East and west play tug of war with the clouds, sky split down the middle by a wall of vicious looking stratus clouds that have dropped over the mountains. There’s a picturesque blue sky to the east, fluffy high clouds floating innocently like kids unaware of the big, bad storm moving through their playground.

Black cows graze idly in open fields mindless of the weather. The barometer’s droppin’ and the air’s heavy, sky primed for that first roll of thunder.

Jensen drives under the threat of rain, past the Sheriff’s station and out of town. He doesn’t radio in.

Yellow tape flutters around the farmhouse porch in sad ribbons, but this ain’t no party. Jensen’s only been back here once since the bust to help take evidence into Ranger custody. The scene’s the same: windows looking east in an empty stare and shingles lying in a pile where they’ve slid off a sagging roof.

Everything is exactly the way it was except for the torn crime scene tape, the swirl of darkness in the sky, and the man standing below the bottom porch stair, hands crossed in front of him, waiting for the Ranger like he’s an expected guest.

Martin Byrne.

Jensen parks the sedan fifty feet from the house and takes a thorough look around before getting out; his keys remain in the ignition and the door stays open. His heart beats recklessly when he faces the porch, right hand on his holster and eyes on the man’s crooked smile.

“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t blow you outta your boots,” Jensen calls out.

“Ranger Ackles.” Byrne nods towards Jensen’s piece. “Now is that anyway to greet an old friend?”

“You’re old but you ain’t a friend.”

Byrne laughs though his eyes remain flat. “I’m hurt, Jensen. I truly am. I thought you’d be happy to see me after all this time.”

The clouds divide their battleground, Jensen’s side gettin’ darker by the minute. A solid wind catches Jensen under the arms, blowing him away from Byrne and the porch.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, Martin? Come to finish what your drug dealers started? That operation was a little low, even for you.” Jensen widens his stance. “Are you disappointed they only got a piece of me?”

“I am deeply offended you’d think that, Ranger,” Byrne says in a put-on drawl. His mocking gentility is nothing new for Jensen. Byrne had used the same tone over and over five years ago to wile out of half the charges against him. “I regret that those miscreants shot you but you did an admirable job putting an end to their operation. You just keep getting better and better at this job.”

“So you’re here to congratulate me? I’m flattered. Now do me a favor and turn around, put your hands behind your–”

A shot zings through the charged air, the bullet meeting dirt a yard from Jensen’s left foot. Jensen can’t help but flinch; Byrne hasn’t moved.

“Getting arrested wasn’t part of my plan today, Ranger.” Byrne’s smile twists and Jensen gets his first hint of the pathological madman he knows is hidin’ behind that sour face.

Jensen eyes can’t make out the gun or the shooter but he knows the shot came from inside the farmhouse.

“Think you’re gonna find something in there?”

“I was hoping,” Byrne says, “but I knew you’d be smarter than that.”

“Your guys slipped up a lot, made ‘em easy to take down.” Jensen smirks. “I blame poor management.”

Byrne shakes his head. “Is that what you’re thinking? That I was behind that pathetic group? You were right when you said that was beneath me.”

Jensen schools his expression to keep the surprise out of it. The incoming storm is distracting, a beautiful kind of restrained violence just waitin’ for the right moment to be unleashed.

“Don’t tell me you stopped by just to see me?”

“I was rather hoping to not see you, Ranger, no offense.” Byrne takes a step forward on his spindle legs. Jensen’s hand squeezes the butt of his pistol and Byrne throws his hand up. “No, no, let’s just take it easy. We’re just talking, right?”

“You wanna talk, Martin?” Jensen hisses. “Then talk.”

Hardly fazed by Jensen’s demand, Byrne looks back at the sad, old farmhouse. “I figured there was nothing here, but you’d already seen me talking to your nice doctor so I didn’t have any reason to keep hiding.”

“You and the Doc have a nice chat, did ya?”

“He’s a good man,” Byrne says with frustrating politeness and Jensen has to restrain his instincts before they have him wringin’ Byrne’s neck. “He had a lot to say about what’s been going on in town these last couple of weeks, you in particular.”

“Like you didn’t already know?”

Byrne doesn’t answer him. Jensen’s suddenly itching to have the sedan’s door between him and the man he’d put behind bars five years ago; Martin Byrne is unpredictable at best, sadistic at worst. Jensen prays to God that he’s facing Byrne on a good day.

“I learned a few new things.” Byrne sighs, nothing genuine in the sound. “I’ll be honest, Ranger, I’m on a pretty tight schedule here and the fact that you haven’t cleared out of town puts a wrench in my plans.”

“Guess you’re just gonna have to leave then,” Jensen says.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, but it’d be in your best interests to put Idle behind you very soon. You could make things real easy, Ranger, and just tell me where you’ve stashed the money and the drugs that I know these dealers were kind enough to leave behind.”

Jensen falters. “Mind tellin’ me how you know so much?”

Byrne just laughs. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to clear out, Ranger. I think I’m being more than reasonable, here.”

“Over my–”

Another shot bites the dust to Jensen’s left, echoed by distant thunder. Storm’s closin’ in.

“Careful”– Byrne’s grinnin’ like a fool –“or I’ll make the rest of that phrase become a reality. I’m not looking to have you killed. I don’t want to attract too much attention, you know? But I’ll do what I have to.”

So will I, Jensen promises silently. His trigger finger’s itching to draw but there are lines Jensen won’t cross, even for Byrne. Not if he wants to keep the last shreds of his soul from dyin’.

Thunder rolls again, closer this time.

