tim would be lying to himself if he couldn't admit his blood ran a little cooler at the name. "She did leave an impression," he said, and Reed chuckled a little.

"Well, it turns out her real name is Dominique Hughes and she's ex-CIA."

"What do you need my help for?"

"I'd just like an extra set of eyes, and I figured you might be up to the task."

Tim swirled his options through his mind like mouthwash, trying to decide whether it was worth the trip. On the one hand, knowing what Delia said might be helpful; there was still plenty she could tell Reed about him that could land himself and Kathryn both in a heap of trouble. At least knowing early might give him a head start if he needed to bug out or fabricate an alibi. On the other, Delia might have already aired all his dirty laundry. It seemed odd to Tim that Reed was calling for an interrogation now. What had taken so long?

And then Tim thought of all the shit Raylan was stirring up, and he figured he'd rather watch Delia squirm under the bright fluorescents of Reed's interrogation room than listen to him prattle incessantly about Robert Quarles—or worse, spend another night on Raylan's floor.

Even if Reed had already spoken with Delia and this was just an elaborate ruse to get Tim close enough for an arrest, it would be nice to stretch his legs beyond the courthouse.

"I think I could probably make a little time for you. You want me to tell Art?"

"I've already asked him and he gave you up."

"So this wasn't so much an invitation as a subpoena."

"If that's how you want to look at it. Art has all the details. I'll see you in a few days."

Tim hung up and he considered heading back into the bar, but his buzz was fading and he didn't think he'd be half as charming as he'd been after his fourth beer, so he decided an Irish goodbye was his best bet. Rachel would forgive him.

Probably.

#

It took just about an hour for Tim to drive out to the FBI office in Louisville on Friday. He'd taken the trip without any urgency; rolling the windows down and listening to the drone of the radio as it drifted in and out of the rushing wind.

His mind wandered to his first encounter with Delia; his surprise at her appearance in his bedroom. How he'd found her an enigmatic and illusive figure. It had seemed so natural that Kathryn would follow her—even blindly—because it was impossible not to be drawn in by her elegant clothes and highly manicured speech.

But it turned out even someone as well put together as Delia, with her exceptional background and vast resources, could be incredibly flawed. She had acted out of some protective instinct, reaching out to Mark Dawson in order to exact revenge on Romero for turning on Kathryn. Had that been some half-baked maternal impulse? Or just a way for Delia to cover her own ass?

Tim still wasn't sure, even after he'd cornered her at her own home.

If Kathryn was inscrutable, her mentor was nigh incomprehensible. Tim had a feeling that someone with Reed's background might be able to diagnose her with a personality disorder. She seemed narcissistic at best and pathological at worst, at least in Tim's highly unprofessional opinion. He would have no difficulty envisioning her as the villain in some James Patterson novel.

Which reminded him, he needed to return When the Wind Blows to the library. It must have been at least a week past due. It had been a welcome break from Tolkien's heavier work, though, and he was looking forward to reading The Lake House and maybe even the rest of the series after.

He wasn't sure he'd ever have the stamina to finish Return of the King; the indexes had overwhelmed him less than halfway through. And part of him decided he wasn't quite ready to reach the end of the very long journey, so he'd set it aside in favor of the lighter Patterson works, hoping Nelson wouldn't need his copy back any time soon.

As Tim pulled into the visitor's lot, he looked up at the squat, utilitarian building and wondered whether he'd made the right decision in coming. He had to admit his track record pertaining to trusting people had been subpar recently, and he was not wholly confident that Reed was a man who could be trusted.

#

Special Agent Matthew Reed had a small office on the third floor, tucked away next to a utility closet at the end of the hall, as far from the elevators as was possible. His door was propped open, and Tim rapped his knuckles on the metal frame when Reed's attention was not drawn by his shadow.

When the man looked up from his paperwork, he seemed surprised to see Tim standing in his doorway.

"Deputy Gutterson, I wasn't expecting you until," he checked his watch, "shit—now."

Reed sprang up from his chair, unrolling his sleeves and tightening his necktie. "I hope the drive wasn't too bad?"

"Not at all," Tim said, "nice day for a drive, anyway."

And it had been; sunny and bright, but with a cool snap to the air. Tim figured if it was his last drive as a free man, he'd be okay with that.

Reed threw on his blazer and Tim suddenly wondered whether his grey pants and navy blue sweater were inappropriate.

"I didn't bring a tux," he said, and Reed looked up at him, a lopsided grin tugging at the left corner of his mouth.

"To be fair, I didn't give you the dress code. It's fine; you'll be in the booth, anyway."

