Chapter 9: Storm of a Different Sort

Darla tested the weight of the Glock 26 in her hands. She knew the situation made the weapon feel much heavier than it was. When Tim had instructed her on the firearm, he told her that this one was called the Baby Glock. She saw nothing infantile about it. Just holding the gun aged her. Holding a baby had never made her feel this way.

"You okay?" Rachel shone the flashlight on the wall to the left of Darla's shoulder. The Marshal leaned against the bathroom sink while Darla sat on the rim of the bathtub.

"As well as can be expected."

"You know…um," Rachel said. "Tim shouldn't have given you that, and you are not expected to use it."

"I know." Darla set the gun on the bathtub beside her. "I'd feel better not being a dead weight, though—"

"You're not a dead weight."

"We were followed here. The lights are out. In short, shit just got real," she said. "I've made my peace about what may happen after I give testimony, but I'm not ready to die before I reach Lexington. If I can help, I want to. I need to."

"You can help us better by not using that thing," Rachel said.

"Do you want it?"

Rachel nodded.

Darla frowned as she thought it over. She understood the three Marshals maybe better than they realized. Raylan was pure Wild West cowboy although he'd deny it to the death. Rachel was by the book and to some extent, so was Tim. He wouldn't have handed over his firearm to Darla without cause. She feared they were cornered. After everything the Cassalotti family had taken from her, she refused to go out like this—in the bathroom of an Arkansas roadside motel.

"What if they find us in here?"

"I can handle it," Rachel said.

"I don't want to die today."

"None of us do." Rachel moved to the door and opened it a crack.

Darla stood, grabbed the Glock, and joined the Marshal at the door. The main room was still flooded in darkness. She could make out the silhouette of a figure at the window and some of the larger pieces of furniture, but not much else. Rain continued to pound the roof.

She stepped back into the bathroom and returned to her position on the bathtub. Not for the first time since leaving Los Angeles, she began to consider her life choices that brought her to this place. Before she fell in love with Nik Cassalotti, she'd had her whole life figured out. Everything began and ended with her music. All she needed was a recording contract and once she had that, she'd set the world on fire. But then Nik walked into her life and that was it.

"You're too quiet," Rachel said.

Darla looked up. She'd been so lost in her past that she hadn't noticed when Rachel had returned to perch against the sink. The other woman's stare was steady and concerned. When Rachel handed her a tissue, that's when Darla realized that she was crying. Again.

"Thanks."

"We'll get you through this," Rachel said, quietly. "Tim never misses, and neither does Raylan. Hell, I'm not too bad either."

"Why does everything have to end in death?" Darla wiped her eyes. "I'm sick of all the violence."

"Sometimes it's unavoidable."

"Believe me, I know. I thought I could run away from it, but…" She sighed. "The bombing took a lot from me, Rachel. I thought this part was over."

Rachel sighed. The Marshal seemed lost for words and truthfully, Darla didn't expect her to have the answers. As much as she feared the wrath of Nik's family cursing further retribution on her, Darla knew that Rachel had her own worries with her husband. Whether they were running from him or the Cassalotti clan, Darla was over stress of living on the edge. She just wanted a little bit of peace. Just enough to settle her nerves before hell broke loose with her testimony.

"Here." She picked up the Glock by the handle and gave it to Rachel. "I can't use this. I'm afraid."

Rachel checked the weapon before slipping it into the waistband of her pants. "We'll get you to Lexington. This is just a slight delay."

Darla released a short chuckle that was a blend of humor and defeat. "You Marshals are something else. Okay, Rachel. Whatever you say."

R&R

While the women were talking, Raylan slipped from the room and found an alcove to wait for any surprise visitors to arrive. He and Tim had worked out a signal with flashes from their flashlights if possible. Otherwise, gunfire would have to do.

So far, the storm hadn't let up. Rain poured like it was its last chance and wind was a constant force and companion. In short, Raylan could barely see shit. But with Tim being the sharpshooter, he wanted him inside with the women. If Raylan missed, the former Ranger would definitely be ready for them if they reached the motel room.

Raylan pushed wet strands of hair from his forehead. Only determined jackasses would go for a hit in this kind of weather, he thought. With the rain hitting the roof, nothing was better than holding a beautiful woman in his arms. For a long time, the only woman Raylan imagined in his bed was Winona, but now as the thought came to mind, he envisioned someone completely unlike her. Not just in skin tone, but in temperament and values, too. Underneath Rachel's cool exterior hid a passionate nature. He'd caught glimpses of it throughout the trip, but somehow, the slight touch of her finger curled around his confirmed it.

He sighed. They couldn't get back to Lexington fast enough.

