Author's note-

Just wanted to say a big thank you for all the great reviews I've been getting for this story. I hope that it doesn't disappoint you. :) I should have at least one more chapter up today. I've been a bit mean here. ;)

Anyway, thanks for reading, and hope that you enjoy. :D

Lou

Chapter Seven

Art glanced at his watch, frowning, before reaching over to pick up the phone. He hit a speed dial button, draining that last of his coffee as he waited for the call to connect. The bitter liquid hit the back of his throat, making him pull a face. Time to switch brands again, he thought and smiled a little, remembering his comment to Raylan the year before about the office coffee. Eight rings later, it went through to voicemail. A recorded voice told him to leave a message after the tone. He waited for the beep, suffering through instructions he'd heard too many times before. Seconds later, the tone beeped in his ear.

"Raylan? I need you to swing by the office when you're done at the clinic. Need to get that paperwork written up." He paused, tapping his fingers on the table. A pen rolled across the desk. He caught it and picked it up, twisting it in his hand. "Call me when you get this message. Thanks."

An uneasy feeling passed through him as he hung up the phone. He wrapped his fingers around the receiver again, then picked it up, dialling information. A polite female voice asked for his request. He told the woman the address and waited while she looked up the number. A few seconds later, he scribbled it on his jotter and ended the call.

He drew a box around it, shading the lines as he debated if he should call.

Tim knocked on the door, twin sheets of paper in his hand. He wore dark jeans with a pale shirt tucked into them. Art beckoned him in, attention still fixed on the hotel's number.

Tim stepped through the door, stopping in front of his boss' desk. He held the sheets up so Art could see them.

"We got that warrant. We pick him up anytime we like. Search warrant too, not that he'll have the stuff in his house now."

Art grunted. "About time that came through. Team getting ready?"

Tim nodded. "As we speak. They'll be ready in ten."

The phone rang. Art picked it up. "Hello?"

"Mr. Mullen. I'm a nurse with the wound clinic. One of your deputies had an appointment for today. He didn't turn up. I was hoping that I could get another number for him, re-schedule the visit." The nurse laughed. "Normally, we wouldn't bother to phone, but a couple of your men helped us out a while back when we were having problems with a drunk."

"I've been trying to reach him myself. Can I take your number? When I reach him, I'll get back to you."

"Of course," she said, and recited a number that he wrote down next to the one already on his jotter.

He read it back to her, checking that it was right.

"That's it. We don't close until seven." Someone called her name in the background. "Whoops, I have to go. Thanks!"

She hung up. Art slowly set the receiver back on to the phone, staring at it thoughtfully.

"What's up?" Tim asked, taking a seat. "You have that look."

"Raylan didn't turn up for his appointment at the clinic."

Tim rubbed his hands together, leaning forward. "You think something's up?"

"I do." Art sighed, and reached for the phone again. He dialled, listening as the call went to voicemail again. "His cell is going straight to voicemail."

"Have you tried his hotel? Maybe he turned his phone off to get some sleep," Tim suggested.

Art sighed and stood up. "I'll call him again when we get back from making this arrest. If he doesn't answer then I'll ring the hotel."

Art opened a cupboard and took out his bulletproof vest. He slid his shoulder holster into place, snapping it to his belt. He grabbed his jacket and opened the door.

Tim followed his boss out of the office. "We're all meeting in the garage. The entry team are driving the bus."

"They'll take the lead on this one. God knows what that nutjob has stashed in his house. How many times has he been busted for weapons charges now?"

Tim glanced at the papers in his hands. "More than once," he said distractedly. "Eh, six times now. This makes lucky seven."

Rachel met them at the elevator, already dressed in her bulletproof vest. She smiled. "Heard about the warrant I see?"

Art laughed dryly. "Any excuse to get out of that office and away from the paperwork. Damn stuff breeds when you're not looking at it, I swear."

The elevator arrived. They stepped in, all falling quiet as they focused on what was coming.

"It's not going to be an easy arrest, is it?" Rachel asked.

"Not many of them are," Art muttered.

"Well, we can always shoot him if he won't play nicely." Tim joked, turning a coin between his fingers.

The elevator reached the ground floor, bumping a little as it settled. The doors opened slowly. Art stepped through them in the lead. "Let's go get this bastard."