“Rachel.”

“Not me, not me, please not me.” U.S. Deputy Marshall Rachel Brooks begins to chant in a voice she hopes is too soft to be heard.  She wouldn’t usually think of shirking her duty but the tone of Art’s voice says that he’s dealing with a Raylan problem that will soon be her problem.  She almost crosses her fingers but doesn’t because she’s a gown woman.  Instead she petitions the All Powerful.  I have six case files to update.   It’s Ladies Night at the JazB and I want to stay until the last drink and the last set is played. Besides it’s not my turn to babysit the department’s problem child.

“Rachel.” Art Mullen, chief of the Kentucky bureau and killer of Rachel Brook’s hope for a Raylan free day, called again from his office doorway.

 If I don’t look up or in his direction, he’ll have to choose someone else.    

“In my office now Deputy Marshall Brooks!”

“Damn,” Rachel groaned causing everyone within hearing to grin or try to smother their laughter, especially her desk neighbor Tim who stands, gives her shoulder a quick squeeze in sympathy and scurries out the door, his day now free of Raylan drama.   

“Why me?” Rachel asks her hip planted against the doorframe of her supervisor’s office.  She watches him grimaced at the sound of defeat in her voice.  Good, maybe he understands just how much I don’t want to do whatever it is, he going to make me do.

“Raylan seems to recognize that you have a low tolerance for his usual antics and that you’ll happily cause him serious harm.”

Rachel grunts.  “Yeah, right.”

Art’s silence tells her that she’s worked a nerve and the look on his face says he’s the boss and she’ll do what she’s told.

‘What do I have to do?”

“Pick up Raylan at his place and escort him to Marion County and then bring him back here.”

Rachel guided the department sedan over the hump marking the end of the highway and the beginning of the parking lot of the 38 Motel.  At times she’s wondered, today is one of those times, why Raylan chooses to live in a two room box.  She lets the thought go as fast as it appeared, concentrating instead on the vehicles in the parking lot.   She checks each tag to see if it equals to any of the names on her “Raylan Drama Causing Ex’s, Family, Friends slash Suspects list.”  Winona-the ex, not here she mouths; Boyd Crowder-friend- suspect, not here; Daddy Givens, not here; any one of the Bennett’s, not here, and her mood brightens a little.  She notes that several vehicles carry out-of-state tags but none of them are the big flashy makes, those intent on causing Raylan harm usually drive. So maybe, just maybe this day will go smoothly, she throws up to the All Powerful, who she chastises in a very respectful way for not acting in her favor, so far.   

Rachel parked, turned off the ignition and reluctantly stepped out of the sedan.  At the door to Raylan’s lodgings she leaned close listening for the sounds of a struggle or sex and hearing nothing pounded on the door a couple of times.  “Raylan, its Rachel, open up.”

A figure snatches open the door and Rachel smiles up at the pissed off Raylan Givens standing in the doorway with bed hair; unbutton jeans, and bare feet.  Whatever he was about to say, stays unsaid at the look on her face.  However he takes his time lowering the revolver in his hand after looking around the parking lot over her shoulder.

“Art sent you?”

“Art sent me.” 

“He told you to pound on my door at 6 a.m.”

“You have half hour.  I’ll wait for you in the car.”

 “No, come in.”

“No, need.”  Rachel backs away.  It’s not that she hasn’t been in close quarters with Raylan before.  It’s that today her plan is to not let him get comfortable enough to weasel his way out of whatever Art’s assigned him.

“Only hospitable thing to do,” Raylan says grabbing her elbow and pulling her inside.

Rachel sits in her Tuesday blouse waiting for Raylan to finish whatever he doing in the bathroom.  She glances at her watch, 6:45.  She’s reached her “just how long I’m going to wait on him deadline.”  She stands her intent to disturb his “lets pull Rachel’s chain sulk.”  Her side vision catches what she thinks is a shadow crossing the thin curtain of the room’s only window.  Damn-it Raylan, just like your sorry ass to sneak out, she thinks as she pulls her gun and quick steps to the door.  Outside…     

A large scabbed hand clamps down on her gun hand pushing it downward while another locks around her neck, pushing her back inside.   Her next thought is I owe Raylan an apology.  The thought after that, next time I’ll go after Raylan with the safety off.

“On your knees!”  The voice is quiet and serious. 

Hot breath with traces of cigarette and coffee blows across her face as she fights to keep track of what’s happening to her.  The hand around hers shaking her hand until her gun drops to the floor and she hears it hit something across the room.  The hand at her neck applying pressure until her knees touch carpet.

“Come out Marshall.  Come out and join the pretty lady.”

