"Yep. Okay. You got it."

"What did he say?"

Raylan tucked his cellphone back in his jacket. "Reed's on his way, and he said he'll bring the cavalry, but they're still twenty minutes out."

"Shit."

Raylan started stretching a little, twisting himself from side to side and cracking his back while he pulled one arm and then the other across his chest to loosen his shoulders.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Well, Tim, as you may recall, I'm still injured. Wasn't even supposed to go back to light duty until the start of next week, but you and your girlfriend seem to have landed me in some right un-light duty."

"As I recall, you volunteered to transport her."

"Well, naturally, but I didn't think we'd be getting into a firefight with some Slavic gangsters. I thought I'd be takin' a nap while the two of you cuddled and whispered sweet nothings to one another."

Kathryn snorted. "You seem to have some very romantic ideas about our relationship, Deputy Givens."

"And you seem to have lost your holler accent, Ms. Geller, but I'm not one to call out another person's flaws."

Now it was Tim's turn to snort, especially when Kathryn glared petulantly back at Raylan in response. He, for one, was glad she finally sounded like herself again.

"Shut up, Raylan. We don't have time for this."

"If I'm going to die today, Tim, I'm at least gonna have a little fun first."

#

Tim had spent plenty of time in a warzone. More time than he should have, if he was being honest with himself. But the feeling of being hunted is never something you learn to be comfortable with.

The sensation of becoming someone's prey is a primal thing, and the adrenaline that starts pumping when you realize you are not in control is an important part of the process.

So Tim let the sensation flood his body for a moment before he reined it back in; he allowed himself to feel the ice-cold dread of impending death because he knew feeling it could save his life. Human instinct was not a thing to be taken lightly; there was a reason he'd made it back from all those tours when not all of his buddies had.

Tim's instincts were pure and sharp; fine-tuned. Coupled with his training, he knew the flood of hormones from his sympathetic nervous system would serve him well. As his adrenal glands kicked into high gear, he could feel his awareness tightening as his pupils dilated and his blood began pumping faster.

Let the fuckers try; this wouldn't be the first time Tim had survived a pincer, even if he hoped it was the last.

Kathryn and Tim had set themselves up in the kitchen, where they could keep an eye on the backyard and the two men in the trees. Raylan was still at the front of the house, where the truck remained stoic and immobile.

"You think Dawson is with them?" Tim asked.

"I don't know, honestly. I don't really know anything about Mark Dawson."

Tim knew plenty about the guy—or at least about the murders he'd committed—and he wasn't convinced he was the type to play nice and follow the leader. Still, "We should assume he's here, then." The last thing Tim wanted was for Dawson to catch them off guard.

"I've got movement!"

Tim looked at Kathryn, who nodded, and then he made his way to Raylan's position at the front of the house.

Two men were getting out of the truck, and based on Kathryn's brief description of Korsakova, Tim assumed the balding man with the gold rings and brown teeth was probably him.

Korsakova hitched his trousers up as his companion—a muscular guy who looked like he could've played middle linebacker for the Titans—came up beside him casually carrying an SVD sniper rifle.

Tim frowned. The rifle had to be mostly for show; their position in the house made it unnecessary. It did ease Tim's concern that perhaps Dawson was hiding somewhere in the trees behind the house, though.

If Dawson was here, he'd be the one with the rifle.

"Deputy U.S. Marshals!" Korsakova had a thick accent, and his voice was deep and booming. He spat something brown and foul out of his mouth and Tim saw Raylan's nose wrinkle in distaste. "We only want the woman. Send her out and we'll leave you to your paperwork."

Raylan smiled at Tim, who returned the look with a grin of his own. "Sorry there, chief, but that ain't gonna happen!" Raylan yelled back. "Why don't you and your boys just get back in that ugly ass truck and head home."

Korsakova spat again, and the friendly look on his face was quickly replaced with one of cool malice. "You get one minute to send her out here to me. If I don't see her, we're going to kill all three of you."

"I'm afraid the lady is indisposed at the moment. Taking a shower. Why don't you fellas come back in a half-hour or so when she's done?"

Tim didn't like the grin that split Korsakova's face, revealing his ugly, stained teeth.

"You send her out to me naked, and I'll let you watch, Deputy Givens."

Tim's blood ran like ice, and he could feel his hands shake the slightest bit as his body flooded with catecholamines.

"He knows who we are," Tim growled between his teeth.

Raylan watched Tim with a firm set to his jaw, but then he smiled that shit-eating Raylan smile and it helped Tim ease the tension in his body the slightest bit. The older man's eyes never left Tim's as he responded. "No can do, Mr. Korsakova. I think you're just gonna have to come in here and get her yourself."

Korsakova shrugged, spitting again. "Fine by me." He brought his fingers up to his lips and whistled. The sound was loud and piercingly clear.

"Showtime," Raylan said, and Tim stayed low as he returned to the kitchen.

Kathryn was still in the same position, crouched under the window that looked out over the small backyard.

