Chapter 7: Timing and Coincidence

Rachel knew that Raylan was a sure shot, not to mention a quick draw. His skill was common knowledge. For him to have that ability, of course he had to be good with his hands. But until he put his hands on her and used them to work through every mother loving kink and knot in her neck and shoulders, she had no clue to the depth of his skill.

Lawd, have mercy.

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying out. She could get used to having his hands on her.

Focusing less on his strong masterful strokes and more on his probing questions were a must, but the task was daunting. Simply put, her body's response was making it difficult. From the tightening in her breasts to the tingling between her thighs, Rachel was hard pressed at forcing herself to succumb to a necessary interrogation.

"Rachel?"

"Hmm…"

Hyper-awareness had her especially attuned that his hands had paused. His fingertips rested dangerously close to her bra clasp. Thank God a t-shirt separated the two. She drew in a deep breath and listened. His breathing was just as shaky as hers. His voice was low and in a tone, she'd never heard before. It made no sense for her to look over her shoulder at him, but she couldn't stop it.

Piercing brown eyes stared back. Lust was evident. He moistened his bottom lip with a slow swipe of his tongue. Rachel found herself ignoring all warnings and leaning in. Raylan's movements mirrored hers. Anticipation made her blood pound. She barely registered the sound at the door, but Darla's unnaturally loud exclamation "Food!" was enough to send Raylan to the window and Rachel to the other side of the room. If Tim noticed anything amiss, he gave nothing away as he set the cardboard box on the table.

As the Styrofoam plates, soda pop cans, and water bottles were divided, Rachel and Darla's eyes locked. The slight shrug was enough to let Rachel know that Darla's excitement about the food was more theatrics than actual hunger.

"Thanks," Rachel said with meaning.

"No worries," Darla replied.

"What about me?" Tim said, handing Darla a Coke. "These are authentic tamales. I heard about this place on Man vs. Food. This is the real deal."

Darla thanked him and took her meal and beverage back to the bed where she sat cross legged and began to eat. Rachel expressed gratitude as well, but she was a little surprised when Tim followed the witness and joined her on the bed.

Well, well, well, she thought. She glanced at Raylan to see if he noticed, but he seemed preoccupied. He had chosen a spot at the table. She started to head toward the sofa, but he pulled out the chair next to him. A thousand reasons not to accept his offer popped through her mind. She ignored every one.

The first few minutes were filled with the sounds of chewing, slurping, and murmuring of satisfaction. Rachel's hunger for food had taken a backseat as soon as the call with her mother ended. It had continued to elude her when Raylan's massage had short circuited her senses. Initially, she'd gone through the motions of eating as a diversionary tactic. Maintaining cool professionalism while ignoring Raylan's sidelong glances required more from her than she had stored up. Then there was the idea that her soon-to-be ex could be stalking her. Both were a lot to take in. Thank goodness Tim's television viewing practices had merit. The delicious food worked and after a few bites, her hunger returned. By the time conversation was thrown into the mix, she was able to participate.

"Well?" Tim asked.

"The tamales are good, but I've never been a fan of chalupa," Darla said.

"Oh," he said, his expression thoughtful. "You don't want it?"

"No, but we'll have to trade." She peered over his arm. "What's happening with that enchilada?"

"I haven't touched it…" Tim extended his plate toward hers. "We can trade."

"You sure?"

"Your stomach is still growling," he said. "Yeah, go for it."

The interchange was interesting. Was this Tim flirting or just being nice? Rachel couldn't be sure. She felt Raylan watching her and she met his stare. He wore an obvious smirk. He looked ready to say something inappropriate. Since Darla had saved them, she wasn't about to let him throw her under the bus.

"Tim," she said, "we have a new development."

"Yeah?" He was busy keeping his plate steady while Darla transferred the enchilada to hers. "Art called about the credit card?"

"No," she said. In this moment, she realized how much she resented Joe for this. For bringing her personal life into work. This was bullshit and soon as she saw him, he'd never forget it.

"What's up?" he asked.

"It's possible that Joe is tailing us."

A scowl darkened his brow. He set his plate down. The easy going demeanor that had affected him since he'd joined Darla on the bed faded. He became tense and ready for action.

