*** Ah yes...the smell of paranoia in the morning. Did you get a whiff of that? You will. Only one more day until the round-up, and more than the cows are nervous. ***

Wyatt Earp: All right, Clanton... you called down the thunder, well now you've got it!

You see that? [pulls open his coat, revealing a badge]

Wyatt Earp: It says United States Marshal!

Ike Clanton: Wyatt, please, I...

Wyatt Earp: [referring to Stilwell, laying dead] Take a good look at him, Ike... 'cause that's how you're gonna end up!

- Tombstone

-o-o-o-

Doc Holliday: Why Johnny Ringo, you look like somebody just walked over your grave.

- Tombstone

The office was stuffy.

Brad released another smoke filled breath into the stale air as he stared vacantly at the framed picture on the wall opposite his desk. Rocked back further in his chair and took no notice of the figures standing next to a half constructed barn, smiling in sepia toned accomplishment. He was near motionless as he tried to make some sense of the myriad of half-formed thoughts and plans that now bombarded his already shattered morning peace.

He hadn't slept well…hadn't slept much at all in the last few weeks, but last night was worse than most. Fledgling dreams only morphed into nightmarish scenarios of betrayal and failure, and the addition of physical reminders of his own inattention to home matters haunted him upon waking. By the time the sun came up he was showered, dressed and harassing the kitchen staff for an early breakfast. He had hoped to escape into the daily matters of budget and logistics for a few hours, but one phone call had destroyed any illusion of normalcy.

Jaime was coming to town…tonight. Brad bounced his head against the back of the chair with a frustrated sigh as he again thought about the brief conversation with Lúcho. The man was sending his younger brother to oversee a previously unmonitored deal, and Brad's stomach rolled yet again at the implications. Garcia claimed it was because of the value of the final package, but Brad was fairly sure the dealer suspected a double-cross…or possibly planned one of his own.

In a flurry of motion, Brad stubbed out his cigarette in a crudely made clay ashtray as he rose, levered open the window and stepped over to the stained coffee maker to pour himself another cup. He flared his nostrils in displeasure at thoughts of betrayal, knowing full well the old adage regarding honor among thieves. There was no guarantee he would come out of this deal with exactly what he had asked for - no guarantee he'd even come out alive – but it gnawed at him that all his carefully laid plans were being challenged due to the presence of one Fed and a stupid woman. The same stupid woman who had derailed his plans the last time.

They had stood out behind the equipment shed near the new guest cabins, nudging tin cans full of sour tobacco spit out of their way in order to get close to the building and out of the cold wind. Alone for the time being, Brad took the opportunity to vent his anger towards his brother without having to mince his words.

"You're telling me you're backing out of this deal because of some piece of ass?" He tugged the collar of his jacket more tightly around his exposed neck as the wind licked around the corner. "For chrissake, Gary, she's nothing but town stock. She'll be happy with a weekly fuck and suck, and you can still be my money guy."

Gary took a long draw on his cigarette and glared at his brother for a slow minute before replying. "I'm not having this conversation again, bro, and this is the last time I tell you to keep your mouth shut about Sheryl. It's a done deal. She's not going to be the mother of my kids without a ring on her finger. Or did you learn nothing from Dad?" He flicked his cigarette to the ground and rubbed it into the soil with his boot, then looked back at Brad with a sneer. "Oh, that's right, Dad was a fuck-up in your eyes. Earning an honest living was never a high priority with you."

"You're the one who takes after the old man, Gary," Brad replied, voice low with threat. "That soft underbelly that'll only guarantee a lonely grave some day. I prefer to go out with a little more fanfare. My name on more lips than just a few hungry mouths I have to feed."

Gary snorted and looked past him as he zipped up his coat. "Delusions of grandeur were always your specialty, little brother. I'll take the lonely grave over the early one any day." He met Brad's eyes again with a hard stare. "I'm done. I'm out. And if I even imagine you're trying to involve me or mine in your little scheme you'll suffer the consequences. Go play on the other side of the playground."

Brad had stared after the retreating man for a long time, only vacating his own spot as the gray clouds began sprinkle him with wind-driven sleet. He would revise the plan…make it better…and Gary would see the error of his ways.

The spit and sizzle of water on the hot burner of the coffee maker drew Brad's attention back to the present. He replaced the pot he had held in his hand and wondered what ill-timed advice his brother would try to give him now, as he stood armpit deep in a deal that may well turn out to be that early grave. A shiver of…something…traveled up his spine, and Brad growled in displeasure that he would allow himself even a hint of uncertainty at this juncture. Now was a bad time to start second guessing; not the time to jump at shadows and draw attention to himself.

Indulging in a sugar cube, Brad let the sweetness coat his tongue and throat for a few moments before washing it down with a mouthful of hot, bitter coffee. Smacked his lips together to savor the taste as he pulled one thought out of the tangled mess in his mind: the past had lingered for too long.