“Now do yourself a favor and get back in your car,” Byrne tells him, turning his back on Jensen and walking up the porch stairs. “Looks like it’s gonna pour.”



“Hang on a second.” Cassidy holds up her hand. “How do you know this guy?”

Jensen leans forward gripping the back of the chair. His hair’s still wet around his ears from running into the station through the afternoon downpour, a chill on his skin as he’d dragged Cassidy into the conference room and slammed the door.

“Martin Byrne was busted by the Rangers a little over five years back and I was headin’ up the Highway Patrol squad that brought him down.”

“He was trafficking drugs?”

Jensen scoffs. “Drugs were the least of it. Byrne was the go-to guy for gettin’ things over the borders. He ran drugs across the Union between California and the U.S., provided slave labor for the East Coast, even sold black market military weapons from Mexico to homegrown militias in the Territories. If you needed something smuggled, Byrne was the man you called.”

“Then why the hell isn’t he in a Union prison?” Cassidy asks, frustration sharpening her tongue.

“Beats me,” Jensen says. “He oughta be. Byrne made a lot of friends doing business – a lot of straight-types who needed a criminal to make back-door deals for them. He’s connected, you know? I mean, when he was on trial down in Texas five years ago, half of the charges were dropped and he was only sentenced to fifteen years.”

“When it should have been a hell of a lot more.”

“Right.”

“And now he’s somehow out and he’s here.” Cassidy shakes her head. “But why? Why here? You said yourself that this drug operation was way too minor for him to be pulling the strings.”

Jensen’s been thinking non-stop about that since he watched Byrne walk into the farmhouse. The threat of an unknown number of shooters had kept him from drawing his weapon and following. Byrne wasn’t leaving town, Jensen knew that much, so he’d driven straight back to the station to find Cassidy.

“It’s the money,” Jensen says a full minute later. “He wants everything we confiscated.”

Cassidy’s bitin’ at her lip. “But how’d he know about it?”

“I don’t know,” Jensen lies; he’s got an idea but he needs to play it out before he shoots his entire career in the foot. “I’ve gotta call my boss. At the very least he can tell us why Byrne’s not rotting in a Union camp and maybe even who he’s been workin’ with lately. In the meantime, we need to make sure the bank’s secure.”

Cassidy straightens her shoulders and sighs. “Davis is over there now and one of the Greeley officers is supposed to relieve him at eight. I’ll drive over there and fill him in.”

“Switch cars,” Jensen tells her. “Use something unmarked when you’re over there and get Davis to stop using the Mustang when he’s on a watch shift. Let’s not make it obvious that we’re keepin’ an eye on that particular building.”

“Good idea,” she says. “Do you mind manning the station until I get back?”

“Nah. I need to call in and get my head around this. Might be better for you to stay with Davis at the bank just in case and there’s nothing here Byrne wants.”

“Besides you, apparently.”

Jensen scowls. “Then he knows where to find me.”

“You’re gonna stay?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

Cassidy holds up her hand. “Hang on, Jensen. This guy basically told you he was going to kill you in twenty-four hours.”

“I’ve lived with less warning.”

She ignores the quip. “And you’re staying in town?”

“The job’s not done,” he says. “Radio back when you get to the bank.”

Once Cassidy leaves, and with Nordia gone for the afternoon, Jensen’s alone in the station. The Union flag droops on its flagpole in the corner of the room, a draft from the ceiling fan hitting it every now and then. The blades rattle like a clock ticking slowly – must be a screw loose somewhere – but it’s quiet otherwise. Too quiet for Jensen to think right.

JD Morgan doesn’t answer his extension. Jensen bites the bullet and dials the switchboard, but the meddling assistant tells him the Captain’s out for the afternoon. An emergency meeting, she calls it and doesn’t say when he’ll return; Jensen grits his teeth and doesn’t leave a message.

The sun never reappears after the storms move through. Jensen carries his mug of tepid coffee to the front window after trying to reach JD a third time with no success. The street’s empty, pavement dark and slick, and the normal bustle of late afternoon activity is unusually diminished.

Jensen sits at the main desk where he can see out – every car driving by gets a second look.

Cassidy calls in to say that they’ve seen nothing suspicious at the bank. She and Davis switched out their cars for two non-descript sedans from Alfie’s lot and Jensen tells her to stay put until officers from Greeley can relieve them. The circle of people who know about the bank is a small one; Jensen hopes like hell that Byrne’s in the dark. No sense takin’ chances with such a valuable stash.

At a quarter past five, Jensen returns to the front desk with a file from Corbin’s old office and finds he’s no longer alone.

Jared’s regard is as sharp as broken glass and just as dangerous. His eyelids are sagging a little, his jaw set like he’s holdin’ back a tirade. His navy blue shirt’s wrinkled – the same shirt Jensen had bunched in his fist hours ago – and his hair’s been worked behind his ears. Jensen stares right back, off balance, with his expression set in stone until a yip grabs his attention.

At Jared’s heels, Mo is squirming on his makeshift leather leash – which Jensen rarely uses – trying to get free. The Doc lets him loose and Jensen’s mutt bounds across the room. Jensen kneels down and rubs the soft fur covering Mo’s belly.

“Hey, Mo.” Jensen keeps his voice low so it doesn’t break. His stomach sinks like a cement block; he’d forgotten about his pup. “Did he get out of the room?”

“No,” Jared says. “I went by the motel looking for you and I heard Mo whining through the door.”

Jensen narrows his eyes. “How’d you get in?”

“Jensen–”

“How?”

