Twisted and Tied

by Mary Calmes

  I had visited nineteen scenes where Hartley had killed a woman, and each was reverently arranged in a way that if you didn’t touch them, you would have sworn they were alive until you saw the other side of their body or their face or really looked at what they were holding—one woman had a suitcase filled with her own organs—or sitting on. Another woman was lounging on a chaise, arranged so that’s what you saw, ease and grace, the drape of her body over the expensive piece of furniture, but when you walked around to the other side, her torso was hollowed out and filled with various toys, stuffed animals, and dolls. It turned out her company employed child labor in China, and the toys represented the playtime, the childhood, stolen from the kids. Horrifying, yes, but not the act of a man killing for any other reason than making a statement. The bodies in front of me were not that.

  “Who are they?” Becker asked Kelson.

  “The middle one there, missing his heart, that’s Emile Stigler. We had Interpol looking for him because he was supposed to be in Brazil.”

  I turned to Kelson. “Do you think he was actually there?”

  He nodded. “I do. I don’t know if Hartley killed him there and transported the body, or if he brought him back to the US and killed him here—we have no way of knowing.”

  “No,” Adair chimed in, joining us. “We can’t guess when the killing was done or how without an autopsy. What we can say for certain is that the top three men on the FBI’s Most Wanted are now here, dead, apparently as a gift.”

  “It’s more than that,” Kelson said, studying me, scrutinizing me. “May I be frank?”

  “Go ahead,” I granted, crossing my arms, waiting, realizing that normally my skin would be crawling with just the feel of being so close to something Hartley had done. But I wasn’t getting that. It was horrifying, yes, but the longer I stood there, the less I felt like this was his doing.

  “It’s like he’s courting you.”

  I heard Ian catch his breath, so I turned, gave a subtle shake of my head that had him squinting with confusion, and then returned my attention back to Kelson.

  “Courting me? That’s ridiculous,” I said, shooting that down with a quick shake of my head. “Where are you getting that?”

  “From Kelson. He’s one of our top profilers. We brought him in because no one knows Hartley better,” Adair explained, gesturing at him.

  That would have made sense if I weren’t there, if I didn’t know better. And while there was no surge of pride like I had knowing no one knew Ian better than me… still, I was absolutely confident Kelson was out of his depth with Hartley. “Since when?” I prodded.

  “I’m sorry?” Adair asked, clearly annoyed. It was in his tone and his scowl.

  “Since when does your guy know Craig Hartley so well?” I asked flatly. “I’ve never heard of him, and I’ve certainly never met him before today.” The fact of the matter was, when they needed to talk to Hartley, to have him answer questions—they asked me to ask him. It had been like that since he first tried to kill me and I saved him from being shot by my partner at the time. Cochran Norris had wanted to put a bullet in the serial killer; I wanted him rotting in jail. I won the argument and nearly died in the process, and now, these many years later, I would have loved to not be his favorite law enforcement officer, but that ship had long sailed. So what Adair was saying was total crap. I was the authority on Prince Charming and always would be.

  “Kelson is the—”

  “No one knows Hartley like me,” I advised him solemnly, and my words sounded hollow and pained because it hurt to say, even though it was the truth. “So I ask again, where are you getting this whole courting crap?”

  “It’s not crap,” Kelson almost snarled, and I saw it then, the anger. It was there in the glint in his eyes, the flush on his cheeks, the flared nostrils, and the thin line of his lips pressing together so tight the muscles in his jaw corded. More words clearly wanted to come out, and he was mustering all his strength to stay silent. I had too many years of talking to people not to see the signs. Ian’s hand on my shoulder was not a surprise.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I baited him, hearing my own breath, my vision tunneling down to only Kelson.

  I swore I could hear the click of my watch on my wrist as I looked into Kelson’s eyes, which he narrowed in cold fury. It was almost possible to taste the hatred in the air between us.

  “Gun!”

  The fact that nothing changed in Kelson’s eyes as he pulled his Glock told me something scary. His focus was solely on me; no one else mattered. He wanted me dead.

  Had Kelson done his homework, he would have known better than to try to hurt me while Ian was standing right beside me. He also would have learned that, being a Green Beret, Ian had no delay in his reaction time. So he yanked me out of the way before Kelson even figured out what was happening.

