I'd first like to extend sympathies and prayers to the family of Chris Kyle, as well as all to the families of all our lost heroes. God bless.
Clare and Tim returned from dinner to hear about the shootout. He gripped her hand, saying, "They at the safe house?"
"For the time being. Everyone's fine, Rachel chased the perps through to the campus, but they lost them. Plates came up Baxter-Hawley Construction."
"Duffy."
"Who is this Duffy?" Clare cut in. "What do you need on him to end this?"
Tim took a deep breath, pulling her with him to the couch in Art's office, "Duffy isn't the issue. He's the middleman. Connecting the contractors with either Moss or-"
"Or whoever's responsible. We're pressuring the feeb's for the source but…" Art finished lamely.
"I'm familiar with the Bureau's routine on inter-agency cooperation," she said tiredly, resting her head on Tim's shoulder, letting Art see the beginnings of her scar through her light coat.
Art had heard about it when Tim had returned from Daniel Boone, but her tee the previous day had hidden it. It was long and slim, only slightly puckered around her neck, from where her head kept turning while it was healing, he supposed.
She was marked. She had been and would continue to be reminded of this every time she looked in a mirror. She'd never be away from it. It was sad, Art thought, watching them. He had no idea how the pair would function without someone breathing down her neck, but Tim had had a torch burning for a damn long time. Art didn't know how he'd handle having what he wanted.
Clare didn't say another word while Art was in the room, so Art left them in his office while he went to talk to Captain Choate of the KSP.
"How long have you suspected Graham of doing this?" she asked as soon as Art was out of earshot.
"A bit," Tim confirmed.
She nodded, head still on his shoulder, "And you didn't think to tell me?"
Tim took a deep breath, "There didn't seem to be a reason without evidence, Clare. It pointed at Brian as much as at Graham until his car."
"At least until Graham arranges an attempt on his own place," she shot back, sitting up to look at him, "It's awfully sloppy for him to be the only one no one's tried to kill."
"Clare—"
"No. Why is he trying to kill his brother? Why put a price on me? I was gone! Why not just sell out? And do we have any evidence that he framed me three years ago?"
"Clare," Tim kissed her silent this time, not caring who was looking through the blinds into Art's office. "We don't know. But this all started three years ago. What happened then?"
She took a shuddering breath, on the point of tears, "Nothing notable. At least that I can remember. I know Gramps had just withdrawn from his seat as an advisor, but that shouldn't have sent Graham into a tailspin. Everything had been planned about it for years."
"We need to talk to your grandparents, don't we?"
"They're not terribly fond of me, probably like you even less," she warned.
"They're going to have to get used to it," he said, kissing her. "Does it have anything to do with the story you won't tell me?"
"Everything. And it's not actually a story, just a little addendum, a little sentence of prologue."
"That you won't tell me? Even to explain why they've been calling me an in-law for three years?"
Clare pursed her lips, "So, my parent's ran away together, right? And eloped. So, no one ever says how they met, do they?"
"Not that I've heard."
She grinned, too wide to get the words out, "My dad was a beat cop. And my mother was eighteen and down for Mardi Gras…"
"Oh, Lord…"
"Yeah."
"That's why?"
"Yup."
"Your parents met when your dad arrested your mom? That's, uh…"
"I told you your knowing wouldn't help me."
He kissed her, pulling her into his lap, one hand tangled in her hair, the other working its way to the end of her skirt. She responded, giggling, her hands inside his blazer, whispering breathlessly, "Don't you wish you'd run away with me now?"
"Ah, babe, I always wished that," he said to her lips.
"I-" Clare desperately wanted to say it, wanted him to know. She was terrified of moving too fast, though. So, she hadn't said it, but surely, after he said something like that, it wasn't too fast. Was it?
"Ahem," Art interrupted, standing next to a deeply amused David Vasquez, "the AUSA brought over some tapes from the feeb's. Thought you might want to have a listen?"
Clare rose, after another quick kiss, "Counselor."
"Doctor."
Tim watched her walk out, "You're killin' me, Art. This better be good."
"She's a protectee, Marshal. You were making out with a protectee," Vasquez said, his eyes following Clare out.
Art just shook his head.
Vasquez had come bearing Wynn Duffy's phone records, redacted by Barkley's people, of course. It was only one of Duffy's phones, Raylan pointed out. But the list had both Moss's and Graham Sullivan's name on it. Which was enough for Vasquez to call about recordings, even at the late hour.
After hearing they wouldn't get any until the next day, Art authorized Raylan and Tim to take Clare back to the safe house. At the house, Tim made no move to leave, instead picking Raylan's brain about dealing with Duffy.
"I'm hardly an expert at that prick."
"But you did get him to pull off the contract on Winona that Gary had."
"That was different..."
"Raylan, what would you do if this was your girl? Help me out here."
Raylan sighed, "Alright. He said said he didn't know anything and asked me about the trustee that Arlo killed."
"It's always about Harlan. Isn't it?"
"Not today. Yeah, Duffy knows something, now we have evidence of it. We'll go back tomorrow and beat it out of him. Ok?"
Tim looked at him, "We've talked about you dragging guys around their nut-sacs before."
"Your girl."
"Fair point."
"So, Duffy's tomorrow morning?"
"I want to wake the bastard up," Tim said.