The Doc sighs. “The manager’s a patient of mine – good guy. I told him I was there to take Mo out and he let me in. I didn’t touch anything, Jesus.” His chest deflates. “Sorry, I was just worried about your dog.”

Jensen’s been see-sawing between confusion and resentment all afternoon, needin’ to know where Jared stands in this mess. It changes things to have him here, tense and apologetic and just as confused as Jensen.

Jensen had been ready to write him off as an emotional casualty of the job, but trust ain’t something Jensen gives easily. He refuses to believe he invested in more with Jared for nothing.

“I can take him back if you need me to,” Jared says, rolling his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels. “I just couldn’t leave him in the room crying like that.”

Jensen straightens from his crouch and Mo clambers up onto his big paws, trotting over to see if he can get the same treatment outta the Doc.

Jensen’s instincts rarely steer him wrong. He looks at Jared who’s bent down to scratch behind Mo’s ears despite the disappointment in his eyes that’s meant for Jensen and he can’t feel a drop’s worth of suspicion.

“Alright,” Jared sighs. “You know what? I don’t care. I can’t stand the silence and I thought if I came here, you might tell me what’s going on. I deserve that much after the way you–” He shakes his head in lieu of finishing.

Jensen’s cheeks are burning. Shame’s not something he feels too often.

“Whatever,” Jared says with textbook Californian inflection, “I’ll get out of your way.”

The Doc takes two steps before Jensen gets a hand on him. Jared spins away from the touch but Jensen holds on and the impact carries them into the station wall. Jared ends up boxed between Jensen’s arms. Jensen sees the significance of their position too late and Jared’s already forcing space between them.

“God, what’s running through your veins?” Jared asks, granting Jensen no forgiveness. “I’ve never seen you ice-cold like this.”

“Jared…” Nothing Jensen can say is gonna help him out of this hole. “I didn’t mean to scare you at your office, but things’ve changed.”

“Must’ve been a big change.”

Jensen ignores that. “I made a mistake thinkin’ I couldn’t trust you.” When Jared crosses his arms, Jensen takes the gesture as consideration instead of the Doc putting a barrier between them. “You’re an outsider here and when I saw you talkin’ to–”

“An outsider,” Jared sneers. “We’re back to that, huh? Like you don’t know my entire life story.”

Jensen butts into the Doc’s tongue lashing. “I don’t.”

“What?”

The truth’s the only play Jensen’s got at this point. “I know where you’re from, Jared. I know where you were born and where you worked, but I didn’t look any deeper.”

“You’re serious,” Jared says. Jensen lets him work through it to a point. “I’m surprised. I guess I thought you’d know everything.”

“If I thought it mattered to my job, I might’ve asked,” Jensen tells him, scanning the room for his mutt to avoid meetin’ Jared’s eyes. “I wasn’t gonna press you.”

“Oh. I guess I thought–”

“Nothing to say, Doc.” Jensen gives the nickname enough affection to keep Jared’s hackles from gettin’ up again. When he looks back towards Jared and the front window, a gleam catches his eye. “Hey, did you leave your headlights on?”

“No,” Jared starts to turn, “why?”

Jensen doesn’t think. He turns and seizes Jared around the waist, momentum taking them both to the floor a second before the glass behind Jared comes apart in a rain of shattered glass.

Dozens of gunshots hammer the front of the building, bullets hitting the aluminum with deafening blows. Flashes from multiple firing pins precede each shot, lighting up the station. Stray bullets take out two of the three large overhead lights, flickers of dying fluorescence reflecting in Jared’s wide eyes where he’s pinned under Jensen’s weight.

Debris and glass fall around the two men as Jensen regains a few of his senses and drags Jared on his belly over behind the metal filing cabinets. Either the walls are shakin’ around them or Jensen’s eyes are wobblin’ in his head from the noise.

“Stay here!” Jensen shouts, barely hearing the words in his ears. The Doc might be a lip-reader ‘cause he nods and makes his body as small as possible. Good man. Mo’s nowhere in sight and Jensen prays the dog’s somewhere good and hidden.

On his stomach, Jensen snakes towards the front of the station, sitting up so his back’s to the wall next to the front door. It takes a moment of crushing, pressurized quiet for Jensen to realize the shots have stopped coming. The whole ordeal might’ve lasted a minute but Jensen feels the weight like he’s just lived through a war.

“Ranger Ackles!” Jensen recognizes Byrne’s mocking civility coming from outside the station. “You all right in there?”

Jensen’s left arm is throbbin’ in sympathy from the gunfire. He stays low – last thing Jensen needs is to get shot in his good arm.

He twists his neck to yell out through the broken window. “You concerned for my safety, Martin?”

“I’m offended, Ranger! I wanted to know if you’d thought about my generous offer.”

“It’s only been a few hours! I thought you knew how to tell time.”

“Just wanted to make sure you knew I was serious,” Byrne shouts back.

Jensen’s desperate to look outside and see what he’s up against. Byrne wasn’t alone at the farmhouse and there’s no way all those shots came from one gun. Best case scenario, Jensen’s guessin’ there are three shooters in addition to Byrne.

Fuck.

“Oh don’t worry, I figured that out.”

Jared’s folded up against the filing cabinet, listening with wide eyes that don’t blink.

Byrne exaggerates his laugh so that it carries into the battered station. “I thought you’d be long gone by now! I was very clear when I told you that I don’t intend to fall behind schedule.”

“All this gunfire is mighty distractin’,” Jensen shouts back. “I can barely think!”

