Courtney grabs onto her seat for dear life as Harold drives the car at full speed down harrowing back roads and sharp turns, the Tulsa police in hot pursuit.

"Left!" Duncan shouts, twisting to look behind them, bracing himself for the turn. "It's not far now!"

Harold jerks the wheel, the car skidding on the dirt road. The state line sign appears, bidding them farewell from Oklahoma, and Harold somehow makes the car go even faster. As their Ford barrels over the state line, Courtney watches the police cars come to a screeching stop, halted by an invisible wall at the state line.

Al cheers. "That's what I'm fucking talking about!"

Courtney's breathing hard, giddy with adrenaline and light-headedness. "That was amazing driving, Harold!"

Harold beams and takes his foot off the gas a little. He turns to the back seat. "How much we make?"

Heather is gleefully tearing through the bags, estimating with Al's help, "We've got half a grand, easy!"

"Are we rich?" Courtney asks, turning to Duncan with a grin about to split her face in half. "Does that mean we're rich?"

Duncan pulls her into his lap and kisses her so hard, it strains her neck. "We're sure as hell richer than we were this morning! Ha!"

They make it back to the hideout and count their money, splitting shares. Courtney gets the biggest cut she's gotten since being on the team and afterwards, when Al, Heather, and Duncan step out for celebratory cigars, she takes Harold aside privately.

"I need you to do me a favor," she says, pulling him into the bathroom.

Harold glances around. "Um, Miss Bonnie, I know we may have some feelings towards each other, but Clyde..."

She cuts him off, waving off the idea of both of them in the bathroom. Instead, she reaches into her purse and pulls out an envelope. "I need you to go back to the bank and leave this envelope on the secretary's desk."

Harold takes the envelope and looks it over. "What's in it? Why me?"

"Don't worry about what's in it," she explains. "You have to go because you're the only one people didn't see. Also," she adds, grinning, "don't tell the others, but I want to see what kind of media coverage we're getting. Who's reporting our story and all that."

The redhead driver doesn't look convinced. "What if someone recognizes me?"

"No one saw you, Harold."

He glances out the door and whispers, "What do I tell Clyde?"

"Leave that to me," she says, nudging him. "Run this one favor for me and I'll take care of the rest."

"All right, all right," he appeases, "I'm going."

Harold walks out of the bathroom first and Courtney waits for him to leave the house before she comes out of the bathroom herself and goes to find Duncan out back.

"So, what are you going to get with your share?" she asks, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Hm, some nice Cuban cigars," he says around the one in his mouth. He puts his hands on her hips. "Some fancy Tennessee bourbon, and maybe some new skivvies for my best girl."

"I'm gonna start saving up for a ticket to Paris," she says, dancing her hands down his chest, "and I'm going to get myself some new skivvies for my best guy, too." She starts undoing his belt buckle, smirking. "Not that I need lingerie, of course."

"Of course."

Duncan plucks the cigar out of his mouth to kiss her. She revels in the taste.

"Gimme three minutes to finish this baby up and I'm all yers, kitten." He turns her towards the door and slaps her ass.

"It might take me longer to count through all my money again," she jokes over her shoulder, sauntering to their bedroom.

Harold doesn't return for hours. Lying in bed with Duncan, Courtney can't sleep. She told the others that Harold had gone out for groceries but she hadn't expected that he'd still be out at this hour. If he didn't come back… If someone did recognize him…

She hears a car pull up in the driveway and sighs.

"For Christ's sake, did ya send Harold to Mexico to get our damn groceries?" Duncan mutters, not as asleep as Courtney had estimated.

She pecks him on the lips and gets out of bed. "I'm going to ask what kept him."

She doesn't get the chance before the front door slams open and Harold starts hissing, "Get up! Everyone, get up, we have to go!"

Duncan jumps out of bed and beats Courtney to the door.

"What's the matter? What's wrong?" he demands, switching on the parlor lights as Al emerges from his room, his BAR in hand.

"The coppers are onto us!" Harold hisses, yanking his suitcase from under the sofa.

"That's impossible," Heather says, stepping out of her room in a nightgown. "We're out of Oklahoma, the state patrol can't follow us."

