Raylan was out of the office that day. It was a much-needed, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary day in the marshals office with him gone. Maxine was at her desk, as usual. She had been in court first thing that morning, testifying against Alex Young. She had to be in court the next morning to testify against the guy who had hit her with a lug wrench, Carter Shane. She hated this sort of thing: She hated loose ends. Alex and Carter weren't talking, and the chop shop guys that had escaped had been smart enough to lay low and stay off the interstate so they didn't have to deal with roadblocks and the like.

"Hey," Rachel called, walking over to her. "We just got a hit on one of the guys from the chop shop, an associate of his - an Edgar Gaynor - just popped up in the system. He got pulled over at a roadblock near Russell. He's got a history of petty theft and credit card fraud, which is the only reason he pinged. He and a guy from the chop shop did time together in Ashland."

Fuck. She knew an Edgar Gaynor, she just hoped it wasn't the same one she went to high school with.

It was, unfortunately, because life just never seemed to work out that way. He smiled at her when he saw her, all toothy and squinty-eyed, genuinely happy to see an old flame until he noticed the badge around her neck. She almost smiled back, but she remembered how downhill he'd gone after high school: The thefts and the fraudulence and the prison time. Back in the day, when he was her boyfriend and they were 16 and thought they were in love, they'd done some stupid shit, sure. They snuck into bars, and they vandalized school property, but it had never had any real consequences. None of it was real, at least not to Maxine it wasn't.

She was an emotionally distraught, bulimic teenager who had just been thrust into the foster care system. She wasn't feeling much of anything, being yanked away from her dad and mother and brother like that. Her dad hadn't put up a fight to get her to stay with him, her mother had been glad to see her go, and her brother was in college, nearly broke and two hours away. The only way she could feel something akin to happiness was by being reckless and being with Edgar.

"Shit, Eddie," she sighed, rubbing her forehead as she leaned against a state boy's car. Edgar was seated on a guard rail, his car booted and on the shoulder nearby. "Do you have any idea why I'm here?"

"Um... Are you going to arrest me?"

"Most likely. Unless you can tell me what you know about a chop shop operation in Covington that's tied to a human trafficking ring from Boston." She wasn't all that hopeful that he could.

Edgar gulped. "Look, I, uh."

"Ed. We can do this the easy way, right here, right now, or I can go and take you to Lexington to the marshal's office and we can do this hard way."

"I'll talk, I promise!" Edgar said, standing and waving his hands frantically. He had always been a hand-talker. "I just... It's too public here. It's not safe for me to be doing this. Young's got friends in this town, and I can't risk one of them seeing me talking to a fed."

Young. Did he mean Alex? She'd find out when she got him back to Lexington.

"Who the hell is this?" Art asked as she and a state trooper dragged Edgar into the office.

"Edgar Gaynor, associate to Ryan Walton from the chop shop - one of the idiots that came at me with a lug wrench and the guy that owned the pit bull that nearly killed me. He said he'd talk, but he wanted some place private. So, conference room?"

"Sure, it's all yours."

She motioned for a trooper to place him in the conference room and took a seat across from him with a pen and a notebook and a couple of files.

"Alright, Ed, start talking."

And, boy, did he talk. He explained that Ryan Walton was in a dog-fighting ring, in addition to the chop-shop deal. The chop shop usually dealt with the dope runners from Detriot, but lately they'd been using them to build clean cars for traffickers to get from Boston to Nevada, where most of the time the girls were sold and then married off. The cars were then sold to "coyotes" who would use them to slip across the border into Mexico and back.

She had names and faces and locations and everything. So, she relinquished him to Garcia with instructions to get him set up with protection. She spun around to walk back to her desk and start putting out BOLOs and sending out emails to marshals divisions involving those locations and start tracking some of these assholes down, when Edgar called out to her.

"Hey, Maxine!"

She spun back around, sighing. "Yes, Edgar?" He was a good five feet away from her, and looking every bit like the teenager he had been before she'd gone into the Navy. He was bouncing from foot to foot, smiling nervously.