“That’s a shame, Ranger! I’ll be fair and give you the night, but clear out by morning or my concern for your safety will be severely compromised.”

“That’s kind of you, considering I have no concern for yours!”

Byrne laughs again. “Have a pleasant evening, Ranger!”

Tires crunch over rough gravel and Jensen gets up onto his knees. Through the distortion of broken glass he sees a white utility van pulling away, evening darkness preventing him from seeing who’s driving.

Jensen’s up and runnin’ before he can think better of it. Jared screams, “Wait!” but Jensen’s already out the door, drawing in one smooth motion and firing at the van. Anger messes with his aim and the bullets scatter, but Jensen empties his entire clip, pulling the trigger long after the bullets are gone.

Over the click of the dry-fires, he hears footsteps on the gravel. Jensen spins on his boot heels and comes face to face with the Doc.

“Fuck! Jared…”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t sneak up on a man like that.”

“I didn’t,” the Doc says. “I said your name a couple times.”

Anxiety’s layered over the terror that has yet to fade from Jared’s green eyes and Jensen hates seeing it.

“Mo?”

“I saw him under a desk. He’s okay.” Jared wrings his hands together to stop the shaking. “Jensen?”

Jensen lets out an unsteady breath. “Yeah.”

“You’ve gotta tell me what’s going on. After this, you can’t keep me in the dark.”

There’s no sunset for Jensen to take comfort in. Where the sky’s not gray, darkness is creeping in from the eastern horizon. Today – hell, this entire job – has been turned on its head and Jensen’s spinnin’. He’s not sure which way is out anymore.

“It’s like I said, Jared. Things have changed.”



The street outside Jared’s apartment is empty and Jensen’s grateful for that small favor; he’s not in the mood for any more surprises. Streetlights cast dim balloons of neon illumination over the sidewalk, nothing moving between the shadows of squat buildings and budding trees.

At Jensen’s feet, Mo wakes up and looks around, stretching his legs and settling back on the carpet when he sees Jensen hasn’t gone anywhere. The pup hasn’t been more than a yard away from either Jensen or Jared since they left the station. Jared had followed Jensen to the motel in his own car and waited with Mo while Jensen picked up clothes and supplies – weapons that drew Jared’s wary stare but he didn’t object – before they drove to Jared’s place to settle in for the night.

The apartment over the clinic is easier to defend, less obvious in case Byrne tries something. Those are the cold, hard facts, but deep inside the quiet part of Jensen’s heart, he knows he didn’t want to be alone.

When Jensen turns away from the window, he can see the Doc’s long body twisted up in his sheets. Jared protested when Jensen told him to get some sleep, but he’d been out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

They’d talked for hours over sandwiches and pop. Jensen reluctantly told Jared about his history with Martin Byrne – the Doc deserved it after being shot at – and despite being shaken and drawn, Jared shared the details of Byrne’s impromptu visit to the clinic.

“He walked in and claimed he’d sprained his wrist,” Jared had told him. “It was weird.”

“How?”

“He asked a lot of irrelevant questions, nothing that made me suspicious, though.” Jared had sounded apologetic.

“Byrne’s been conning people for a long time, he knows how to get the info he needs without triggerin’ anyone’s instincts.”

Jared had sighed then. “You know, he reminded me of you a little bit.” He’d tried laughing but they both heard the brittle crack in the sound. “Only your interrogation technique was a lot more hostile. Maybe I should have found it strange that he was so pleasant.”

“Most lawmen have been on the job too long to be nice when they’re questioning someone.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“And his wrist?” Jensen had asked.

“I couldn’t see anything wrong with it, but that kind of injury is easy to fake. I should have been more careful. I can’t imagine what you thought when you saw me shaking his hand.”

Jared had waved off Jensen’s second attempt at an apology. With anyone but the Doc, Jensen wouldn’t have even tried.

Jensen had tried again to reach Morgan from the clinic’s long distance line. JD’s assistant was gone and there’d been no answer on his office line.

On the other side of the world, the sun’s slowly making its way back around to the Secessionland. Come morning, Byrne’s gonna be expecting Jensen to hightail it out of the territory but there’s no decision for Jensen to make. He was sent to do a job and it’s not done, simple as that.

Jared turns over in his sleep, forehead scrunching as he encounters something troubling in his dreams.

Maybe not so simple, Jensen reconsiders.

The silence in the apartment isn’t helping Jensen keep his eyes open. Giving up on his vigil and caving in to the demands of his exhausted body, he strips out of his jeans and shirt and leaves them in a poorly folded pile on top of the dresser. Jared’s unconsciously left plenty of space on the bed and Jensen crawls between cool sheets. He tries not to jostle Jared but his eyes blink open.

“Hey,” Jared mutters drowsily. “Time’s it?”

“Not even close to daylight,” Jensen whispers, holding himself perfectly still as Jared moves into his arms.

The kiss Jared lures him into isn’t intended to set a fire between them. Behind their lips, the emotions are unique and unidentifiable, more like comfort being offered and received. They roll between the linear shadows cast by Jared’s window blinds, scars and bruises hidden in the darkness and touched gently in the light. Jared’s fingers comb through the short hairs at Jensen’s temple where he knows he’s gone a little gray.

They might stop, or they might kiss benignly until one or both of them fall asleep. Either way, the softness carries Jensen under.



“Jensen… Jensen!”

Jensen wakes up to Jared’s sharp tone in his ear. The sun’s risen on judgment day; Jared’s bedroom is washed in the hazy light that comes with dawn. There’s a dull throb behind his eyelids and before he even moves, Jensen knows he hasn’t gotten enough sleep to ease all of his aches and pains.