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Mary's phone 'ponged' a text message alert for the second time, the sound muffled by her pillow and a large wad of blankets between her ear and the device. Her brain finally connected the sound to reality, and she moaned as she sleepily dug her hand under the pillow in search. She was sure it was too early for any communication. Sure that the recipient of such an unwise shout-out was going to catch hell once she got into the office…

The thought died a quick death as the sounds and smells of the cabin finally fired up all her synapses. The ranch. The witness. Crap! Scrabbling at the sheet, Mary finally secured the phone and pulled it out as she raked the hair out of her face. Marshall. She turned away from Diane's bed - vaguely remembering her roommate's late return – to keep the screen glow confined as she opened the message.

Morning, Cowgirl. Hard labor on the fences for me today. Doubt I'll have a signal. No word from Stan. Passing the baton to you.

Behave.

She rubbed the sleep out of one eye and tried to focus on the time. Too early to head to breakfast, but late enough she wasn't going to go back to sleep. The adrenaline shot had done its job. Wrestling free from her sheets, Mary quietly rose and shuffled to the bathroom. She could mask a quick phone call by running a shower, and she needed to talk to Marshall. Perched on the toilet lid while the shower warmed, Mary dialed before she could start thinking about last night.

"I woke you." His voice was low, a concession to her newly awakened state.

"It could've been Sheryl." She wasn't up to more than simple sentences yet.

"And here I was hoping you just wanted to hear the sound of my melodious voice," he teased.

"So trite, so early. Jesus, Marshall, let me connect a brain cell or two," Mary sighed, irritated that the sound of his voice had evoked a more visceral response than she had expected. Decided to get right to business. "What do I need to know for Stan?"

His quiet chuckle made her wish she could see him. "And to think I'd been missing your usual morning chit-chat."

"Along with my usual boot in your ass?" she replied. "Info, numbnuts, and keep if far from fancy." Her hair was starting to curl along the ends as the warm shower steamed up the bathroom, and as it tickled her neck she could only remember the feel of Marshall's breath as he whispered encouragement in her ear… Mary reached into the shower to turn the water to cold as her partner started speaking.

"He was running some checks on Platte, the field operations director, and Taliswell's replacement, Hardison. I can get that info from him later. Nothing that should impact us right here right now, but I don't want to run the protective gauntlet again when this is done." He paused and pulled the phone away to shout a quick answer to some distant question. Apologized to her quickly and continued.

"I also want him to run three more names through LInX with any possible aliases: Tim McCallen, Juan Alvarez and Jack Petrino. They're hitting my filters…too old, too young, too ugly, too dumb."

"Thank you, Dr. Seuss," she chuckled. "He's already looking at Eliot, I'll update him on the extracurriculars, and I'll add Sophie and Diane to our watch list. Diane just because I'm feeling a bit proprietary about your belt buckle. The least I can do is get her flagged by the TSA."

Marshall snorted quietly, then paused before replying, "Please tell me Raphael went back to the Domincan Republic voluntarily."

"Oh, for chrissake," she muttered, refocusing on the facts. "I'll verify extraction time and place for the witness. Still waiting to hear whether that will be during, or after, the bust." She furrowed her brow with another thought. "Where will you be?"

He sighed. "It seems my athletic prowess and cowboy know-how have earned me a place as a team leader for tomorrow's roundup. I'm not sure if I'll be able to wiggle my way out of that without raising too many eyebrows. Count on me being at Redpoint during the action. You going to be okay with a one-on-one?"

"It's a one-on-three, actually, but, yeah, I'll be good. Taliswell promised us a man, and I'll ask Stan to drop someone in town in case I need a back-up. You're the one who needs to keep his head down. Try not to let a trigger happy rookie catch you in the ass." She inspected a finger and began to ravage a cuticle while pondering this adaptation of plans. "Better yet, just keep your ass out of the way, I doubt they want extras in their shot."

Marshall chuckled. "I plan on enjoying the show from a strategic vantage point. No need to be seen." He paused for a moment. "I may not see you today."

She almost responded with a flip insult, but there was an underlying hesitancy in his statement that had her reconsider; mentally reinterpret. He was telling her he would miss her. She wasn't sure how to respond. How to express the same sentiment without giving herself away.

"I know," she said softly. "Go wrangle something, Cowboy."

He signed off, and Mary continued to sit, tapping the phone against her lips as her mind replayed foreign words murmured in a dark stall. His offer remained the same – would always remain the same, she knew – but she hadn't realized her acceptance would leave her this exposed, emotional nerve endings nearly begging for protection. She truly hoped she'd be able to keep from flinching.

