Author's note-

Sorry there was no update yesterday. I got roped into a birthday party after work and figured my drunken ramblings weren't what you really wanted to read.

Things are starting to wrap up now. I have a huge conclusion planned, which is going to be a ton of fun to write. :D Not quite there yet though.

Thanks for reading. :D

Lou

Chapter Nineteen

Art laid the phone handset gently on the desk, taking care not to end the call, then hurried to the door. He opened it and leaned out.

"Tim!" he called sharply.

Everyone in the office turned in Art's direction. He scowled at them until they went back to what they'd been doing. A phone rang, shattering the quiet of the afternoon.

The younger man looked up from his desk. He held a thick file in one hand, and a coffee cup in the other. "You want me?"

Art nodded. "Come here a minute. I need you to do something for me."

Curious, Tim laid down the file he was reading and crossed the office. Art closed the door behind him.

"What's up?" Tim asked.

Art nodded at the sofa. Tim sat on it, leaning forwards, hands clasped between his knees. Art leaned against his desk, casting a wary eye over the rest of the office.

"I need you to trace a call." Art leaned over the phone to get the number. He wrote it down on a scrap of paper and handed it to Tim. "Raylan is on the other end. We need to know where he is so we can go get him."

"I'll get right on it." He closed his hand around the scrap of paper. "How does he sound?"

Art glanced at the phone, then shook his head. "He sounds like hell."

Tim blinked and shook his head a little. "Five minutes, and I'll have the location."

"Keep this quiet, okay?" Art asked.

Tim nodded. "Of course," he said, slipping out of the door and walking briskly back to his desk.

Art dropped back into his desk chair and picked up the handset again. "Raylan?"

Static cracked across the line for a long second. Art frowned at the phone, hoping that the connection would stay up long enough for the trace to complete. The static cleared. Art could hear the sound of himself breathing against the phone.

"I'm here," Raylan said. "Got a trace going?"

"Tim's on it now." Art said. "How are you feeling?" He grabbed a pen, flipping it in his hand as he listened.

Raylan paused. "I've been better," he admitted hoarsely after a long second. "Be glad to get something to eat."

Art smiled. "Hell, Raylan. I'll take out for a steak when you get back to civilisation. How's that sound?"

Raylan huffed a tired sigh. "Make it fried chicken, and you're on."

"I'll see what I can do." Art said with a little laugh.

Silence fell over the line again for a few seconds. Raylan broke it. "The lady coroner is dead. She was shot. Chief's gun, I think."

Art frowned at the desk. "The Chief's in on this?"

"Hell, yeah. He's running kids though the county, selling them to the highest bidder as sex toys," Raylan said. "Aw, hell, Chief. Don't go all bashful now. You know it's true."

Alarm quickened in Art's chest. "He's there with you?"

"He's cuffed to the damn car. He's no threat, don't worry," Raylan said tiredly. "How long for the trace?"

Art glanced at his clock. "Couple more minutes."

"How are you thinking of getting here?" Raylan asked.

Something in his voice made Art pause. "Well, I was gonna use my private jet, but it's getting detailed, so I'll have to come by car," Art said, sarcasm muted. "Why? Is there a particular ride you'd like?"

Raylan sucked in a breath. "Just one that gets here quick. That's all I'm asking."

Art considered those words carefully, instinct screaming at him that something was wrong. "Raylan, what aren't you telling me?"

The other man blew out a breath that sounded like a gale over the phone. "Nothing that can't wait," he muttered.

Tim rapped his knuckles sharply on Art's door. Art beckoned him in. "We have your location." He accepted the sheet of paper from Tim. "It'll take us a couple of hours to reach you. You're in the middle of nowhere."

Tim watched him carefully. Art tucked the phone against his neck. "Go get the car ready. Let Rachel know what's going on. Don't tell anyone else. I want this kept private."

The younger man nodded, slipping out of the office. Art watched him go, the refocused his attention on the phone.

"Feels like it," Raylan agreed. "Nothing here but road and trees."

"Is there anything you need?" Art asked.

Raylan chuckled tiredly. "Nothing you can bring with you."

Art frowned, worry growing in his chest. A sound in the background made him press the phone more tightly to his ear, straining to make out the words.

"The Chief asks if you can bring coffee. Says he's been without a cup for too long," Raylan muttered. "Make sure it's de-caff, would ya?"

"Tell the son-of-a-bitch that missing his coffee is the least of his worries. He has a lot to answer for."

"Oh, I think he knows that," Raylan agreed wryly. "I think he knows that well."

Art hesitated. "I'm going. Be careful, okay?"

Raylan huffed a breath. "Art, you know me."

Art smiled, a little sadly. "Yup. That's what worries me."