"You wanna go out to dinner later?"

Maxine stared at him for a second. He couldn't seriously be asking her that, could he? They had known him a lifetime ago - right when she went into foster care, he'd been there. They'd run amok, sure, but it was never anything illegal or too serious. She had changed, and Edgar obviously hadn't.

"No," she replied, rolling her eyes. She went back to her desk and started typing away. Edgar stared at her for a while until Garcia and the trooper went to escort him to his motel. She pretended she didn't hear him when he left, which was admittedly a bitchy move. But he was from a part of her life she'd rather not remember.

She got a phone call about an hour after Edgar left from a trooper named Tom Bergen in Harlan, that one of her chop-shop guys was shacking up with some guy named Dickie Bennett. She wondered briefly if he was any relation to Doyle and Mags and Coover.

Shit. Where was Raylan when she needed him?

"Art," Maxine spoke, tapping on the glass to his office to get his attention. She waited until he lifted his eyes from the papers in front of him before she told him where she was going. "I've got a hit on one of my BOLOs, down in Harlan -"

"Take Tim with you," Art replied immediately, turning his head back down to his papers.

"Um... Okay?" She turned around and walked out, tapping on top of Tim's computer to get his attention. His head snapped up, surprised at the sudden noise. "Timothy, you're with me."

"Where are we going?" he asked, standing up and picking up his Marshal's jacket.

"Harlan. Arresting a fugitive by the name of Ryan Walton."

"Lug wrench guy?" Maxine wondered how he managed to hit the nail on the head so well, but then she remembered that he'd helped her set up the BOLOs and identify her attackers.

"Lug wrench guy. He's shacking up with some guy named Dickie Bennett."

Tim paused just before they got to the door. "Hang on. Let me go grab my boomstick." He ran off to the locker room and came back with his rifle case. "Alright, let's go."

"You really think that's going to be necessary?"

"Um, do you not recall his asshole brother of a police chief surrounding us just a day or two ago? We're taking my boomstick and I'm covering your ass."

She didn't argue any further, because he was right. She was probably going to need backup if it was a Bennett she was going to be dealing with.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Bennett," Maxine spoke, stepping into the Bennett store. It was quite stuffy in there. "I'm Maxine O'Nan, with the US Marshals office."

"Oh, well, hi Marshal. Is Raylan with you?"

"No, ma'am, he's busy elsewhere. I came to you for some information."

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for your son Dickie -" She held up a hand quickly to interrupt the woman who was sure to yell at her or defend her boy. "He's not in any sort of trouble. But I believe he knows where someone I'm looking for is."

"And who might you be lookin' for?" Mags looked a little out of sorts. Maxine imagined from her last time seeing Mags that she was used to having all the control. She couldn't threaten a woman who was rarely down here in Harlan, who she had just met, who didn't have roots here to rot and cut away. Maxine had the power here, and she was clinging to it.

"I'm looking for man named Ryan Walton. I have reason to believe he's shacking up with Dickie. He's wanted for assaulting a federal officer and several other charges." The sentiment was clear. Did she really want her to arrest her son for harboring a federal fugitive? Did she really want her boy dragged down into this?

"Dickie's probably down at Audrey's."

"Great, thank you." She was almost to the door before she paused and asked, "Um. Where is Audrey's?"

Audrey's was a loophole to Harlan county's law on liquor sales. It wasn't technically a bar, just four trailers in a semi circle. One of the trailers was a bar, the other three were apparently for Audrey's booming prostitution ring. It was absolutely dreadful, Maxine realized, grimacing as she walked into the trailer with the wet bar. She hadn't even lived in foster homes this nasty.

Tim was right behind her. Tim hung out in some pretty sleazy establishments himself, but Audrey's really took the cake. A woman with greasy hair and nasty breath leaned up against him when Maxine left his side to go talk to the bartender.

"Hey, cutie pie," she greeted, smiling. She was definitely a smoker, he could tell by her teeth. "Want me to show you a good time?"