Raylan heard the footsteps a half second before the first man crossed his alcove. The guy was white, young, and well-dressed. He carried a firearm at his side. Another followed with a sawed off shotgun close to his hip.

Shit.

"Drop your weapons," Raylan said after identifying himself as a Marshal.

Of course, they fired on him. Quick and anticipating their move, Raylan returned fire and dropped one. The other one ran around the corner in the direction of their room. More gunshots rang out and by the time Raylan arrived, the other man was face down dead on the floor.

Tim kept his piece aimed and ready as he kicked the shotgun across the room. Streaks of lightning provided just enough light for the two men to communicate with minimal language. Raylan nodded toward the bathroom. "Alright?"

"Yeah," Tim said, as he knelt down to check the prone man's pulse. "Did you get anything out there?"

"One," Raylan said. "There were just the two."

He headed toward the landline to call it in. The locals had already been notified of gunfire and were en route. He called Art as Tim searched for ID.

"Nothing," Tim said. "I'll see what the other one has."

"Well, you almost made it a week without killing anyone—"

"It's justified, Art," Raylan said, cutting the other man off. "Besides, one was mine and the other wasn't. As long as we get the witness back safe, right?"

"Is she?"

"Of course."

The call ended soon after and Raylan was pleased with the timing because Tim's news wouldn't have fared well with Art at all.

"Are you sure you got him?"

"Yeah," Raylan bit out. "What?"

"There's nothing out there but rain and puddles. He's gone."

"Shit."

"Stay with them—"

"I'm the better shot," Tim said. "I'll go."

R&R

Gunfire made the walls shake inside the small bathroom. Rachel sensed Darla's fear escalate, but there was nothing she could do about it except honor her promise. The other woman crouched inside the tub without being told and Rachel was grateful for her common sense.

Her first instinct to protect their witness warred with her need to assist her coworkers. Rachel held her gun primed and ready. Unable to stand flush against the wall because of the sink, Rachel used her body to shield Darla. That was the best she could do.

Silence came sooner than she expected. She was about to open the door when a familiar voice drawled, "It's me."

Raylan opened the door. To her relief, he appeared unharmed. He held his firearm in his right hand. A slight frown marred his handsome face he looked at the women. "Everyone okay?"

"Yeah," Rachel said.

"Where's Tim?" Darla asked after they stepped into the bedroom.

"There were at least two," Raylan said. "He's looking for the other one."

"Go after him," Rachel said. "We're okay here."

A moment later, the whine of sirens broke through the heavy rhythm of pounding rain. Single file they headed toward the door. Raylan stepped out while the women paused at the dead body.

"I know him," Darla said, backing away from the lifeless figure.

At her words Raylan turned and lingered in the doorway. He seemed highly attuned to both the outside world and their hotel room. "Who is it?" he asked.

"Nik's brother-in-law," she said. "Deke Carter. You said there's another one? What did he look like?"

Just then, Tim returned. He shook his head in response to the silent questions that were being thrown at him.

"I didn't get a good look at him," Raylan answered.

Darla nodded. She pulled her jacket on and wrapped it tightly around her. "Of the family, he was one of the good ones." She released a sound that was part sob and part chuckle. "I guess I was wrong."

Rachel noticed how Tim avoided looking at either her or Raylan. He simply made a beeline straight for Darla, leading her to the bed and turning her away from the body. She pretended not to notice and joined Raylan in the doorway. Once she reached him, he nodded for them to stepped out onto the landing. The rain was easing up just a bit, but the wind had brought a chill to the air. Summer storms were definitely the worst.

"I can't believe between you and Tim the other one got away."

Raylan frowned. "He didn't. I got him."

"Oh," she said slowly, nodding. "You shot someone. Warning shot?"

"No," he bit out.

"You need to talk?" she asked.

The question seemed to irk him at first. Their eyes met and a slow smile parted his mouth.

"No, but I appreciate the offer."

She just smiled and shrugged. Far too soon, heavy footsteps signaled the approach of the locals. Another second of them sharing a smile managed to warm her from the blustery wind before beige and blue uniforms came along, demanding answers. Raylan took command, and she was content to let him.

His lazy drawl fit right in with the culture. She'd live in the South long enough to know the men, although they'd all sworn to uphold the law same as her, didn't want to hear the story from her be the reasons gender or skin tone. And after the last few hours, she wasn't in the mood to deal with bigotry or misogyny. Instead, she'd rather indulge herself in her new favorite pastime—Raylan Watching.

