Chapter 11: Thinking About the Ex
Darla settled in the backseat of the black SUV with her thoughts engaged in a battle of tug of war. She knew that she should focus on the case and staying safe. The new Deputy Marshals assigned by the head honcho Art were probably just as capable as Tim, Rachel, and Raylan. Their lack of personality didn't mean they couldn't protect her. It shouldn't matter to her that Deputy Marshals Brad Jones and Wes Smith were painfully efficient and stodgy. But the truth was in the half hour since she'd been handed over to their care, she'd come to the major realization that she missed Rachel and Raylan's insane layers of tension and weird flirtatious banter. And she especially missed Tim.
She ran a hand through her short cropped curls and sighed. Hadn't she learned her lesson about men? Weren't the scars on her back enough to merit a PhD in the potential for heartbreak? Not that Tim, a Deputy Marshal no less, was anything like Nik Cassalotti, the once heir apparent to Kentucky's elite crime family. Yet, there was a glimmer in his eyes that reminded her of Nik's. Tim would protect her, no questions asked, and he'd kill to do it. Heck, he already had.
The passing scenery blurred for a moment. She blinked until her vision cleared. Of course, that was his job, but still the lack of remorse of taking a life… Was that something Marshals had to learn or was there more to Tim Gutterson than met the eye? Darla chuckled softly to herself. There certainly was more to her. She wasn't being fair if she tried to pigeon hole a man she just met into being just a hero. It was a nice idea, though. Heroes in her world had been few and far between.
"The USAA wants to meet," Jones said, shifting in the passenger seat to face her. He held his cell phone in his hand.
"Is it up to me?" Darla asked, surprised.
"He knows you just arrived and transport wasn't easy."
"How long will it take?"
Jones shrugged.
"Sure," she said. "Waiting won't make it any easier."
He responded in the affirmative on the phone. Meanwhile, Smith made a U-turn and they headed back to the headquarters they had just left.
A few minutes later, Darla was back in the glass-walled conference room. Assistant U.S. Attorney David Vasquez sat across from her. A closed manila folder lay underneath his left hand. A yellow legal pad rested near his right. He rolled a pen across the pad with his index finger. Darla found a rhythm to the movement and willed herself to listen to his questions and answer accordingly.
"Do you have any questions for me?"
She frowned. "Such as?"
"Anything," he said. "You've waived your right to counsel—"
"I don't need a lawyer, right?" she asked. "Unless something has changed? I wasn't aware that there were charges against me. Those people almost killed me with that bomb. I lost everything."
"Nothing has changed," David said. "I didn't mean to imply… I have your statement. Is there anything else you care to add? Surprises won't help."
"My goal isn't to help them. They hate me. Everything I've said is the truth. I've sworn to it and I will do that in court, too. I won't lie to convict them or to protect them. They killed Nik and they almost got me. His family did that. You have no idea how badly I want this over."
"I can imagine."
"Maybe," she said quietly.
He asked her to clarify a few details. She gave him names. Dates were muddled. The doctors had warned that some memory loss was to be expected. Vasquez would have to bring witnesses to show that her recall was reliable. After twenty minutes and a series of yawns, David fixed her with a faint sympathetic smile.
"That's enough for now," he said as he stood and gathered his folders and pad. After he stuffed everything inside his briefcase, he stepped to the conference room's glass doors. Just as he reached them, her cell phone rang.
The caller ID read "Unknown," but she didn't consider that before she answered it. Before she could say a word, Bill Withers' voice and familiar tune echoed through the receiver.
"Wonder this time where she's gone
Wonder if she's gone to stay
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone…"
Darla ended the call and dropped the phone on the floor.
"What's wrong?" David moved back into the room.
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. "They know I'm here."
R&R
Raylan clutched the butt of his handgun. Danger flared in the eyes of Rachel's ex and one move, be it wrong or otherwise, could send the other man into an explosive fit. Instinct placed Raylan between Rachel and the door. He sensed she didn't like it. Hell, he'd be a fool to misinterpret the quick hitch in her breath, but dammit, Raylan didn't like the wildness that came off Joe Brooks in waves. It reminded him of Arlo minutes before he'd tear into his mother or even Raylan for that matter. No, he wasn't Rachel's man yet, but he was her friend. He'd take whatever Joe wanted to put out, but he for damn sure wasn't about to let the man get anywhere near Rachel or her mother.
"Raylan…" she murmured just low enough for him to hear. "It's okay—"
"Uncle Joe!" Rachel's nephew came from nowhere to infiltrate the tense standoff. Nick was at his uncle's side before either Raylan or Rachel could stop him. The boy pulled the other man in and to Raylan's surprise, Joe's expression softened.
Joe squeezed Nick's shoulder. "You've grown a foot."