"Uh, I'd like for you to leave me alone," he replied, going Ranger-still, hoping his lack of response would encourage her to leave him alone. She pressed a little closer to him, hand rubbing on his chest.

"Oh, come on, sugar, I can -"

"He's in the trailer across the way with a girl," Maxine said, stepping back up to Tim. She pulled out her badge and flashed it at the woman. "I suggest you leave the man alone before I arrest you for solicitation."

The woman stepped back and walked away and Maxine motioned for Tim to lead the way out of the trailer.

"Solicitation, huh?" Tim asked, smirking at her. "I didn't know that was in the US Marshal Service purview now."

"Shut up. I could practically see your skin crawling. Thought I'd have a little mercy on you," she replied, shrugging and wishing Tim wouldn't be so smug for once.

"Yeah, that's it."

"I'm sorry, did you want syphilis? 'Cause I'm sure she'll give it to you if you go back and ask for it real nicely."

Tim shuddered, because he remembered some pictures from high school health class of syphilis and he was not going to deal with that.

Maxine yanked open the trailer door. "Dickie Bennett!"

Dickie was right in the middle of fucking a woman, who was obviously faking her enthusiasm. Tim nearly pissed himself laughing when Maxine grabbed him by the ear and pulled him off the woman. Dickie grabbed the closest thing to him to cover himself, which happened to be a bong.

"Dickie, are these friends of yours?" the girl asked, eyeballing Tim like he was a piece of meat.

Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing over a twenty and a ten to the blonde girl by the bed. "Get dressed. This never happened."

"Okay, mister," she said, batting her eyelashes at him. Tim grimaced as he looked away and over at Dickie and Maxine.

"You're telling me you have no clue where Ryan Walton is?" Maxine pressed, one hand on his chest and the other yanking harder on his ear. "Because I've had a couple of people tell me you do."

"Well, what're you gonna do that makes it worth my while?" Dickie inquired, looking over at Tim. Tim arched an eyebrow. This guy wanted a bribe? Oh, hell no.

"We won't take you in for prostitution or possession of a controlled substance," Tim said, eyeballing the bong and the bottle of OxyContin on the counter.

"Oh, hey, now! H-h-hey now! I just now remembered where Ryan is!"

"Yeah, I bet you did," Maxine growled, shoving him over to where his clothes lay on the floor.

Maxine killed the engine as soon as she figured they were close enough to the barn Walton was hiding in. Dickie had sang like a canary about Ryan's whereabouts and directed them to an old cattle ranch about fifteen minutes away from Audrey's. The barn was decrepit and graying, but it looked structurally sound. It was probably draftier than shit, though, Maxine figured, eyeing the missing siding. It wouldn't have been her first choice of a place to stay the night, but she supposed that most criminals didn't get to hide out in five star hotels.

Maxine hopped out of her Dodge Avenger, ready to get this over with, only to duck down behind the door when the sound of gunfire erupted from the shed. Tim cursed and hopped out, using the door for cover while he set up his rifle.

He heard Maxine firing her pistol and smirked when he heard the man howl. He found the man in his scope, up in the barn's hayloft, gingerly holding his arm. Ryan had his own rifle, but was losing his grip on it thanks to that nice shot from Maxine that nailed him in the right bicep.

"Wing him?" Tim guessed.

"I think I handled that already. Just cover me. I'm going into the barn and up to the loft. I don't know if he's got backup in there or not."

Tim nodded and kept his gaze on Ryan, who had just dropped his rifle down to the ground below. Maxine bolted for the barn as Ryan pulled out his pistol with his left hand. Tim didn't hesitate: He shot Ryan in the center of mass.

"I'll have a couple of my men guard him," Tom Bergen told them as the paramedics carted off Ryan Walton. "Good shooting," he said to Tim. Tim shrugged, not really thinking it was. He hadn't considered the wind making the bullet yaw like it had, because he missed the guy's heart by a few inches.

"Why did you shoot his bicep first?" Tom asked as they watched the doors to the ambulance close.