“Jensen.”

He turns on his back, meeting Jared’s eyes across the bedspread. The Doc doesn’t look much better than Jensen feels, but the alertness in his stare rouses Jensen the rest of the way.

“What?”

“Get up,” Jared says. “Cassidy called. Something’s happened.”



Cassidy’s one crack away from falling apart.

Freckles stand out on her pale complexion, her eyes colder than Jensen’s ever seen. She’s traded her uniform for faded black jeans and a blue t-shirt. Jensen might give up on the badge, too, if he’d been through all she has in the last two weeks.

Jensen had radioed and told her about the damage to the station the night before, but she’s pacing through the debris as if the wounds are fresh.

“Paula,” Jared tries, but she shakes her head.

The Doc had walked into the station behind Jensen, too early yet to open the clinic. He’s not entirely sure he wants Jared two steps behind him all the time – puts him right in the line of fire – but Jared wasn’t hearin’ no for an answer.

“Deputy.” Jensen takes the direct approach, appealing to Cassidy’s sense of duty. She finally stops pacing and turns. “You’ve gotta fill me in.”

She nods. “Toledo called me at my house a few minutes before I left to come here. Three gunmen in a large, white vehicle opened fire on the Greeley police station in the middle of the night.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Jared jumps in.

“Two officers were admitted to the county hospital with gunshot wounds and one of them”– Cassidy’s shoulders shake –“he might not make it.”

“Shit.” Jensen curses. “It had to be Byrne.”

“After you told me what happened here last night, I called the Greeley station to pass on the news. They knew…”

“Hell, I never thought their station’d be a target,” Jensen says. “Byrne’s lookin’ for the money and he’s just guessin’ at where it might be.”

“I wish you’d shot him when you had the chance,” Cassidy says bitterly.

“I’m beginning to regret that I didn’t.”

Jared glances at him. The Doc knew about Jensen and Byrne’s war of words at the farmhouse less than twenty-four hours ago and he knew that if Jensen had even drawn his piece, he’d be lyin’ full of holes on a coroner’s slab.

Bless the Doc for caring.

“I’m going to relieve Fuller and Nash at the bank,” Cassidy’s saying. “They ought to be with the rest of their squad.” She looks around the station and sighs. “I don’t even want to get into fixing this place right now.”

“I’ll join you,” Jensen tells her. “Byrne knows the car I’m drivin’ so we can go in yours.”

A phone rings from underneath a pile of paper and plastic shards from the panel lights that’d been shot out. Cassidy digs until she finds the receiver.

Jared steps up at Jensen’s side. “What can I do?”

“You can go back to the clinic and keep the door locked between patients. Take Mo down there if you want.”

“But–”

“Go with me on this, Doc,” he says.

“You don’t want me out there with you?”

“I want you safe.” Jensen tells him. “I can get you a shotgun from my room, if you want.”

“I don’t want a gun,” Jared says roughly. “I’m not gonna change your mind, am I?”

Jensen shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Jensen,” Cassidy calls over, “your Captain’s calling in. You can use the phone in Corbin’s office.”

He walks past Jared with a quick nod, feeling his heart pound. No telling what JD already knows but Jensen needs answers either way. Shutting the door behind him, Jensen picks up the phone on Corbin’s old desk.

“Hey, Captain.”

“What the hell’s going on, Ackles?” That JD’s using his surname means the captain’s pissed. “I’m getting reports of multiple shoot-outs up there. I thought you’d wrapped this!”

“It’s Byrne.”

Silence. Jensen waits with the receiver pressed to his cheek, sweaty skin warming the mouthpiece. His nerves are sending all kinds of crazy signals – anxiety, distrust, frustration – as there’s no response from the other end of the call. Jensen can’t even hear his captain breathing.

JD’s voice comes back on the line in careful, measured syllables. “What are you talking about?”

“Martin Byrne is here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” JD mutters, probably to himself. “I thought that bastard was still down in Mexico.”

Jensen clenches his teeth and takes a deep breath. “You knew he was outta prison? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He got out six months back. The Rangers were keeping tabs on him,” JD says. “We tracked him down to Mexico hoping he’d get busted down there and get put away in one of their camps for the rest of his life.”

“Were?”

Morgan sighs. “Lost him a couple of months ago. The Mexican government wasn’t too keen on us following him down there in the first place.”

“I thought Byrne was unanimously denied parole?”

“The first time, he was.”

Jensen asks, “What changed?”

“My guess? The amount of money in bank accounts of the board members.”

“Pay offs.” Jensen doesn’t turn it into a question. Byrne’s resources and connections were unrivaled in the criminal world. “Shit.”

JD listens without interrupting as Jensen relates Byrne’s appearance in Idle and the subsequent action. By the time Jensen’s through, his captain’s cursing in low tones.

“I’m thinkin’ back on everyone I talked to up here,” Jensen tells him. “I just feel like…”

“Like you can’t trust anyone,” JD completes his thought. “Like it’s ripping up your insides when you think about it?”

Jensen laughs humorlessly. “Something like that.” He double checks that the office door is closed and sits in the old Sheriff’s chair. “Can I run something by you?”

“Go ahead,” JD says.

“You haven’t heard from McKellip lately, have you?”

When the captain’s silent for a second time, Jensen knows he’s hit on something.

“He hasn’t called since I told him you were finished up there, but I left a message with his personal secretary two days ago.”

“And he hasn’t gotten back to you?”