Now that it was over, she could admit to herself that the gun blasts had scared her. What if it really had been Joe tailing them? She hated the thought of him going out like that. Yes, he was making her life hell, but once upon a time, she had loved him. But even more than that, what if Raylan had been hit? Was it wrong that the latter question frightened her more the former? This thing that was growing between her and the incorrigible lawman was in its infancy, yet her emotions had threatened to take over when she heard the pow-pow-pow of bullets. Only reflex had kept her from leaving Darla. She had to protect the witness. That was a truth she could not forsake. But, dammit, if something had happened to Raylan Givens…

Rachel blinked. There was no way she would allow herself to complete that thought. She simply could not give in to that line of thinking.

"You okay?"

Rachel returned Raylan's stare. Had she said something aloud? She frowned and looked away. When had he left the other lawmen and joined her? How did she miss him coming to her? Had she been that consumed by thoughts of him?

"Rachel?" He reached for her.

Angry with herself, she jerked back. "I'm fine." Upon his hurt expression, she softened her tone. "Really, I'm okay. It's my job. Of course, I am."

He didn't look convinced and she wasn't ready for an interrogation. So to set things back to a place she understood, she relied on her mask of professionalism. If he bought it, she didn't know. Rachel turned her back and did the opposite of what she truly wanted. She walked away.

R&R

The urgency of protecting Darla coupled with the assistance of the local Marshal service aided them in getting out of the bullet-riddled motel room and back on the interstate. Slick from rainfall, the road was quiet and the driving easy. Raylan had taken the wheel while Rachel claimed shotgun. The seating arrangements were fine with Tim because he was more than comfortable in the backseat with Darla.

Snuggled in a blanket and lost in a fitful slumber, she rested with her head on his shoulder. Several times, he caught Raylan's stare in the rearview mirror. Maybe this was against department regulations, but as far as Tim could tell, he hadn't crossed any lines, yet.

The disappearance of Raylan's shooting victim had put them on edge. Tim had searched the entire complex. The rain only served to aid their assailants. Blood would have left a trail, but the rain and wind washed it away. The weather aided in covering the tracks for the getaway vehicle, too. Only Darla's positive ID of Tim's victim was enough to clue them to who was on their trail. Or so they thought.

Although no one had said anything, Tim still wasn't a 100% that Rachel's ex wasn't out there somewhere, too. Rachel had confided over after-work beers about the disintegration of her marriage and how it happened suddenly, without warning. She told him how Joe had changed. They both had, but it was the differences in his outlook that pushed her to call the lawyer. In the end, the things Rachel didn't say were enough to make Tim uneasy now. His fingers trailed over the butt of his weapon and he sighed. He couldn't shake the feeling that things weren't going to end well.

Well on the other side of midnight and long after they had crossed the Mississippi River, Raylan guided the Tahoe onto an off ramp and toward a Shell station. At the drop in speed, the women began to stir.

Darla sat up. "Sorry," she managed to mumble mid-yawn.

"No problem."

The Tahoe stopped at the pump closest to the station. Raylan looked over his shoulder at them. "Pit stop?"

"I'll take it," Rachel said. "Darla?"

"I'm with you." She unfolded the blanket from around her. "Where are we?"

"On the other side of Memphis," Tim said.

She smiled at him. "You want anything?"

He shook his head.

"I don't want anything either," Raylan said.

The women headed inside. Raylan went to the pump and Tim joined him.

"Art's not gonna like it."

"No more than he'll like you breaking Rachel's heart or screwing with her head," Tim replied. "She's his best Marshal."

Raylan cocked an eyebrow. "You let him get away with that?"

"He only says it 'cause it's true," he answered honestly. "Between the two of us, she's the best. Hell, no one in the division has anything on Rachel."

"You two are close," Raylan said with an edge.

"Not like you think."

"You knew about Joe."

Tim shrugged.

"I'm never one to give advice," Raylan said. "I'm even worse at following, but she's a witness—"

"I have two words for you."

Raylan just looked at him.

"Ava Crowder. "

"That was different."

Tim grunted.

"We had a past…of sorts. Look, I get it. She's beautiful. She's in distress. Being the hero feels good—"

"Just stop. Nothing's happened."

"Not yet." Raylan pulled the handle from the gas tank and ripped the receipt off. He fixed Tim with a knowing look.

"Just so you know, I'm keeping my eye on you and Rachel. Don't fuck up."

Raylan grew still. His voice hardened. "Was that a warning?"

Tim just looked at him. "It's whatever you need it to be."

[A/N: Thanks for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing! I'm still in recovery mode, but I'm hoping to figure out a schedule. We'll see how that goes. Rachel and Raylan are taking their time, but Darla isn't the only one hip to their changing relationship. Tim has put Raylan on notice. Uh oh! The next chapter, they'll be in Lexington. Will all hell break loose? It's home turf time for the Marshals.]