Tim's eyebrows shot up. He'd assumed when Reed had asked for his help that he'd be in the interrogation room himself. He found the thought of being obscured behind one-way glass extremely comforting.

He wasn't sure he was quite ready to look Delia in the eye again.

Tim followed Reed, who was shuffling through pages in a thick manilla file, back down the hallway toward the elevators. They bypassed them, however, and worked their way around a bend in the hallway to the opposite end of the building.

Reed used his ID badge to open a door, and he let Tim in. There was already another agent in there, and she looked up, seemingly surprised by Tim's appearance.

"Hagan, this is Deputy U.S. Marshal Tim Gutterson. I've asked him to sit in."

The woman, Hagan, nodded, and returned to looking through the glass. Reed gave Tim a quick smile and a wink, and then he pulled the door tightly closed.

Hagan was seated at a desk, with a notepad and the controls for the recording device they'd be using for audio. There was another chair, but it was too close to her, so Tim decided instead to lean against the back wall, dead-center.

When he looked up, he could see Delia sitting casually at a metal table; her hands folded together in front of her.

Her steady gaze and intense stillness were unnervingly similar to the way Kathryn had responded to interrogation at the Marshals' office. Tim's hand went to rest instinctually on his holster, but his fingers flinched away when he remembered it was empty; he'd had to surrender it when he'd been allowed in with his lame little visitors pass.

Delia didn't move when Reed opened the door with purposeful force. Tim wasn't sure she'd even blinked.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Hughes. My name is Special Agent Matthew Reed. You may remember me from Lexington?"

Reed set the big file in his hands on the table with a flourish and took the seat across from Delia, leaning back and crossing one ankle over his knee casually.

"I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to get the clearance to speak with you. It turns out you have quite an impressive resume. But I'd like you to know, now, that I've been given the go-ahead from your former superiors at DHS and the CIA; they don't believe there's anything you could tell me that would be a threat to national security. You've been out of the game too long, I'm afraid."

Tim wasn't prepared for Delia to actually respond. "That depends on which game you're referring to, Mr. Reed."

"Which game should we discuss? Your misappropriation of funds and tax evasion, or your vigilante crew posing as informants?"

Delia only smiled in response, and Tim found the effect made him think of Jeffrey Dahmer.

"We have Sarah Geller in custody, as you well know. I identified two other operatives working for you by tracing bank records, but they seem to have disappeared. I'd love to know where you've sent them, so I could speak with them directly."

When she didn't respond, Reed flipped open the file, pulling out two photographs and sliding them across to Delia. Tim couldn't see from this angle, but he assumed they were the photos of Melendez and Fairway Reed had shown him at his dining table.

Delia, for her part, offered no reaction. Not that Tim would have expected any less.

"Ms. Hughes, I'm sure you realize that your participation in the shootout that resulted in Mark Dawson's death carries with it consequences. We were able to trace his records back to you, so I know you paid him for two contracts."

Delia's mouth set into a hard line, and her eyes remained fiercely trained on Reed's face.

"One of those contracts was fulfilled, and resulted in the death of Christopher Romero. The second was effectively cancelled when your target—Deputy U.S. Marshal Timothy J. Gutterson—killed Dawson instead."

Tim tensed. He could feel Hagan's gaze swing over to look at him, but he refused to look back, keeping his eyes trained precisely forward, waiting.

"What is your relationship to Deputy Gutterson?" Reed asked.

"I don't have one."

"You were willing to pay thousands of dollars to have him murdered, but you have no relationship with him? I believe you told me the two of you had unfinished business when I asked you to release him. You were even on a first name basis."

Tim's fingers were tapping a furious rhythm against his thighs, and he knew Hagan had noticed. With all the self-restraint he could muster, Tim stilled his hand and focused on Delia's next words.

"He arrested Sarah Geller. It was a business decision."

Even from here, Tim could see that Reed didn't believe her. So this was why he'd been summoned. Hagan had done a good job of pretending she hadn't expected him, but it was clear now her notebook wasn't for the interrogation.

It was for her observations of his reaction.

"Why did you have Agent Romero killed?"

"He was actively interested in killing Sarah Geller."

"You mean through Serge Solkov and his associates?"

Delia nodded. "I didn't think anyone would miss a dirty agent. If you all did your jobs better, I wouldn't have had to intervene."

"I'm sure his wife and daughter miss him very much."

Delia's smile did nothing to dissuade Tim from his Dahmer comparison. "Don't fucking try that empathy bullshit on me. I know Romero was single and childless, I'm not a moron or some green goddamn cadet."

"Fair enough, Ms. Hughes. You can't blame me for trying."