“What’re you getting at, Jensen?” JD asks with a noticeable lack of patience.

JD has yet to fire Jensen for a theory. Jensen sighs and says, “I remember Randall McKellip, Senior, being one of the richest men in the Union before he died, and the pride of Austin, Texas,” Jensen adds derisively. “But I also remember him dodging half a dozen corruption charges when business was really booming.”

“Ol’ Randall knew how to make money,” JD says.

“Not always in a legal manner, right?” Jensen asks. “You know, I read some of those cases years ago when Byrne was busted by Highway Patrol.”

“Why?”

“’Cause Martin Byrne was mentioned in the Attorney General’s files as a possible accomplice.”

“McKellip and Byrne?”

“The old man would’ve needed someone like Martin in his organization, but Byrne never gave him up when he was arrested.”

“That’s loyalty.”

“Or fear,” Jensen says. “Randall McKellip was all about business and he must’ve had bigger fish in his pond than Martin Byrne back then.”

“You’re thinking that Rand McKellip’s taken over the family business and gotten in bed with Byrne? That’s some serious talk, Jensen. I mean, the man’s headed for a presidential bid, but hiring a man like Martin Byrne?”

“Not many people in Texas could afford the pay-off it’d take to get Martin out of prison.”

On his end of the line, JD hums. Jensen crosses his fingers that the captain’s feelin’ generous today. If he aims at McKellip then swings and misses, there’s no telling what kinda job he’d end up with.

“What’s the game, Jensen? What’s Byrne looking for up in Idle?”

“Beyond a pay day, I don’t know yet,” Jensen admits, “but I wondered the same thing about McKellip when you told me he had an interest in this town. Before the drug dealers came through there was nothin’ here but farmland and people with regular troubles. And Byrne’s not a drug dealer, Morgan – he’s a mover and a seller. He’ll unload the drugs somewhere else and make out big, but someone put him here.”

“I don’t like where this is headed,” JD says.

“Try workin’ up here!” Jensen snaps unexpectedly. He regrets it as soon as the words pass his lips. “There are too many bullets bein’ fired up here with my name on ‘em.”

“Hold up there, Jensen,” the captain cuts in. “Tell me what you need.”

“Get me the details on what Byrne’s been up to since he got out, everything you had on him before you lost him.” Jensen shuts his eyes but it only makes the headache drill further into his temples. “And call in back-up, Captain. I think I’m gonna need some help up here.”

“Can you lay low until I look into some things?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“The last thing we need is another shoot-out up there making headlines down here. It makes us look incompetent.”

“That’s none of my concern,” Jensen gripes. “I’m just tryin’ to stay alive.”

“No big moves, Jensen,” Morgan’s tone brokers no argument. Jensen’s fuming but he listens. “Consider it an order if that makes you feel any better. Keep Byrne from taking the money and that’s it – there’s nothing else you can do. We don’t need any bad press on this. Don’t make a move until I get back to you.”

Before Jensen can protest, the line disconnects.

When Jensen walks back into the main office, Cassidy’s by herself at one of the desks where she’s shoved debris aside to write on an open corner.

“I had to make some calls about getting the station secured,” she tells Jensen. “New glass, a new door, and we’re gonna need an electrician. Anyway, did your boss shine any light on Byrne being up here?”

“I’ll tell you about it when we get to the bank,” Jensen mutters unhappily. “Where’s the Doc?”

“He left to open up the clinic,” Cassidy says. Her eyes take on a little bit of light. “Jared told me to tell you that he’d take care of your dog.”

Jensen ignores the way she’s starin’. “Ready to head out?”

The deputy takes a long look around the room, biting her tongue. Eventually, she nods and they walk out together. The sun’s up and on its way across what’ll be a perfectly blue sky. A light breeze draws warmer air up from the southwest and the leaves on the trees are a little bit brighter after yesterday’s rainstorms.

Jensen sighs as he gets into Cassidy’s car.

It’s a beautiful day in Idle for absolutely no reason at all.



“Got any family, Cass?

She faces Jensen from the driver’s seat, sun-visor casting a wide shadow on her upper face. They’ve been sitting in silence for nearly forty minutes and the quiet’s beginning to needle.

“A daughter, actually. Her name’s Sarah.”

“How old?”

“Sixteen,” Cassidy chuckles. “She was a bit of a surprise.”

Working together, Jensen has caught a handful of hints to Cassidy’s softer side. “Where is she now?”

“She’s living with her father in St. Louis.”

“You’re married?”

“Nope,” she says, but she’s grinning fondly. “Tony and I never tied the knot, but we’re friendly. Once Sarah started high school, he and I decided that it’d be better for her to stay in one place and I tended to move around a lot looking for jobs. I didn’t know I’d be sticking with this job for as long as I have, so I went along with it.” Cassidy sighs, adding, “I miss her, but I’m glad she’s not here. Not with everything that’s happened.”

Jensen doesn’t blame her. Too many innocent people have been caught in the crossfire and now JD’s got Jensen sitting on his ass, doing nothing. His anger won’t do more than simmer, though; JD had good ‘n smothered that fire. He can’t see the point in waiting around for Bardem and his Colorado Rangers to ride in, and Martin Byrne’s certainly not sittin’ back or takin’ it easy. Jensen knows that the longer it takes for Byrne to find the money, the worse things are gonna get for everyone in Idle.

“I am so sick of staring at this bank,” Cassidy says after a while. “I never thought of it as an eyesore until now.”

“We should move everything,” Jensen answers blithely.

She laughs. “Where to? We’re running out of good places to hide things.”