"That sonuvabitch. How do you know? Was that him calling?"

She nodded, suddenly very aware of an equally very tense Raylan. He had moved from the table and stood with his back to them. "Yeah, he's called—"

"But he won't sign the papers—" Upon Rachel's look, he quickly added. "Sorry, Rach. Are you sure it was him in the Sebring?"

"We're not sure of anything," she said, "but it's possible that Joe is following us. My mom told him I was coming to LA. I haven't heard from him until now and his calls have been pretty steady since we've been on the road."

She wondered if Raylan would chime in, but so far he kept his back turned. His stance was rigid. His silence was damning. She continued as if his quiet didn't matter. "I never anticipated this happening. In the morning, I'm flying back and—"

"The hell you are." Raylan turned to face them. "You're not going anywhere."

"Look, Raylan—"

"I'm with him on this," Tim said, rising from the bed, his dinner forgotten.

"My presence is potentially jeopardizing Darla's safety."

"We don't know that," Raylan said. "We don't know for a fact that your ex is stalking you. We have circumstantial evidence at best—"

"Seriously?"

"I'm not defending him," he snapped, "but let's say you do go back and he is coming after you. Are you safer on your own or with us here?"

"I'd rather you didn't go back," Darla said. She was now sitting on the edge of the bed. Her features were drawn tight. "I know I don't have a say, and you all are the professionals, but I know about crazy. You can't reason with it. Besides, I'd feel like shit if something happened to you because you left on account of me."

"Don't make Darla feel like shit," Raylan added.

"Art would not go for this," she said, feeling her resolve weakening.

"Who's telling Art anything?" Tim asked. "I'm not calling Art. Are you?"

Raylan shook his head. "We don't have proof—"

"If we get proof," she cut in, "we re-evaluate."

Tim sighed. Raylan looked ready to curse.

Rachel said, "Either agree or I leave tomorrow."

Both men nodded, grudgingly. "Agreed."

"If it makes you feel better," Raylan said, clearly still pissed, "we can split up. See what happens."

"That's an idea," Tim said, not exactly committing to it.

"I'll have to sleep on it," Rachel said.

Just then, Tim yawned. "Sleep sounds like a good place to start. So, who has a quarter…"

"We already flipped for it," Raylan said. "I have the sofa. Rachel has the other bed."

"Great," Tim muttered. He grabbed the phone and called down for a rollaway.

R&R

Morning took its time, Raylan thought, as the first rays of light peeked through the slits in the curtain. He had failed to find a comfortable prone position so he spent most of the night sitting upright. It hadn't mattered. His mind had been preoccupied with the knowledge that Tim had been fully aware of Rachel's marital status while he had known absolutely nothing. To top it off, he'd done a piss poor job of hiding his irritation and annoyance of that knowledge.

There was also the matter of Rachel wanting to make herself a target for the ex. Was she insane? Hell would freeze over before he'd allow her to run off alone. The man already failed to take no for an answer when it came to phone calls. What would he do if he had her alone? Raylan did not for one second doubt Rachel's ability to defend herself, but crazy was crazy. In his experience crazy assholes were creative and unpredictable.

He started a pot of coffee. By the time he had showered and dressed, the coffee had brewed and everyone was awake and stirring about. He didn't miss the look passing between Tim and Darla as the former Army Ranger headed to the bathroom. When Raylan paused to silently confirm or deny the situation with her, she merely shrugged and sorted through her luggage. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Rachel grimace as she checked her cell phone.

"Nobody?"

She nodded.

"Calls or texts?"

"Both," she said, sliding the phone into her jeans front pocket. "Five missed calls and ten texts."

"He's escalating."

She glanced at her watch. "I can get a flight within an hour or two."

He gave her a tight smile. "We've already had this discussion."

"I'm with Raylan on that," Darla piped in.

Less than an hour later, they were all dressed and ready to go. The Marshals had dosed themselves with cups of caffeine. Darla declined. She only liked the decaf version of coffee. The regular kind didn't set well with her. Raylan was sure Tim had committed that tidbit to memory.

They opted against breakfast at the hotel. An early start provided better choices. However four slashed tires made that difficult. The hotel manager arrived with apologies out of his ass. While he called for AAA, Tim took photos of the area. Darla stayed close to him and Raylan followed Rachel as she began to pace.