"All I want to know is what is happening to Sarah Geller. That's the only reason I'm here."

"You mean the woman who shot you?"

Tim watched Delia's reaction carefully. On the surface, she didn't appear to respond at all, but her eyes—previously flat and emotionless—now gleamed. The glint was dark and dangerous; it was something Tim had only seen once before, in her kitchen, when she'd told him she had no intention of blinking.

Tim couldn't stop the slight shiver that ran up his spine, even as he watched Hagan jot it down.

"You weren't expecting that, were you?" Reed stood and leaned against the glass, forcing Tim to take a step to the right in order to maintain a visual of Delia. "I'll be honest, she took me by surprise, too. Maybe I should have known. After all, she's helped Tim Gutterson before, hasn't she?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do, Ms. Hughes. And he's helped her, hasn't he? He helped her evade capture after Romero's murder."

"I severely doubt that Corporal Gutterson has the capabilities necessary to do any such thing."

"That's not a very nice thing to say, Ms. Hughes. Deputy Gutterson is quite a capable federal officer."

Delia's derisive snort made it quite clear she did not share Reed's opinion. Still managed to catch you by surprise, Tim thought, with no small amount of satisfaction.

He remembered smashing that greasy pizza into her entryway carpet happily, though he was careful not to let that show outwardly because Hagan's eyes were obviously back on him, however surreptitious she thought she was being.

"What is Geller's relationship with Gutterson?"

"They met one another during that operation Romero set up with Solkov and his men."

"And then what?"

"And then nothing."

"What about Daniel Boone?"

Tim strained his left calf muscle because he figured it was the only safe part of his body to manifest any tension; covered by his grey jeans, there was no way Hagan could see it, even if he'd need to spend twenty minutes massaging the cramp out of it later.

"What about it?"

"Were they both there?"

There was a long pause and Tim considered his options for running. He didn't even know whether the door to the room he was in would open without the use of an ID card, so he figured he might have to take his chances with Hagan if it didn't. She was armed, but if he had surprise on his side, he might be able to overpower her. Getting out of the building was another ma—

"Neither of them were in Daniel Boone. That operation was undertaken by myself and Christopher Romero."

Tim's jaw nearly fell open. What?

"You're telling me the eyewitness who gave a description nearly exactly matching Sarah Geller was incorrect."

"That seems to be the case, yes. I don't think we look all that much alike, but it was very dark, as I recall."

Was Delia really trying to take the fall for the both of them?

"If you were there, tell me how it went down."

Reed pushed away from the glass and stood by the table, pulling notes out of the folder; the crime scene report, Tim assumed. Reed read through it as Delia gave a nearly perfect play-by-play of the events of that night, only with Kathryn's role performed by herself and Tim's filled by the dead-and-dirty FBI Agent Christopher Romero.

Delia's delivery had been perfectly rehearsed; she'd expected this to happen.

Tim was too cautious to truly hope, but it was difficult not to feel optimistic as he watched Reed's eyes fly across the page, the edges of his mouth turning down a little more with each word out of Delia.

Tim's ears perked up as Delia mentioned opening the back of the truck and he watched Reed's expression shift intently. "Could you repeat that?"

Delia smirked, "I opened the back of the truck to find dozens of human trafficking victims."

Tim could see Reed struggling; he hadn't expected that.

"What happened to them?"

"You tell me, Agent Reed."

Tim delighted in the few moments it took for Reed to compose himself. Eventually, he flipped the folder closed and tossed it back onto the metal table.

"Ms. Hughes, would you like to tell me how you managed to call the Ranger Station from an out-of-state payphone if you were in the park?"

"Who says I made the call?"

"Then who did?"

"A friend."

"Sarah Geller?"

"She isn't my friend; as you mentioned, she fucking shot me."

Tim couldn't help it. He smirked.

Maybe he'd been too hard on Delia.

#

Tim felt a little smug while he waited for Reed to return to his office. He couldn't help it. He sat with his back to the door and when he heard Reed enter, he said without looking at him, "You know, if you wanted to accuse me of a felony, you could have done it over the phone."

Reed stopped short, yanking at his tie to loosen it with a cynical grin. "Where would the fun have been in that?" As the man yanked off his blazer and rolled his sleeves up, he collapsed into his desk chair. "For what it's worth, I'm glad I don't have to arrest you."

"Oh, don't get all sentimental on me, Matthew." Reed laughed that strange, high-pitched laugh of his and Tim chuckled a little, too. "So what now?"