"Oh, Maxine took his arm because he was shooting at her and her car." Maxine was actually inspecting her car as he spoke, crooning and whining about the damage. She really loved her car. "I took the second shot 'cause he was trying to shoot at her." Tim figured that was a better reply than the sarcastic 'Oh, she shot him in the arm because she didn't want him jacking off for a while.'

"With his left hand?" It did seem incredibly stupid, unless you'd trained extensively in shooting with both hands.

"Yessir," Maxine replied, walking away from her injured baby. "Anyway. I just hope he talks. I'd really like to round up all these guys and get this over with."

"What exactly is your deal with this?" Tom asked, leaning against the hood of her wounded Sedan.

So, Maxine explained that in an attempt to keep the Marshals from moving a witness to a safer location, a bunch of Persian traffickers contacted the guy who fixed up some cars for them. They ordered him to pay off a truck driver to drive in a manner that would cause the car to crash and cause traffic on the interstate and thus obstruct Tim and Maxine's journey to said witness. When she later went to arrest said chop shop owner and his cohorts, they attacked her. Two came at her with weapons and she subdued one, but the other four men got away - but not the owner, Alex Young.

"So, anyway," Maxine sighed. "It's complicated."

"Yeah, you can say that again. I'll keep my eyes peeled for you, alright?"

"I appreciate it, Tom, thank you," Maxine replied. Tom stood and walked over to his own cruiser while Maxine looked over at Tim. "Nice shootin' there, Tex."

He snorted, still cursing himself for not adjusting for the wind. At least this way she had a chance at getting some information out of the guy, Tim figured. Silver linings.

"Same to you. Making that shot with a pistol? Pretty damn sexy." And, strangely enough, Tim had found it sexy. She was under fire, adrenaline pumping, and was still calm and in control enough to make a shot from a tough angle, from far away, with a pistol. If the military allowed women into direct combat, Tim would've gladly served beside her.

"Well, you are what you eat."

Tim arched an eyebrow. "Funny, see, I don't recall there being anything sexy about the Taco Bell we swung through on our way out here."

"There must've been, or else, how would you explain my shooting?"

"Skill?"

Maxine laughed. "Oh, hell no. I'm not that good."

Tim begged to differ.

Maxine and Tim rolled into the Marshal's Office, sighing rather heavily at the late hour. They both had to do paperwork for the day, and Maxine had a big web of people taped up on a whiteboard in the conference room, and she finally got to take off another name and another photo. Ryan Walton was a thorn in her side no longer.

"You always do that?" Tim asked, looking up from his own computer, answering some emails, as Maxine came out of the conference room.

"Do what? Be fabulous? Because that's a resounding 'yes.'"

Tim rolled his eyes. "The whiteboard thing."

"Huh?" She looked back at the carefully arranged photos on the whiteboard in the conference room. "Oh, yeah. Always. Back in Houston, they finally caved and got me my own. Should've asked to bring it with me."

"Kind of creepy. Like... Stalker creepy."

She laughed and picked up her phone. They were both putting in the overtime to finish up their paperwork, so she figured as long as she was here, "Wanna order a pizza?"

"As long as you don't get one of those gross supreme things, again."

"Picky eater much?"

"Always," Tim replied, smirking.

"How'd that go over in the Army?"

Tim snickered and looked up at her. "You should know that doesn't count, it's circumstantial."

She sighed and rubbed at the back of her neck, dialing a pizza place nearby. She then plopped down at her desk and started on her work. She was just in the midst of finishing up the shooting report when she glanced up, thinking.

"Hey, Tim?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think the marshals' service will pay for the damage to my car?"

Tim laughed. "That's a question for Raylan."

"Why did you say, the other day," Maxine spoke as she and Tim sat in the conference room to finish off their pizza before they left. Tim was on slice number six, and Maxine was on number four, "That you wished you could've shot your dad?"

Tim choked on his bite of pizza and thumped his chest to force the under-chewed piece down before he spoke, looking up at her. "What the hell, Max? Is now really the time to discuss this?"

"Well, do you see anyone around to hear?"

