Two days later, G found herself standing in front of that exact office, the only difference being that her boss had abandoned her for the first flight back to DC. She was now all alone in Lexington. No friends, no family – just the way it was meant to be.

'James, I am not going into WITSEC, so don't even entertain that idea.' G's eyes were bloodshot and her head was fuzzy after not sleeping for what felt like weeks. They had run out of options and time and the only thing left to do was to get her out of the state.

'G, be reasonable. Your life is on the line, not to mention the lives of every person who may care about you.' Her boss was usually a funny, laid back guy, but since the incident, he had become paranoid, quick to look over his shoulder, even quicker to draw his gun. It shouldn't be this way. He shouldn't be involved; no one else should be involved. But unfortunately, there was a threat made against her, which extended to the whole of her office. And the man who issued it was no joke.

G collapsed into a chair in James' office. 'I can't just give up my life! That means he's won!'

'G, right now this isn't about winning or losing. It's about survival. I have an idea and you may not like it but it's the best shot we have got. And you get to keep your job. Well, almost you're job…'

G had replayed the moment she had found out she was coming to Kentucky over and over in her mind the last few days. Now that she was here, it almost didn't feel real. And yet, as she glanced around this new and alien office, she began to see that it was. The Lexington marshal service had been told that she was a transferring in because she had experience in organised crime that may help with several of their investigations. The time frame on her 'lease' was unknown. No one had questioned it. No one seemed to really care. As she'd stepped out of the elevator and into her new digs, everyone had looked, but no one had stared. It wasn't a big deal to anyone but her.

'James, I'm not a US Marshal. I'm a highly trained Bureau agent. I have absolutely no idea what they do!'

Her boss' lip curled as he reached for something in the top drawer of his large, oak desk. He pulled out a chunky file, over-spilling with pages that appeared to be in teeny-tiny print. He whacked the file down on the desk in front of her.

'Then you got some homework to do, my friend.'

The entire US Marshals code was now inscribed in G's memory. Good thing she was a quick study as she'd had less than a week to pack up all her shit, kiss her parents goodbye and grab a flight to Lexington. Though she hated it, she had to admit it was a genius idea. She got to keep a job not entirely dissimilar to her own, she was only a short plane ride away from DC and it would definitely throw the people after her off her trail. I mean, who would actually come looking for her in a place like this?

As lost in thought as she had been, G had not registered to rise in volume as the office began to fill up. She'd come in extra early to drop some stuff onto a desk that had been assigned to her and pick up her new firearm – Glock .40 calibre – and her new badge. Though she missed her FBI credentials, she had to admit the star was pretty cool. It hung heavy on her belt and gave her the notion that she had a shield around her. Lord knew she needed one.

The office she was standing outside had the words 'Chief Deputy Art Mullen' inscribed on the door. She had met him for the first time a few days ago and he was the only member of this office who knew her real identity. He had approved her transfer without much fuss and aided in her transition admirably considering that the Feds and the Marshals were not always the best of friends.

Art Mullen was 55. He'd been Chief Deputy of the Lexington office for the last five years and he liked his life well enough. Loved his wife most of the time, had two lovely daughters and a grandchild on the way. Art was content with the life he'd lived and the decisions he'd made…until the arrival of one US Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens who'd been passed back to him by the Miami branch. Raylan was unpredictable, highly trigger happy, and he had a mouth on him that made Art want to punch him 95% of the time. But Raylan was a good man and a satisfactory Marshal and Art wasn't much for complaining. Except about his knees.

Raylan's return had been last month and Art had regretted it almost immediately. But Raylan was worming his way into Art's heart, even if it was causing him some sort of coronary disease. Art wondered, as he walked up to his office to see Agent Gandhi standing outside, if he hadn't made another Boeing 747 sized problem for himself.

When he'd received a call from FBI headquarters in DC, he had been more than a little surprised. But he extended the olive branch and, as the Marshals were in charge of the WITSEC program, he felt morally obligated to help in some way. Besides, the girl came with a list of skills that he couldn't exactly turn down. Maybe she would actually make a difference here.