Joyce held Michael in his seat as Tim hauled Clare out to his car, manhandling her out to the garage, he fumed, "What the fuck was that? He's an old man!"
"How the hell did I get away from you three years ago?" she asked, hand on the doorknob.
Tim opened and closed his mouth, "Well, I couldn't sleep with you three years ago... So, I was a little more hesitant about putting my hands on you. Why?"
"I went for him. And you stopped me. You could have stopped me then, did you let me go?" Clare held his forearm as he tried to turn away.
He opened the garage door for her, saying, "I did stop you. Twice, remember?"
"Yeah, but-"
"Then I hit my head-wrestling with you, if you recall- and then we slept. You snuck off while I was sleeping. There was no 'letting' you then, but I'm not 'letting' you hurt an old man now."
"You could have kept me with you then," Clare whispered.
"Not without hurting you," he snapped, then sighed, "You'd just saved my ass and patched me up. I didn't want to hurt you, I just wanted to do my job and go home to hot shower." Tim's hand went to stroke her unmarked cheek, "Then we were rolling around and I really didn't want to hurt you. Why are you asking now?"
"Way you wrestled me out of that house. You could've ended all this a while ago, if you'd wanted, Tim."
"Maybe I wasn't 'supposed to', isn't that what your Aunt Amy was saying?"
Sighing, "You scare the hell out of me sometimes, Gutterson," she said, kissing him deeply, "I love you."
"Are you ok?" he asked, fairly confused still.
"My daddy's folks are bail enforcement, Tim. What'd you think that old man was implying, talking to you like that?" Clare wandered past a Benz and a Lexus to her motorcycle and assorted boxes.
"He doesn't like me. Lots of people don't like me. It comes with the job, babe," Tim said, watching her fingers trail over the metal, "Doesn't explain why you were accusing me of 'letting you go'."
"You caught me well enough in the dining room," she said absently, eyes on the bike. "You wrestled me out here-"
"Forty feet of decking and pavement is not miles through the woods with the possibility of more gunmen, first of all. Secondly, I can manhandle you as foreplay now, while I couldn't touch you then. And, yes, I wanted to then and it mattered. Ok?"
She looked up at him, "I can't promise I won't go for him again."
"Which is oddly concerning, but not my point. At Amy's place, when I told what I put in my report you said you expected me not to protect you. Did my pulling you off him, really make you think I'd have let you go then?"
"Honestly? A bit. I held my own a bit too well then, didn't I?"
"I was wet, tired, and cold and you'd saved my ass."
"After you'd taken out a gunman after me. We were pretty even at that point."
"I shot you."
"You grazed me, sniper," she corrected. "I was a fugitive, you were trying to catch me-"
"And you didn't have to pull me out of the Rockcastle. I had a fuckin' file on you, Clare. I knew Jackie. I never..."
"You didn't think I was guilty then," Clare whispered, light dawning.
Tim snorted, "Extorting money from people who needed organ transplants seemed a little out of character for someone who'd patch up the Marshals escorting her transport before taking the opportunity to run, babe." He scowled briefly, "But you'd have been safer with us the whole time."
She stood and slipped her arms around his waist, and he pulled her close, "I'm sorry, Tim." She pressed her forehead to his chest, "I'm sor-"
He kissed her head, sighing, "Shush. Your family makes mine look great. Have I thanked you for that yet?"
"No," she said to his chest.
He tilted her head up to look at him, "I love you. And your family is hilarious." He kissed her, "How's your dad's bike?"
"Won't know until I start her... Wanna go for a ride?" she smiled up at him.

Raylan called midway through the ride, Tim tapping Clare's side to let her know to pull off the empty road. "Yeah, Ray?"
"How far are you from Moss's?"
"Far from Moss's?" Clare mouthed 'half an hour' at him. "Thirty minutes. You ready to tell Duffy?"
"You 'ready' to bring your girl to Moss's?" Raylan shot back.
Tim eyed Clare, "No, but see if she cares." Clare made a face at him. He kissed her, "Clare and I'll be over there soon. Good luck."
"You too."
Tim returned his phone to his pocket as Clare said, "Moss?"
"Yep. You still want to come?" Off her look, "Figured."
She smiled up at him and gestured at the bike, "You wanna drive it back?"
His eyes moved between the Ducati and her face, "Are you screwing with me?"
"It's about five minutes back if you take the next right. I'm not giving you much."
"Enough," he slid on and she got on behind him, groping his abs a little.
"Now, the clutch-"
"I have ridden a motorcycle before, Clare," he started the bike and sped off with her giggling and holding on.