"Maybe more than that," the boy said. "Where've you been?"
Joe paused a moment to look at Rachel. "I've been around."
Raylan never loosened his grip. He fought the urge to crowd Rachel, to use his body as her shield. She stepped out of his range as if she knew his internal struggle. Her arms hung at her sides, but there was a slight tremor to her right hand. He was aware of the deep breaths that settled her as she moved toward her nephew.
"Do you have any more of those crazy tokens?" Nick asked, looking at Raylan.
"Not on me, but I can get you some."
Nick laughed. "No thanks."
"Okay, enough with the jokes," Rachel said. "Time for school."
"But I'm late," Nick said, "and you and Uncle Joe are back—"
"Not a good enough reason for you to miss school," his grandmother said. "Get your backpack."
Mumbling under his breath, the preteen trudged out of the room.
"Mama, could you drive him to school?" Rachel asked.
Delores looked ready to protest. Raylan had a hard time holding his tongue, but he understood family dynamics. This was a good plan. If only he could get Rachel to join her mother and nephew for the ride.
"Sure." Delores' mouth curved into a tight smile. "Always good to see you, Joe. Take care, Marshal."
Minutes later, she and Nick were gone. Joe wasted no time hurling accusations.
"So much for marriage vows," he said. "Forsaking all others don't mean shit to you, huh?"
"Hey now—"
Joe cut Raylan off and kept going. "This is the Marshal you been spending so much time with. Him? This scrawny white boy?"
"Scrawny?" Raylan repeated. "I'm not scrawny."
"Raylan." Rachel shook her head.
"Raylan?" Joe said. "What the hell kind of name is that?"
"Family name."
Rachel shook her head. "What do you want?"
"To talk. In private."
"Not gonna happen," Raylan said.
"Are you fucking him?" Joe asked.
"Are you serious?" Raylan countered.
"Look!" Rachel said. "We don't have anything to talk about in private or otherwise. Just sign the papers and we both can move on—"
"I'm not signing shit," Joe said. "I'm not ready to move on. You're my wife."
"But I'm not your property."
She headed toward the front door and opened it wide.
"You're kidding," Joe said.
"I hoped we could be civil—"
"I'm supposed to be cool with you cheating on me?" Joe asked, storming toward her. "With him?" He pointed at Raylan. "What man is chill when his woman is fucking another man?"
"I never cheated on you," she said through gritted teeth. Her dark eyes flashed with indignation.
Raylan held himself ready. He wanted to punch the guy minutes ago and with every word that spewed from his mouth, the want only grew. The possibility that a fight would make things worse for Rachel was the only thing that held him back. That and her wrath.
Joe gave Raylan a hard look. "You ever been with a black woman?"
"Dammit, Joe!" Now, Rachel seemed ready to punch him. Both hands had balled into fists. Her stance was low and aggressive. Raylan had seen her take out several perps with less preparation.
"I haven't been with her," Raylan answered honestly.
"But you want to," Joe muttered.
"Get out," Rachel said.
Her voice cut like ice. Although the words weren't directed at him, Raylan felt the chill to his bones. He witnessed the effect on Joe. The fight left the other man. Joe's shoulders slumped. He tried to reach out for Rachel but she flinched from his touch.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Let's just talk. You and me. We don't need a witness, Rachel. I didn't mean any of it. Seeing another man around you made me a little crazy. I miss you."
"Just go."
Joe offered no protest. He left the house, climbed into his car, and drove away. The screech of tires was Raylan's cue to release his grip on the handgun. Rachel lingered at the open door, her gaze downcast. He waited for her to move or speak, but she remained still. Then, he moved.
Raylan closed the front door and locked it. Without hesitating, he cupped her cheek with one hand and used the other to draw her to him. Her body curved against his willingly. A low sob vibrated against him as she closed her arms around his waist. He rested his chin on her head and held her.
R&R
Tim heard about Darla's phone call from Deputy Marshal Jones. Not long after, Art called and put him back on detail. Since Tim was en route to the safe house, he was more than ready to return to the assignment.
The location was in one of Lexington's new housing developments. Tim would've chosen a more discreet location, but he knew that he could protect her anywhere. Smith met him at the front door. The other Marshal's expression was never an easy read. Tim tossed his bag near the staircase and asked about Darla. They told him she was upstairs. He headed straight up.
He found her in the master suite. She sat on the floor with her back against the wall and her knees hugged to her chest. Her attention was focused on the open window so she didn't see him and he was allowed a moment to scrutinize her profile. Fear was evident. The call had spooked her. They'd heard the song numerous times on the road. The four of them had tried to label the occurrences as possible coincidence. Now all of that was thrown out the window.
"Hey," he said softly.