"You don't understand!" Harold says, frantically packing his own suitcases. "The Bureau know who we are! They're putting together a special team just to come after us!"

"On what charges?" Heather demands at the same time Duncan asks, "How do you know all this?"

Harold casts Courtney a fleeting look before saying, "Well I went back to the bank because-"

"You what?!"

Duncan picks up Harold by the collar of his shirt and slams him into the wall. "You dirty rat! Are you out of yer goddamn mind?! They could have followed ya right to us!"

Courtney rushes over. "Put him down! It's not his fault! I sent him back there."

Duncan's glare swivels to her as Harold gasps, held a foot off the ground.

"I told him to go back and find this out," she says, pulling on Duncan's arm. She doesn't mention the money she'd given him in the envelope for Lindsay. "This is good for us to know."

Duncan doesn't look convinced. He turns back to Harold. "How do I know you didn't just lead them right to us?"

"No one followed me!" he says desperately. "I swear!"

"Then why are ya in such a hurry to get us out of here?"

"We're still awfully close to the state line, Clyde," Al says, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "If they've got an interstate patrol after us..."

"It's the middle of the night, no one's after us yet," Courtney says, still holding onto Duncan's arm. "Put him down. I'm sorry, I should have asked you first."

"Yeah, ya should've," Duncan snaps and drops Harold to the ground. He goes into their shared bedroom, swearing and knocking a suitcase loudly against the wardrobe. Courtney helps Harold up.

"The Bureau can't trail us across state lines for no good reason," Heather says again, glaring at Harold. "What's got the G-Men on our tails?"

Harold shakily finds his footing. "It's got something to do with the Ford," he says, "the one we've been driving the last couple weeks. They know what it looks like and the feds are reclaiming it on behalf of Arkansas."

Al swears in Spanish. "That's all the reason they need to chase us through state lines."

"No shit!" Duncan barks from inside the room.

"We should all pack up," Courtney says quietly. "I'll go talk to him."

She leaves Al, Heather, and Harold in the parlor and walks back to the room where Duncan is breaking down one of his custom shotguns and tossing the pieces angrily into his suitcase. Courtney doesn't say a word; she watches from the door.

Duncan tosses aside a suit to wear, gets all his things together, and slams his suitcase shut, breathing heavily.

"So what's the plan?" Courtney says, pulling out her own suitcase and setting it up on the vanity. She begins folding her clothes and calmly packing up her makeup and guns.

"The plan," he answers, "is that I call in a few favors in Joplin and we lay low for a while."

"Oh. So we're not going to Chicago anymore, then?"

Behind her, Duncan says, "Chicago's too hot now. Too many big names and too little space to maneuver."

Courtney nods and neatly folds one of the olive green shirtwaists she'd bought with Heather. It covers her new pistol in her suitcase and nestles beside her lacey skivvies.

"What were ya thinking," Duncan demands suddenly, "sending Harold back to the crime scene? Why?!"

Courtney pulls out a pantsuit to wear and packs her notebook of clippings. A few of them, specifically the one from Owen's store, mention her by name. She keeps those at the front.

"I wanted to see what kind of news coverage we were getting," she says.

Duncan scoffs and Courtney rounds on him before he can go on. "It worked in our favor, didn't it? We have insider information now. We're not in the dark about who's onto us."

"We would've found out in the papers tomorrow morning," he argues.

"And if tomorrow was too late? If we were too close, like Al said?"

"The Feds don't know jack shit about us or they'd be up our asses already."

"So we're fine then. We're ahead of the game and we're all safe and on the road again. Yes?"

"That's not the point, Courtney!"

She puts a hand on her hip and leans against the edge of the vanity, waiting.

Duncan exhales sharply through his nose. He comes over and holds her by the shoulders, his eyes imploring. "Courtney, just tell me next time, okay? Don't make me hafta predict the coppers' next moves and yers too. Surprises make me pissy."

"I've noticed."

Courtney shuts her suitcase.

"I promised ya we'd go to Chicago if yer first bank heist went well," he says, his breath warm on her skin, "and I'll keep that promise. We'll have to go a little later, is all."

She says, "Joplin won't be as exciting as Chicago."

Duncan presses his cheek against hers.

"We'll make it exciting."