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Brad glanced out the open window as he heard the dogs barking, pulse picking up slightly. He was jumpy. Just knowing Garcia was headed his way was enough to prompt him to lock himself in his office after lunch in order to make sure he had all bases covered for tomorrow's buy. He wouldn't put it past the brothers to make an early appearance, thus the open window. Cattle dogs were very vocal about any new arrivals. A local delivery van pulled up to the receiving doors, and Brad let out the breath he had been holding as he turned back to the task at hand. Shredding evidence.

Ten minutes later he was poking at a jammed shredder when a knock at the door startled him. He glanced at the clock. Carter. He had told the man to meet him here at one. Brad called him in and told him to shut the door. Carter held a number of files in his hand as he scowled at his boss.

"What did you find?" Brad asked, curious as to whether the people he had asked Carter to investigate resulted in anything interesting.

"Too much." Carter tossed the files on the desk and shrugged. "Not enough."

Brad flipped through the files quickly as Carter helped himself to a cold water from the mini-fridge and eased into a chair. He gave Brad a few more minutes to peruse the info before speaking.

"Eliot Sweeney was easy. He is who he says he is. Dangerous, yes. But only in the physical sense. No threat to the operation that I could find, even with the special forces background. He's squeaky. But…" he hesitated and Brad looked up with raised brows.

"But what?"

Carter took his hat off and scratched his head. "Not my place, but I'd leave the thing with him and Sheryl alone. He carries a lot of loyalty with the boys…a lot. Anything messy is going to stir up a fucking hornet's nest around here."

Brad clenched his jaw and stared at Carter for a few heartbeats before replying. "We'll come back to that. Who's next."

"There were only two that were interesting: Juan Alvarez and Marshall Miller. Both have big gaps in employment records where they seem to have vanished, and both have worked in Mexico. Alvarez also has a record." Carter took another drink of water as he studied Brad's tense posture. "What the hell are you looking at these guys for, Brad? I can tell you from working out there with them that they are who they seem. And if they're not, they're too good to get caught, so what's the point? Even if we id a threat right now, what the fuck good will it do us? The buy's going down…especially with Jaime as a guest."

Brad rolled his head on his neck and closed his eyes. "Something's just not right. I got a feel of it. Like catching a shadow out of the corner of your eye, then when you look, it's gone." He opened his eyes to watch his second-in-command closely. "The feeling you get when you know your girlfriend is fucking your best friend, but you just can't prove it."

Carter narrowed his eyes as he stared back. "That girl hit you harder than you thought, boss. Scrambled your brains a little bit. I'd hate to think I have to worry about that."

The clocked ticked into the terse silence while the two men stared at each other. Finally, Brad flared his nostrils with a deep breath as he sat back in the chair and closed the files. Carter may be out to replace him, but it wasn't going to be this time. He tapped at the closed files with his question.

"Where do you have these three tomorrow?"

"Miller and Sweeney are both leaders, and Alvarez is on the loading docks. With him there, there won't be any trouble with the girls." Carter finished his water as Brad stared down at the files. Waiting. Finally, the man stood and moved to the window, sliding it shut before jamming his hands in his pocket. Carter had to sit forward to hear his words.

"I will not look like a fool when this goes down. You understand that?" Brad turned his head far enough to catch Carter's eye. "I will not have anyone ruin this. No one." He saw the younger man stiffen slightly and grow suspicious.

Brad continued, "Once they're all off on the hunt, I want you to make a visit to my dear sister-in-law. I believe her rental contract is up."

Carter grinned mirthlessly. "Toss her ass to the curb?" His grin faltered and died as he saw the flat look in Brad's eyes. "Shit, Brad, what are you asking? Taking Parker out was one thing, but…"

Brad turned back to look out the window, mind made up. "Make it look like she packed up and walked. It's not like it should be hard…there's forty square miles of desert to get lost in."

Taking a deep breath, Carter rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants. "What about the kids?"

"I don't see any momma in the world leaving her kids behind in a situation like this," Brad drawled, turning to look at the other man again. "Do you?"

"Whoa, wait a goddamned minute - " Carter's protest was cut short.

"Alvarez would do it."

Brad's statement had Carter clenching his jaw in frustration. He lurched to his feet and grabbed his hat off the table while he reached for the door, wrenching it open with controlled frustration. He paused in the open doorway for a moment with his back to Brad, then rolled his shoulders and turned to stomp down the hall.

Brad stared after him with a satisfied grunt.

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The text had arrived silently sometime after lunch, an imperative that demanded a response.

Dubois is too close. Rumors of a coup. Weed him out.

A long sigh accompanied the movements of deft fingers over the keys. The timing of the drop was set. All the gardening would have to be done during a very tight window of opportunity in order to avoid a suspicious absence. It was the best kind of challenge.

Understood. Landscaping fees apply.

The phone closed with a click. There was a lot of sun left in the day. Plenty of time to attend to details…and plan.

***Brad makes me need a shower. Even Carter is disgusted...now *that's* something. More participants at the buy cannot be a good thing, can it? Please, please REVIEW to keep my plot bunnies happy and the story going! ***