"Still don't think my leaving is good idea?"

"Nope. You're staying."

"I know this is Joe."

"He has a habit of slashing tires," Raylan said. "You should have said something before."

"No, he's never slashed my tires."

"Then you don't know it's him. It could be a prank."

"You don't believe that anymore than I do."

Raylan considered conning her, but since it wouldn't work, he thought better of it. "No, I don't."

"I can't put Darla in danger," she said quietly. "She saved our asses last night."

"She did," he spoke just as softly, "but your leaving is no guarantee about Joe's actions if that's him out there acting up. Hell, I'm betting your push to leave isn't about Joe at all—"

"Of course, it is."

"Of course, it ain't," Raylan said. "You're scared of what's happening."

"I'm scared of what Joe might do. Jeopardizing a witness—"

"Fuck that," he said, becoming annoyed. "What's happening between you and me. You're scared shitless about that. Admit it."

"You've got to be kidding."

"No, I'm serious as shit."

He would have said more, but Tim called them over. The other Marshal was excited about a find.

"Two sets of tire tracks. Right here," he said, pointing to the tread marks on either side of the Explorer. "I sent the images to Art."

"Does he have new orders for us?" Rachel asked.

"Hang tight," Tim said.

"Did you tell him about Joe?" Raylan asked.

Tim glared at him. "No." His phone rang before he added to that. "Hey, Art. Okay fine. I got it. Thanks."

He told him that the tire tracks belonged to two vehicles, a Sebring and a Lincoln Navigator. They re-evaluated the plan to split up and decided against it. Triple A arrived to pick up the Explorer and they secured another rental.

Tim claimed the driver seat of the brass-colored Chevy Tahoe while Raylan sat shotgun. The women were quiet in the back. The radio provided white noise as they headed back onto the highway. Meanwhile, Raylan's thoughts scattered. Two different vehicles could mean two different agendas. He had no way of knowing if Joe was in either one or if the Cassalotti clan was responsible for both. Until someone made a definite move, they were still in the dark.

But he wasn't in the dark about Rachel. Touching her had been dangerous and almost kissing her—hell, reckless was too tame to define it. Then he called her out. His gut had told him she wouldn't respond well to that, but he'd done it anyway. With the words out there, he had to admit to himself even if she wouldn't, he had no regrets.

Well, he had one regret.

Tim and his fucked up timing. Shit.

R&R

By mutual agreement, Tim drove south down through Dallas before looping onto Interstate 30 to head north toward Little Rock. The ride was somewhat circuitous but if someone were tailing them, it'd be obvious. In the end, they'd snuff the SOB out. Morning rush hour traffic slowed them down a few times, but they reached the Arkansas town in good time with Tim behind the wheel the entire time. In eight more hours, they'd reach Lexington and that was the plan.

The gas gauge wavered closer to "E" than Tim liked so he stopped at a Mobil. Rachel and Darla remained inside while he and Raylan kept watch from the pump.

"There have been five Navigators on us off and on for the last three hours," Raylan said, "and two Sebrings."

"Neither of them took the exit," Tim said.

"Doesn't mean they're not doubling back."

"No," Tim agreed.

"The dark won't help us," Raylan said, "but it won't help them either."

The back door on the driver's side opened. Rachel stepped out. "There's a grocery store across the street. Let's just grab something there and keep it moving."

"Is Darla okay with that?" Tim asked. When both Rachel and Raylan stared at him, he asked, "What?"

Raylan laughed. "Nothing."

Rachel smiled. "She suggested it."

"Oh," he said, nodding. "Good idea."

"Uh huh," Raylan said with a smirk.

"Again, what?"

Raylan shook his head and slid into the driver's seat. Tim finished up and climbed into the backseat with Darla. Rachel had already taken residence in the passenger seat.

Kroger's afternoon crowd was usual for most Krogers. Once inside, Raylan and Rachel headed in one direction and Tim and Darla went in the other. His role as chauffeur had prevented Tim from getting to know their witness better. Normally, he preferred the silence, but not this time. She was interesting. But since they left Wichita Falls, she hadn't spoken much. He wondered if she was scared, tired of the trip, or maybe a little of both.