She jumped at the sound of his voice and he could have kicked himself. When their gazes connected, her smile made him forgive his blunder. He closed the door. To his surprise she laughed.
"Hi."
"May I?"
She nodded.
He joined her on the floor. This close, he noted the strain in her eyes and the dried tears that stained her cheeks. Only a couple of hours had passed since he'd seen her, but it felt like weeks. Holding her was severely inappropriate. Closing the door was against protocol, too. It would be his ass if the other Deputy Marshals walked in and found him engaging in unprofessional behavior. On the road, he could throw caution to the wind, but here, he had to play it as straight as possible. Being near her was everything. Tim didn't dare risk being kicked off the case because he gave in to his needs.
But he wasn't prepared when she took his hand and rested her head on his shoulder.
"Darla…" He let her name hang there. How could he deny either of them this?
"I know," she said. "I don't want to get you in trouble."
"I'm not worried about me," he said. "How are you?"
"Your boss let you come here to ask me that?" She laced their fingers together. Her fingers were slender against his thick digits.
"I'm working with Smith and Jones."
"Are Raylan and Rachel coming, too?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
"Is Rachel okay?"
"As far as I know," he replied. "You never told me if you are."
"I could lie."
"I wish you wouldn't."
She squeezed his hand again. "I was away for a very long time and I thought I was okay, but I guess they had my number the whole time. It's weird knowing I was never safe."
"You're safe now."
She raised her head the moment he turned his and their gazes locked. They stared at each other for a while.
R&R
Rachel cradled her beer between her palms as Raylan lined up the white ball. His tumbler of whiskey balanced on the edge of the pool table. She had visions of his shot going askew and spilling Kentucky's best all over the hardwood floors. For the first time in hours, she found herself smiling.
"What?" Raylan asked. His piercing eyes twinkled. A grin threatened at the corners of his mouth. "Think I won't make it?"
"I'm sure you know your way around a pool table."
"That would be a fair assessment." He winked at her, called his shot and damned if he didn't make it. "Go ahead."
She shook her head. "No. Your turn. I'll go when you miss."
He had solids. She had stripes. He made his shots and she appreciated that he didn't miss to make her feel better. While he played, she found a stool and nursed her beer. Early evening was settling in. The regular patrons took their place at the bar. A trio of frat boys claimed the table adjacent to theirs. They seemed harmless enough, but Rachel knew better than to take that for granted.
"Do you think I'm scrawny?" Raylan handed her a stick. "Your turn."
"Scrawny is harsh." She took the stick and gave him her beer.
"I'll say." He took a deep swallow. "Scrawny."
She giggled, sobered long enough to call her shot, and missed on purpose.
"We should have wagered," he murmured. They traded beer and stick again.
Rachel had spent hours with Raylan before. Hunting fugitives. Working a case. Planning and plotting. But they had never been together one on one like this. He took care of her after Joe left and he was doing the same now. She could call him on it, but the truth was she liked his company. Raylan was charming, funny, and sexy as hell. Not to mention she appreciated how other than "scrawny," he hadn't mentioned her ex or the near altercation once.
A few times, she'd caught Raylan staring, like now, as he lined up the white ball with the orange. His warm brown eyes held promises. She pondered the possibilities.
"Where are you staying tonight?"
"Excuse me?" She coughed, choking on the beer she'd just swallowed.
"You heard me." Raylan leaned against the table as he cocked his head to look down at her.
"At my place."
"Does he still have a key?"
"We're not having this conversation—"
"Why not?" He followed her to the bar. She pulled out some bills to pay for her drinks and he covered her hand. "I got this."
"I'm okay."
"Really?" He sounded unconvinced. His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. "Stay here. You'll be safe."
"From Joe," she said. Her heart raced with every swipe of his thumb. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
She wasn't sure if clarifying the question was wise. The attraction wasn't one-sided anymore if it ever had been. Agreeing to stay with him could be the dumbest decision she ever made, or the wisest. He went through women like alcoholics went through bourbon. If she could make it simple, impersonal, she could get through it with her heart intact. But they had passed simple and impersonal miles ago.
A flicker of uncertainty flashed across his face. She understood then that he shared her concerns and her fears. But he smiled that Raylan Givens all-knowing smile.
"Stay."
[A/N: Welcome, new readers! As always, thanks for reading, following, favoriting, bookmarking, dropping kudos and leaving reviews. Your interest and patience is deeply appreciated. This chapter brought the return of Tim and Darla; the wrath of Joe; and Raylan's proposition. I have a little confession. The next chapter could go in a couple of directions for R&R and I'm on the fence in regards to the will they/won't they dilemma. Any thoughts, opinions, etc? Things are getting buck wild on Justified and I am crossing my fingers that Rachel and Tim make an appearance soon. Thanks again! ]