"Nothing, now. You're done. With Delia's…" he hesitated, and Tim knew Reed didn't quite believe her, "confession, there's nothing else for me to do but process her and hand her case over to the lawyers. Assuming she doesn't have as much political pull as she'd like me to believe, she'll be going to prison for a long time. If she does…"

Reed didn't need to elaborate; there was no way to know who would put their necks out for Delia. Tim had a feeling she had powerful allies. It would have been nearly impossible for her to operate undetected for as long as she had thus far, otherwise.

"What about Geller?"

Reed's smirk made Tim's stomach flip in a way he did not appreciate. "Why so interested in the fate of Sarah Geller?"

"Well, she did save my life," Tim said, "I feel like maybe I owe her a little empathy."

"Sure, Gutterson, you keep telling yourself that." Reed leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling as he answered. Tim thought he could almost see the synapses firing in his brain as he pulled everything together. "Without Boone, without Anderson and with her cooperation with Vasquez… her helping you…"

Tim waited as Reed calibrated.

Reed's sigh was long, exaggerated, and defeated. "Honestly, aside from fleeing the Marshals, which is a misdemeanor, I don't think there's a whole lot that will stick. She did kill that girl in lockup, but that was clearly in defense of her own life, so she'll probably get a light sentence there, too."

"You think I'll need to testify?"

Reed returned his gaze to the man across from him. "Only if you want to. There were plenty of witnesses in the garage, and others at her house. I've got Romero's report about her involvement with Solkov and your role in that operation."

"What about Hughes?"

"If she goes to trial, you'll likely be called as a witness. As I said, though, I'm not wholly confident that will be my decision to make."

There was a long, firm silence and Tim realized any other questions he had would need to remain unanswered because they would lie too close to the truth of the matter. He needed to wrap his brain around all the new lies and half-truths before he trusted himself to say anything.

So instead, Tim stood from his chair and leaned over the desk, extending his hand to Reed, who clasped it for a firm shake.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Agent Reed. Next time you want to see me, why not just ask me out for dinner and drinks?"

Tim flinched at that awful laugh as he stood back up. "I'm not sure my husband would approve, but he might let me make an exception." Tim's eyebrows shot up a fraction. "You are exactly his type."

Tim smiled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "You need anything else, let me know. But honestly, I hope I never see your name on my phone again."

"The feeling is mutual, Deputy Gutterson."

Tim was almost out of the office when he turned back around. "Reed?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think happened to those victims? From Boone?"

Reed's lighthearted expression fell, replaced with a dark and brooding stare. "I don't know. With Romero and Anderson both dead, I'm not sure we ever will."

Tim nodded, disheartened but resigned, and he continued out of the office, tossing Reed a half-hearted wave over his shoulder as he left.

#

That night, as Tim sat back on his couch, beer in one hand and remote in the other, flipping between college basketball games, his mind roved over everything he'd witnessed during the day. How Delia had not only protected Kathryn, but him, too.

There hadn't been any need to do so. He knew that much. And he wondered again about the strange and intimate relationship between the two women. Was it possible Delia had protected him for Kathryn's sake? If so, what were the implications?

It made more sense than the alternative; that Delia protected him because she found him either charming or competent. He was relatively certain that given the chance, Delia would gladly put a bullet between his eyes.

As he took a sip of his lager, Tim wondered if maybe it was better if he never knew the answers. Better if he just turned around and walked away from the whole goddamn mess of a thing and let it drift away in his rearview like the pieces of that stupid CD Kathryn had left him.

Still, when he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, he saw them: baleful faces gleaming in the pale light of the evening, shivering and terrified in the back of the truck. And then he saw her; eyes fierce and determined as she pressed her phone into one girl's hand in the dark.

He could still hear the despondence in her voice when she'd admitted she couldn't track what happened to them. The rage he'd felt when Anderson had laughed about it.

It was never easy, having to let go of something you cared about. Tim knew that very well, and he was sure Kathryn did, too.

But no matter how many times you dealt with that disappointment, there was no changing the fact that there were children being hurt somewhere because they had failed to protect them. An open case he would never be able to close because it wasn't even officially a case—and it especially wasn't his.

He turned off the TV, no longer interested in the hollow escapism it offered. He wanted to sit with his failure. Sit with the guilt. Needed to let it course through him and light up every cell, so he could feel the blazing pain of his shortcomings.

Tim didn't think he'd ever stop wondering about it; assumed that some small amount of real estate in his brain would forever be taken up by those anonymous faces. Maybe Reed would figure it out. Maybe there would be some other task force somewhere, one day, that would do a better job than Tim Gutterson. Capable men and women who could bring justice to those victims where he and Kathryn had been unable to.

As he sat in the dark, sinking into a bottomless pit of his incompetence, he could only hope.