"They're getting the drinks, right?" she asked, swinging the basket between them. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Yeah. We're grabbing bread, deli slices, and condiments."

She laughed. "That sounds so rigid."

"Does it?" He took the basket from her. Sure, his fingers brushed against hers, but if she didn't mind, neither did he. He checked her face for a reaction. Her brown eyes lit up and he didn't take that as bad sign. "What should I have said?"

"I don't know. Something like…we're getting ham and mayo and mustard. Maybe some cookies or something."

"Cookies?" He frowned playfully. "I'm more into brownies."

"The fudge kind?"

"Definitely. I love chocolate."

Her eyebrows arched. "Oh really?"

The double entendre hit him immediately. He groaned. "I didn't mean… I…um… Look, I apolo—"

"Stop," she said with a faint giggle. "It's not like you said you're down with the swirl. Most people like chocolate."

"Raylan doesn't."

She laughed outright. "I beg to differ."

"Huh?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. Let's see if the bakery has brownies."

Tim knew he was enjoying this far more than he was supposed to. Art sent him as back up. Not to hit on the witness. Not to make her blush or vice versa. Definitely not to get his head off track. As they worked through their list—bread, lunch meat, chips, brownies, and condiments—and headed to check out, he pulled the conversation back to the space where it was safe and held no possibility of innuendo.

A companionable silence settled between them. He noticed her moving her lips and her head swaying to a beat. Til then, he hadn't noticed the loudspeaker or the music playing. The background report said that she'd been a singer. He leaned in to get a listen, but she wasn't offering a freebie. She smiled when she realized what he was doing.

"Michael McDonald and Patti LaBelle are doing it," she said. "I don't mean literally. The song. My mom loved this song. Do you know they recorded this in two different studios on separate coasts?"

"What is this? I don't recognize it."

"'On My Own,'" she said. "It's about a breakup. Neither person saw it coming and they're heartbroken. I saw Patti LaBelle at the Orpheum."

"In Memphis?"

She nodded. "She's amazing. High heels like this," she said, indicating with her thumb and forefinger, "and moving like she's a kid. I don't move in high heels like that. And the notes. Oh my God, nobody does it like Patti."

"I'd like to hear you sing."

His statement stunned her into silence. She seemed embarrassed and surprised. "I don't sound like Patti."

He shrugged. He knew she could sing. A recording contract had been offered to her, but after she'd become involved with Nik Cassalotti, she'd turned it down. He wondered about a man who'd demand that of a woman he claimed to love.

"I don't care," he said. "I want to hear you—" Mid-sentence, the expression on her face changed. Her eyes widened and she stepped in close to him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her. "What?"

"Listen," she whispered, clutching him.

'Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

She always gone too long anytime she goes away…'

"The Bill Withers' song."

Moments later, Raylan and Rachel rushed toward them. Tim and Rachel ushered Darla out the store and to the SUV while Raylan stayed to pay and question the cashier about the radio station. Tim hated how a perceived threat had transformed the confident woman into a shaking mass. Safe in the back of the Chevy Tahoe, she clung to his hand. He didn't care that it was against regulations. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. The quivering started to lessen, but not completely. Rachel stood outside the car and waited.

Raylan returned with their bags and with information. "It's a local oldies station. I called Art. He's checking."

"He's wasting his time," Darla said quietly. "It's not a coincidence."

"We don't know that," Rachel said. "Let's wait until we find out."

"Wait?" Darla pulled herself free of Tim's embrace. Shaking her head, she seemed to be lost in her thoughts. "Once is a coincidence. Twice? No. That bastard is still pulling strings from the grave."

She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, tears streaming from the closed lids. Tim debated with himself for a half second before he surrendered to his desire to hold her. He knew that Raylan and Rachel were throwing each other looks, but he didn't care.

[A/N: Thanks as always for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing! Your comments help so keep them coming! Things are heating up between the couples, but in different ways. I'd say both men have their hands full and are definitely playing with fire. Is it time for Raylan to make a serious move? He's laid it out there. Is it too soon for him to follow through with some action? More than a massage? Let me know what you think. Until next time…]