"I'd really rather not talk about it," Tim said, biting into his pizza. He thought for a second about things he didn't want to discuss and decided to hit her back with something she probably didn't want to discuss. "Did you really have an eating disorder?"

"Oh, no. That's not how this is going, Timothy. You tell me, then I'll tell you."

Tim huffed, but since he was genuinely interested in her story, he caved. "Alright. You knew I grew up in Tulsa, right? I was the youngest of three boys, and I didn't get a whole lot of attention, which is probably why I'm such an asshole. But, anyway..." He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. "My mom ran out on us when we were younger, and because I apparently looked the most like her, my dad thought it would make him feel better to beat the ever-loving shit out of me every time he got drunk. He drank a lot."

"Oh, shit, Tim. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He had a stroke when I was nineteen, just before I shipped off to sniper school. Got his blood pumping too hard beating the shit out of some guy in a bar. Good riddance. The world's better off without him."

She looked at him pitifully. "So... Has your mom tried to contact you? Are you and your brothers on good terms?"

"Mom? No. She could be dead for all I know. Brothers? We're on decent terms but one is in Oklahoma still and one moved out to Salt Lake City years ago."

"So, what do you do on Christmas or Thanksgiving?"

"Rachel's family usually takes enough pity on me to invite me over. For the most part, though, I decline and just put in overtime."

That was incredibly sad, but Maxine figured she didn't have much room to talk because she spent her Christmas and Thanksgiving with her two cousins and older brother, because her mother and aunt and uncle were all worthless, her dad had died a couple of years ago, and her grandparents were too far into their dementia to remember her, let alone celebrate with her.

"So, your turn. Did you really have an eating disorder?"

Maxine nodded. "Yep. That recruiter I mentioned a few days ago, when he put me on the scale... I was like one hundred and ten pounds. Five-foot-eight and one hundred and ten pounds, hadn't had my menstrual cycle since sixth grade. I was anemic. I remember this recruiter just looking at me like I was a corpse and he told me to come back when I'd put on fifty pounds."

She sighed, remembering the day.

"I didn't have anywhere to go. I mean, my mom wasn't an option and my foster parents sure as hell wouldn't keep me if they weren't getting paid for it... I didn't know what to do, so I called my cousin and shacked up with him in Louisville for a month or two. He was a high school wrestling coach, had me in tip-top shape in about two or three months, then I was back at the recruiting office. I felt good when they handed me my forms, you know? Like I could just go and conquer the world."

Tim nodded, because he knew the feeling.

"Anyway. Thank you, for humoring me." She stood from her seat and leaned over just enough to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. "I'm going to go ahead home."

"Sleep tight," Tim called as she walked out of the conference room with the empty pizza box.

He watched her walked out of the office, a little confused as to why he didn't feel as shitty about his story talking to her as he normally did when he told someone.

"We got a hit," Rachel told Maxine. Maxine glanced up, wondering what she meant. "Two of your guys, actually, from the chop shop. Got pulled over for speeding and they're taking them in now. A Baxter Smith and a Cory Jones."

"Oh, hell yes," Maxine cheered, running over to the whiteboard in the conference room. She took those two off. Oh, she felt good about that.

"And another trooper just saw Wilson Wheeler's car at a rest stop outside of Louisville. I called it in to the Louisville office and they said they'd handle it and call us to let us know if they find him."

"Awesome," Maxine said with a smile. Rachel was a blessing, truly. Now she just had a few loose ends to tie up, thanks to Edgar, and she'd be home free. That's when Winona stormed into the bullpen and grabbed Art, yanking him into his office. Rachel and Maxine exchanged raised eyebrows.

It took maybe all of five minutes for the discussion, but Art came back out and started barking out orders. Phone calls had to be made - somebody find Dickie and Doyle Bennett! - and prisoner transports and court appearances would have to be rescheduled. Tim had to get his rifle and they needed every available marshal - on duty or off - to come in to the office now.