“Someplace more interesting to look at.”

“We’re short on those too, Jensen.”

Cassidy’s smile evens out, her stare focused inward. Jensen watches her blank expression for a minute and wonders what she’s workin’ out behind those ice-blue eyes.

“Cass?”

“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “The waiting’s the worst part, you know? We don’t know when Byrne’s coming…if he’s coming…” She trails off, dipping her head to look straight into the sunlight. “What do you think he wants with the money?”

“I’m still puttin’ that together,” Jensen says. “Maybe once my captain gets back to me, I’ll know more.”

Cassidy nods and pulls out of the sun. “I don’t suppose he’ll just leave us alone if he gets the money, huh?”

Unfortunately, Jensen’s considered that as well. “I don’t think so. He’s got plans and Idle’s smack in the middle of ‘em.”

She sighs. “Just wishful thinking, I guess.”

They lapse back into a watchful silence, conversation popping up every now and then to break the monotony. Jensen’s nothing more than a sleep-deprived zombie with a badge and a gun by the time Davis shows up to relieve him, driving the cloth-topped Jeep he’s borrowing from Alfie’s auto yard. Seeing the Jeep reminds Jensen of the mechanic’s promise.

“I’m gonna swing by Alfie’s and see if my car’s ready,” Jensen tells the two officers. “I’ll be back after I get something to eat. Need anything while I’m gone?”

“Take your time,” Davis replies far too cheerfully for a man facing another grueling watch shift. Jensen catches the look Davis shares with the Deputy after he gets in the car; the man’s got a piss-poor poker face but Jensen’s not about to ask.

Cassidy shakes her head. “Fuller should be here in a few hours.” Glancing at Davis, she adds, “We’ll be okay if you need to be somewhere else tonight. Looks like you could use a few hours of sleep. Just keep your radio with you.”

Jensen’s too run down to argue. He walks the few blocks between the bank and Alfie’s, cursing the afternoon sun and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Maybe he oughta buy a hat.

Nah, hats are for cowboys and those damn fool U.S. Marshals.

Jensen gains a small measure of peace having the Sabre back, her mechanical bulk comforting under his hands. There’s no such thing as good as new with a car like his, but Alfie had done a remarkable job fixin’ her up. Her wax-shined panels flash in the sunlight like an expression of joy to be on the road again.

He drives the car openly – no doubt Byrne knows the Sabre already – from the auto shop back to the motel for a change of clothes.

The motel room is just four walls and a bed, lifeless without Mo. Jensen showers for the invigoration of cold water on his skin, needing the jump start after spending so long in one attitude. The shirt Jensen grabs isn’t fresh, but it’s cleaner than the one he’d worn to the station that morning and he grabs his gray jacket to cover the stains under his arms. At least Jared seems to appreciate the damn thing.

Charlie’s bar is beginning to fill up by the time Jensen walks in craving fried chicken and that absurdly sweet tea Jared got him hooked on. Feels as if Jensen hasn’t eaten a normal meal for days – just catching a bite here ‘n there – and his stomach’s about to revolt on him.

The noise coming from the occupied tables doesn’t bother Jensen as much as it used to. He appreciates the sound of voices, regular people sharing the day they’ve had and laughing, and the general clamor of a busy restaurant. News of the station shoot-out must have spread around Idle by now, but life continues uninterrupted as if there were no other way.

Jensen took this job to help the same people who are sitting around the bar: the couple sharing a plate of French fries in the corner and the two bearded townies up at the bar who are trading stories over cold drafts. He came to Idle for Charlie and his business, for Cassidy and Davis and their dedication to a thankless job, and for Jared.

He eats quickly intending to swing by the clinic before spending the majority of the night at the bank despite Cassidy’s suggestion. If guarding the cash is the only thing JD’s gonna let him do, then Jensen’s gonna do it, though he’s itchin’ to get after Byrne. Too bad he doesn’t know the first place to start.

But a piece of Jensen’s conscience – the rarely-acknowledged softer side that’s not wrapped up in duty – tells him to check on Jared and Mo before anything else. Call it peace of mind, but it’ll definitely mend something inside him once he knows they both made it through the day alright.

Jensen’s pickin’ the last shreds of meat off a drumstick when a thin shadow falls intentionally over his table and dims his view. There ain’t enough optimism in the world to make Jensen think it’s the Doc come to join him this time.

He turns his head and looks right up into Martin Byrne’s dark eyes, the smile out of proportion with Byrne’s narrow face. Jensen shifts, imperceptible to his enemy’s eye, and considers drawing on him right there. He could end it here, no tellin’ what his own fate would be, but he could put an end to the terror Idle would face otherwise.

“Now, now,” Byrne opens his lyin’ mouth, “you really want to disturb all these people?”

Jensen keeps his hand on his holster, unfastening the leather holds.

“I don’t remember orderin’ an asshole with my dinner.”

“Just relax, Ranger,” Byrne says, slipping into the seat across from Jensen, “I didn’t come here with the intention of harming anyone.”

Yeah, all criminals are saints, Jensen thinks, rolling his eyes. “Then I guess I’ll be on my way.”

Byrne stops him from moving out of the booth. “However, I do have men watching the parking lot just in case. Let’s talk.”

Jensen scoffs and shakes his head, clearly recalling the last time Byrne wanted to talk and the shoot-out he’d faced later that night.

“You must like the sound of your own voice.”

Byrne decides not to indulge him with an answer. Now ain’t that ironic. He appraises Jensen, the cruel sharpness of his eyes digging for something to exploit.