"They're coming," she said, without looking at him. "Still no sign of Dawson."

Tim only saw one of them carrying a gun, and it only took him a moment to realize why the second man appeared empty-handed.

"Grenade!" Tim yelled, and he pulled Kathryn with him through the doorway.

Tim knew they didn't have many great options for cover, and he was grateful that Raylan followed Kathryn as Tim shoved her over toward the couch, where she sprawled onto the floor before kicking herself back into a crouched position. With some effort, Tim flipped the heavy wooden coffee table onto its side, propping it between their bodies and the couch.

And he hoped.

The blast from a grenade isn't all that powerful; you were only guaranteed a kill if someone was within15 feet of the stupid thing. But the shrapnel… that was another problem. If the man out back was smart and had an arm, he'd probably get it within a foot or two of the house, and that could still cause plenty of damage.

Tim heard the grenade thunk against the siding, where it must have bounced and landed somewhere on the grass nearby. He put his hand over Kathryn's head, pressing it down below the edge of the table.

As the device detonated, it sent splinters of wood flying through the windows, and he could hear metal piercing the flimsy plaster wall above their heads. Shards went flying over them, and the couch made sputtering noises as the fabric and stuffing tore to shreds.

Tim, Kathryn, and Raylan crouched close together. When Tim felt some of the shrapnel pieces thunk into the table he had used as an improvised shield, he'd never been so glad for solid oak in his fucking life. If the damned thing had been made of particleboard, they might all well be dead, or wishing they were.

Raylan had left his back turned to the table, and he fired off a shot as soon as the hail of shrapnel died down. Korsakova's bodyguard took it to the shoulder, but he recovered quickly enough.

At least, he thought he'd recovered. Tim sent a bullet to his face before the man could even register what was happening, and he crumpled onto the floor. Kathryn peeked over the edge of the table, but quickly squatted back down as bullets zipped over their heads.

"All your dates end like this?" Raylan shouted.

And for once, Tim smiled, too elated to still be breathing to give a shit about Raylan's teasing. "Only the good ones."

Raylan moved himself away from the table, keeping low as he made his way back toward the windows.

When the bullets paused overhead, Tim and Kathryn stood in unison, each finding the closest enemy. Tim only required a single shot to put his down for good, while Kathryn opted for a double-tap to the chest of the man in front of her. Regardless of the method, the end result was the same—both of them fell bonelessly to the floor.

"I've lost Korsakova," Raylan said, peering out the window. "Truck's still there, though." Raylan stood, making his way toward the open front door to get a better view, stepping carefully over the linebacker's body as he did so.

Tim walked cautiously through what remained of the kitchen, which was precious little. "I don't see anyone out back!"

Tim returned to the doorway, and the next few moments unfolded painfully slow.

First, he saw Raylan's eyes widen as he looked at Kathryn, who had raised Tim's weapon in his direction. Tim, on instinct, put Kathryn in his sights and he was only a breath away from pulling the trigger when he heard her fire first.

Tim's stomach dropped. He had gotten his partner killed. He had put his trust in the wrong person, and now Raylan was going to pay for his poor judgment.

But Raylan never slumped to the floor. Instead, Korsakova's body thumped against the doorframe before landing heavily at the cowboy's feet.

Kathryn put her hands up, removing her finger from the trigger of the gun in the same motion. She crouched down, placing the gun on the floor and sliding it carefully away from her.

"Didn't mean to scare you, Deputy Givens," she said, and Tim could see in the older man's eyes that she had, even if he would never admit it.

The relief Tim felt was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. As he lowered his weapon, he found himself elated. He'd never been so thankful to leave someone in his crosshairs alive.

"You almost gave me a heart attack, Ms. Geller," Raylan said as he holstered his own weapon, "But I suppose I should be thanking you."

"Please don't," she said. "It'd probably be best if no one knew I ever held that gun."

She was asking Raylan for a favor—a big one—and Tim didn't know whether Raylan was the kind of man to do that for a fugitive, especially one he barely knew.

Tim kept his weapon at the ready, still not entirely convinced there weren't more men hiding in the woods somewhere, waiting for them to let their guard down. He watched anxiously as Raylan walked toward Kathryn, bending over to pick up Tim's backup with all the grace of an alley cat.

Kathryn remained perfectly motionless, hands still thrown up in surrender. When Raylan stood back up, he leaned in close to her and held her gaze with an intensity that made Tim squirm all the way across the room.

Then Raylan held the gun out toward Tim. "You'd better work on your story, Timmy. I'm sure there's gonna be questions about how you managed to wield two pistols against these assholes."

Tim took a few steps and grasped the handgun carefully.

It was then that they heard the sirens.

"Fucking cavalry. Late as usual," Tim said, as he finally holstered both weapons.

Raylan looked back at Kathryn, who hadn't moved from her position. "We'd best get those cuffs back on you, Ms. Geller, if we want them to believe our story."