From her position Rachel watched Raylan’s feet and legs enter the room.  She has only seconds to appreciate the view before the hand on her neck moved upward grabbing a handful of her hair.  She hissed at the pain and then all she can see is the ceiling.

“You’re interrupting my shower, why?”  Raylan’s voice is just as quiet and serious as her abductor.

“Seems you’ve pissed off some important people.”

Rachel couldn’t help the grunt of inevitability that escaped.  She missed Raylan’s “I can’t believe you just did that,” look.

“Their exact message was, “make sure he suffers.” 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”  Raylan asks. 

“As sure as your predilection for manipulating your opponents.”

To Rachel, Raylan’s voice seemed to be closer.

Rachel struggled slightly as the hand in her hair tightened.  “Move back Marshall.  I won’t underestimate you like the others.  Besides meeting a woman as good looking as Ms. Rachel here,” his lower body rubbed against Rachel’s back,” is a welcomed advantage.” 

His touch made Rachel’s furious, first at Raylan for consistently being the apex for trouble, at Art for sending her even after she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to come, and finally at herself for being caught off guard.   The feeling of a gun digging into her shoulder and the hand in her hair starting to relax displaces her anger, her mind instead working on a way to secure her freedom.   She tries her script in her head, adjusting it.  Hoping the voice she hears in her head will have the right amount of disdain once said out loud.  Shifting her head slightly she tries for eye contact with Raylan.   

“I can’t believe I’m on my knees in your tacky room with some semi-humanoid’s hard-on rubbing against my back,” the sound of her voice interrupts the showdown between the two men, “because one, you’re not responsible enough to be left alone,” her head moves forward in Raylan’s direction, “and two, your would be assassin here doesn’t understand just how much I hate being on my knees.” Rachel’s legs lunge upward pushing her into her adductor.

“Hold still bitch,” grunts the soon to be jailed convict as he tries to readjust his stance giving her an opening.   Her nails dig deep into the hand in her hair as her other grabs for the gun at his waist.  Her hand grips both shirt and steel as she pushes herself and the gunman onto Raylan’s bed.   Out of the corner of her eye she sees movement and hopes that Raylan is heading for his revolver.   Her hand tightens on the gun as she scrambles forward, her next step to get off the bed as fast as possible.   Her foot touches the floor just as a blow hits her shoulder causing her to lose her grip on the gun.   Rachel instantly knows that trying to hit back or wrestling for the gun is a waste of time so she pulls the rest of her body forward.  She only stops moving when she hears the crunch of flesh being hit with something solid.

Leaning heavily against the bedroom wall she assessed their situation.  Bad guy on the floor, check; Raylan standing over him with a gun, check; I’m alive, check.  Taking a deep breath Rachel moved past Raylan who stood quietly, one hand holding his revolver pointed at the man groaning on the floor, the other holding the bath towel around his waist almost closed. 

Rachel on autopilot begins the procedure for securing a prisoner.  While a part of her mind studiously ignored the amount of flesh showing through the slit of Raylan’s towel, another memorized every mole, scar and hint of muscle for a detailed report during the next girl’s night out.   As if he read her mind Raylan readjusted the towel.  Rachel quickly patted down then rolled the semi-conscious would be kidnapper face down, pulling one arm then the other back and hand-cuffed him.   Finished she held her hand outward motioning for Raylan to hand her his revolver.

“I’ll sit here with your new, old best buddy, while you put some clothes on before Art and the others arrive.” 

“Afraid, they’ll think that…”

“I’ve lowered my standards.  Yes.”  Rachel smiled as she heard him leave the room muttering.

Outside in the fresh air and afternoon sun, Rachel’s sigh held joy as she pulled the last hair pin out of the confusion that was her previously perfect hairdo.  She gently rubbed her sore scalp, annoyed that she would have to pay another $35 to repair the damage. 

From his place next to her Tim watched as the paramedics loaded the now conscious and complaining detainee into the ambulance.  “Pleased you’re in one piece.” He said as the vehicle sans lights exited the parking lot. 

“Thanks.”

Rachel felt a body at her elbow and looked up at her supervisor.  Art took her chin in his fingers eyeing the slight swelling on the side of her face and the scratch across her neck and upper chest that her buttoned jacket couldn’t hide.

“You hurt anywhere else?”

“No.  My blouse tore during the tussle.”

“The department…”

Rachel interrupted, “will take two years and ten wasted trees to replace, so Raylan has graciously agreed to buying me a new one, tomorrow, after a visit to the beauty salon.”

Art looked over to Raylan who was resting against the sedan.  “The ADA in Marion County phoned.  He’s rescheduled the deposition for 6p.”

“Chief, Art, not me.” Rachel, Tim and Raylan all whined.