Raylan pulled up to Wynn's motor coach and sat in his car. It only took a few minutes before Mike came out and knocked on his window, "He'll see you now."
"Kind of him," Raylan said dryly, getting out and repositioning his hat. Mike trailed after him as he entered the coach.
"Deputy Givens, where's your partner?" Wynn smiled his best salesman smile and gestured for Raylan to sit.
"He is telling Edgar Moss the same thing I'm about to tell you, Wynn."
"And what are you telling me, Raylan?"
"That Graham Sullivan shot himself in the head early this morning."
"That is unfortunate, I assume? It would be hard to prosecute a man for his illegal practices if he's dead."
"Our system still has no way to prosecute the dead yet," Raylan agreed. "What's unfortunate is that Graham shot himself after hearing how Colin Stark and Tony Kender died... Graham seemed to believe that he'd be going out the same way as them if he didn't take himself out."
"That is interesting... And unfortunate, of course," Wynn nodded. "So, are we saying the Sullivan family drama is over?"
"We are saying Edgar Moss is our only remaining suspect in Tony Kender's death... You did seem fond of Tony when we saw each other last."
"I did. I am." Wynn nodded, "Tony was very dear to me in his way."
"Didn't owe you money anymore, either."
"True," Wynn smiled, "Are you implying that I should be resentful of Mr. Moss on Mr. Kender's behalf?"
"I'm not implying anything. Just notifying you about Graham Sullivan's suicide, is all," Raylan smiled mirthlessly, getting up to leave.
"I do appreciate the notification, Raylan. I trust Deputy Gutterson is protecting Dr. Lidet zealously, should Moss make any attempts toward her?"
Raylan paused, "Why are you asking about them?"
"Information is always valuable in my line, Raylan. Much like knowing who and what to avoid."
"You going to avoid Tim?" Raylan asked doubtfully.
Wynn smiled, "Oh hell, Raylan, I avoid you."
"Maybe you just need your mustache back, Wynn. You were all about painting rooms new colors back when you had that," Raylan smirked, walking out.

Tim pulled up outside the wrought-iron gate of Edgar Moss's estate and Clare put her hand out, "Would you like something?"
"I need to get a cellphone, until I go and do that though..."
He passed his phone to her and she dialed a number from memory, biting her lip all the while. "Do we not to make this phone call?"
"We aren't sure the number is right, it has been a few years," she said before saying into the phone, "Hello, I'm calling for Edgar Moss. This is Clare Lidet... I'm out front right now, hoping to surprise him... Thank you." She hung up and passed him his phone, "Housekeeper says she's opening it up now."
The gate in front did begin to move as Tim eyed her, "You do need a phone."
"And a car, apartment, computer. I got a list, it's just waiting until after I take my re-certification exams on Tuesday," Clare looked at the open gate, "Are we going in?"
"Apartment?"
"If I stay at your place much longer I'll paint it. Are we going in?"
Tim drove in, parking in front of the Tudor style McMansion rather than pulling over to the stables that Moss was walking up from. "Deputy Gutterson and Clare, darling! What brings you both here today?"
"Graham brings us here today, Edgar," Clare said, stepping close to Tim before Edgar could air-kiss her cheek.
"He shot himself this morning," Tim said shortly.
Edgar started, wide-eyed for a millisecond, before saying, "Perhaps we should discuss this inside." "Perhaps," Tim agreed, putting a proprietary hand on Clare's back, guiding her in ahead of Moss.
Moss closed the doors behind them and motioned to the back of the house, "Would either of you like coffee or tea?" Moss offered, ever the gracious host.
Clare and Tim exchanged glances before Tim shook his head and Clare said, "No. We're fine. Can we sit?"
Moss gestured toward to table in his Country French kitchen and pulled out a seat for Clare.
She accepted and Tim sat next to her, facing Moss and his cup of coffee. "You were saying about Graham?"
"He shot himself around 3 this morning," Tim said. "After asking how Colin Stark and Tony Kender died. He seemed concerned that he might be going out the same way. By allegedly hanging himself. Do you know why he had this concern, Mr. Moss?"

Moss glanced at an expressionless Clare for a moment. "Why did you bring her to make these accusations?"

"Because I asked to be here, Edgar. I wanted to see your face when you denied everything. You are denying everything, right?" Clare said, Tim's hand on hers under the table to keep her from going over another one that day.

Edgar's eyebrows raised, he responded, "I'm hurt you think I would do anything to put you in harm's way, dear. I'm sorry you feel that way."

Tim's eyes flickered between Moss's and Clare's, as well as her budding rueful smile.

"You really believe that, you son of a bitch," Clare's admiring tone goosed Tim's neck hair.

"Clare?"

"Of course, I believe that I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, Clare. I've always said I've been fond of you, haven't I?" Moss didn't spare a glance at him. "I do know your background, Clare."

"And having worked for your position rather than inheriting it…"

"I would have more respect for your father's background than your mother's family." Moss smiled, widely and genuinely, "Not that having more respect for what they taught you would be difficult."

Clare's fingers were numb as the wheels in her head squealed out of control. It wasn't possible that he could have manipulated Graham to target her, was it? Wasn't possible that he could have set it all in motion to get her out of the way. Not as he was saying how he admired her—Shit.

"You knew I'd run if someone came at me," she whispered as Tim realized just what it was Moss wasn't denying.

Moss grinned, almost prideful. "Your father's kin chased runners. You know how they think and what mistakes they make. You were Belize within four months, safe and sound. Why didn't you stay there, Clare?"

"Felt wrong. It was…"

"Too easy," Moss finished for her softly. Finally glancing at Tim, he said, "Never counted on you though, Deputy."

"You won't get Graham's shares, Edgar. Even if you get away with this. They revert to Brian, my brothers, and I."

"Unless he already sold them to me." Off Clare's confused expression, Moss continued softly, "They were signed over when you returned. After Colin confessed that you weren't involved in falsifying the transplant records, Graham was... convinced that the deal would dissolve after you returned, so he signed them over to me then."

"You paid Colin Stark to come clean," Tim said. "You had him clear her name."

Graham extended his approving smile to Tim, "You're welcome, Deputy."