“You’re still here.”

“That surprise you?” Jensen counters.

“Not really, no,” Byrne says. “Some of my associates thought you’d be halfway to Texas by now, but I told them not to underestimate a Ranger’s commitment to his job.” The Devil’s lurking in the upturn of Byrne’s smile. “Unless the job isn’t really what’s keeping you here.”

Jensen sets his shoulders and doesn’t take the bait. Byrne shrugs it off.

“Well, the reason’s not important. What matters is that you’re still here.”

“Gonna take me out right here, Martin?” Jensen’s voice rumbles. “In front of all these witnesses?”

Byrne’s fingers skim through a ring of condensation and he reaches for Jensen’s napkin to wipe them off. Jensen’s stomach rolls with Byrne this close, his harmless appearance a façade for the sinister mind that’s runnin’ the show.

“I intended to have you killed,” Byrne says casually, like he’s telling Jensen about the weather, “but then I realized it would be a waste of your talent. You’re good at your job, Ranger. The efficiency with which you took out those drug dealers – it was impressive.”

“You liked that, huh?” Jensen asks. “Then let’s just walk outta here nice ‘n easy and I’ll show you just how well I deal with the bad element.”

“Oh, I’ve known for a while,” Byrne says. “I did my research.”

Jensen bares his teeth. “Wanted to see who’d you be up against?”

Byrne chuckles. “No, I wanted to make sure I was hiring the best.”

Jensen’s jaw locks up so tight he can barely get a word out. “What?”

“You’re the best there is, Jensen.”

It’s disgusting to hear his name coming from Byrne’s mouth, but Jensen fights past it.

“Nice try,” he grates. “Now get the hell outta here.”

“You don’t believe me. I thought you’d be flattered.” Byrne pretends to be offended, hand on his chest. “I wanted you for this job because you know what they say? Experience is everything.”

Shivering under a sudden chill, the tremors twist Jensen’s expression into a deadly glower. His teeth might crack under the pressure and his cheeks are roasting despite the ice filling his spine.

“What’s the game?” he hisses.

Byrne must truly get off on hearing himself speak. “I’m here to provide a service, Ranger, and I was disappointed when I learned that a few knuckle-headed cartel rejects had set up shop in this territory.” He leans closer as if he’s attempting to conspire with Jensen. “Now, I could have killed them myself, but then the state would’ve sent in some wet-behind-the-ears cops and made things worse. Who knows how long that’d take? My business would’ve been ruined.”

Jensen sneers. “Pity.”

Byrne ignores him again. “But you! You can put away a whole lot of bad men and get a promotion for it. It’s a win-win situation. I know this makes me look lazy, but with you up here to take out the competition, using your badge, things ran a lot smoother. I should probably thank you –”

“The hell with you!” Jensen snaps, voice low and lethal. “Whatever I did up here, it wasn’t for you!”

Jensen’s surprised they haven’t drawn any attention. Out of the corner of his eye he can see his waiter, a corn-fed farm boy with too many freckles under his red-hair, perched with his elbows on the bar. There’s a football game on the TV, players only a few inches high on the screen, that’s got everybody hooked.

“Now we’re splitting hairs,” Byrne says. “You did the job I needed you to do, no matter what your reasons were. Though,” he smirks, “I think I know one of the big reasons.”

“Watch your mouth or I’m gonna put a bullet through it.”

Byrne’s mask drops just like that and Jensen’s facing the sociopath he’d taken down five years ago.

“Alright. I came to make you a deal.”

“Twenty-four more hours?”

“I regret using that cliché,” Byrne says. “Honestly, I want you on my side. You and I are at a bit of an impasse, and I can pay you well for your services.”

“You mean your politician can pay me.”

Byrne pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Should’ve figured you’d know about that.” He snorts derisively. “Rand’s a whelp.”

“A whelp with deep pockets.”

“Still a whelp,” Byrne counters. “He’s nothing like his father – doesn’t have the stomach for hard business.”

“And just what kind of business are you gettin’ into with the spoiled son of a politician?”

“Ah-ah,” Byrne says, “you don’t get to learn all the secrets until you join the club. Now, you haven’t told me what you think of my offer.”

“I think you can take your offer and shove it up your –“

“Careful,” Byrne cuts in. “I know who’s worked their way beneath that hard, brooding exterior. You can’t protect everyone, and I intend to find where you’ve hidden all that money. I can only be so patient before I bring more firepower than you and your motley crew of lawmen can handle. I’d hate to see Idle turned into a ghost town, but I won’t hesitate to level this pathetic place.”

Byrne presses on. “Help me get the money and everybody walks out of this in one piece. Think about it, Ranger,” he says as he stands, “and don’t worry, I’ll know where to find you.”

Jensen’s suddenly speechless. With his nerves blunted, the impulse to fire back doesn’t make it from his brain to his lips. He can’t react fast enough to stop Byrne from casually walking out of Charlie’s, the bell over the door ringing happily as he leaves. As soon as Jensen can move, his delayed reactions hit all at once; he pulls his gun and runs to the door, ignoring the frantic shouts of people around him who are alarmed by the sight of his weapon.

Jensen stands in the middle of the parking lot with the kicked-up dust of tires peeling out settles on his shoulders and around his feet. His eyes are burnin’, vision whiting out at the edges.

Like a rookie, he’d assumed things couldn’t get any worse. The weight of being wrong again threatens to bring Jensen to his knees in the unpaved lot, but he needs to move. He needs to get to Jared, to someone, and get his head straight.

Jensen’s never felt so alone in his life.