"This," Art said, pulling up a photo of a young girl with brown hair and baby fat still in her cheeks on the screen in the conference room. "Is Loretta McCready. The Bennetts supposedly killed her father about a month ago. Since the time we were aware, Loretta has been in foster care with a family here in Lexington. She stayed with them for about a week and a half, but today, according to her family's statement to LPD, she stayed home from church with a head cold. When they came back, she was gone, along with a .38 six shooter the father owned and about three hundred dollars in cash."

"Sounds like she left willingly," Maxine interrupted, confused. "Why are the marshals getting involved?" There were several murmurs of agreement around the room.

"Because. Raylan got himself involved and it's up to us to save his sorry ass. Also, because Loretta is walking into a town with plenty of federal fugitives with a gun. Consider this preventative marshals work," Art said, shrugging. "Anyway. We have reason to believe she'll approach the Bennett's, armed and pissed off. We also have reason to believe Raylan will be close behind."

Maxine was jumpy as hell, stuck in the backseat an SUV with Rachel and Garcia. She didn't know Garcia all that well, but she knew that he was a fairly nice guy who used to work in LPD's special victim's unit.

"Loretta McCready approaching the house," Tim's voice crackled in their earpieces. "They've got guns on her."

"Don't shoot," Art ordered, voice just as static-y as Tim's. "Not yet."

"Wilco," Tim replied. "She's entering the house with Mags."

"How many stationed outside?" Garcia asked, and Maxine grimaced because she had a funky echo, hearing his normal speaking voice in one ear and his static-y, radio voice simultaneously in the other.

"I count six, not including Doyle Bennett," Tim said. Maxine tried to picture it. "All out front. Two with AR-15s, three with sawed off shotguns, one with a rifle... Doyle Bennett has a pistol, I don't know what kind. I can only see the handle."

"Thank you, Tim. Keep your eyes peeled for Raylan," Art said.

It was another fifteen minutes before Tim spoke. "Raylan's car has just pulled up. He's got Dickie Bennett with him. I don't think Doyle is letting them - Raylan's gun is against Dickie's head."

"If anyone pulls on Raylan," Art spoke quickly. "Shoot to kill, Tim."

"Wilco."

Still silent. That's when there was a shot. Then more.

"SHOT FIRED INSIDE AND OUT. RAYLAN'S DOWN." Maxine had never heard Tim speak so fast, and that's when Art gave the command to advance.

"Doyle's pulled, I'm taking him," Tim said, his voice stone cold. There was one more shot and that's when Art started barking into the megaphone. Rachel and Maxine bailed out of the van, pointing their weapons at the house. Tim stationed himself behind a car door, staring down the scope at the house's windows.

"Raylan, you okay?" Art asked. Raylan got to his feet, slowly and painfully, but he rose up.

"Give me a bit, Art," he said, arching his head to look at the house.

"Alright," Art conceded. "Tim, Rachel, go with him."

Maxine started cuffing and confiscating. She recognized one of them from Edgar giving him up for dog fights. She tightened his cuffs just a little bit tighter than she should have. He wound up in the back of a trooper's car with one of his cohorts, and the other two pairs wound up in another two cruisers. Doyle Bennett's body still lay on the ground, blood seeping into the asphalt.

When Rachel came out with Loretta, Maxine expected for Tim and Raylan to be close behind. But they weren't.

"God damn it, Tim, stop fidgeting," Maxine demanded. She was right beside Tim in the hospital hallway as they waited for the doctor to update them on Raylan's condition. She understood, waiting was the worst part, but Tim wasn't doing anybody any favors by jack-rabbiting around. He had a damned cup of coffee in his hand too, which she was sure wasn't helping his nervous jitters any.

"Sorry," he muttered. And then he went creepily still. His breathing evened out and softened and his muscles froze. She wondered how the hell he did that, but then figured that sniper school probably had something to do with it.

"God damn it, Tim, you're freaking me out," Maxine commented.

"You wanted me to stop fidgeting."

"I didn't want you to turn into stone!"

"I'm sorry, it was my fault for looking you in the eyes."

That got him a rather hard, well-deserved kick to the shin.