  “No!” Kelson howled as Ian hurled him to the ground and pinned him there with a knee in his back while Becker trapped Kelson’s hand under his right foot. I was on the ground, dragged to my knees by Eli, and I distantly noted the Magnanni punch-trim cap-toe oxfords he was wearing.

  It was weird, and I’d had it happen before. When Hartley was cutting my back open to remove a rib, I watched blood splatter his Cole Haan brogue medallion double monkstrap brown shoes. They were images I held on to and again, in this moment, I had focused on the mundane.

  “I have a pair like that,” I told Eli, turning to look at him.

  “I have a pair of Magnanni calfskin chukka boots that are really comfortable,” he offered since we were just shootin’ the shit and all. “You should get some.”

  I nodded.

  “Miro!” Ian snarled.

  I snapped my head up and faced a glare that should have stopped my heart. Me being in danger had scared him to death.

  “I’m good,” I told him.

  “I’m going to—”

  “Freeze!”

  The federal agents drew their weapons in rapid succession, a chain reaction that made no sense because the threat was already dealt with.

  Ian turned to face them, and I realized that in the confusion, the Feds assumed Ian had attacked Kelson without provocation. I didn’t want to get shot accidentally, so I stayed on the ground with Eli as the FBI held guns on us.

  It was one of those insane standoff situations.

  I thought it would be Becker’s voice that boomed out, or even Adair’s, so I was surprised when it turned out to be Ian.

  “Put your guns down,” he ordered, his voice deep and thunderous. “Your man attacked a deputy US marshal. His gun’s on the floor and—Adair! Call off your men!”

  “Stand down,” Adair yelled, using both hands to signal everyone to lower their weapons as he moved closer to us, holstering his own.

  “Eli.”

  He looked up at Ian.

  “Take him.”

  He moved quickly, changing places with Ian, his knee now between Kelson’s shoulder blades as Ian stood slowly and put up his hands, not offering any threat to Adair or his men but clearly in control.

  “Fuck,” Adair growled, clearly flustered and embarrassed by the fact that his men weren’t listening to him. “Put your goddamn guns away now!”

  And then, finally, looking at Ian standing there with his hands up, the rest of the marshals poised to act, Adair’s men all slowly, one by one, holstered their guns.

  “For the record,” Eli said snidely to Adair as he dragged Kelson to his feet, “if any of us took that long to lower our guns once the chief deputy gave us a direct order, we’d be suspended for days or weeks and then demoted.”

  Adair muttered something under his breath.

  Becker passed handcuffs to Eli. None of the rest of us carried them; we carried zip ties in our TAC vests—which none of us were wearing at the moment because the plan was that we were looking at a crime scene, not apprehending anyone.

  “I guess with my new position, I’ll carry cuffs again,” I mentioned to n
o one in particular.

  Once the room took a collective breath, Eli spun Kelson around to face me as Adair moved up beside me.

  “No,” Ian barked, snapping his fingers, making sure Kelson, Adair, Eli, anyone close by was looking at him, not me. “We have no idea what’s been contaminated at this crime scene because of him.”

  Which was true.

  “So we’re going to have CPD take this over until we figure out what’s going on. Everybody clear out.”

  I saw Becker nod, and I thought, but wasn’t sure, I saw a faint smile. “You heard him,” Becker said, his voice carrying throughout the room. “Everyone get back to the office but me and Doyle.”

  Instantaneous movement, a far cry from what had happened with Adair’s men.

  “Dorsey, secure Kelson—”

  “We’ll take him,” Adair barked, reaching for Kelson.

  “No,” Becker cut him off, signaling to Dorsey, who moved fast, taking custody of Kelson. “We clear this attack on Jones first, and then you guys can have him and take his brain apart.”

  Adair opened his mouth to argue, but clearly, between Ian and Becker, he was outmanned.

  Dorsey moved with the speed and confidence of a man who’d performed his job a thousand times, hand on Kelson’s bicep as he led him toward the door, Ryan walking behind him. They’d been partners so long they even walked with the same stride.

  “Rodriguez and Brodie, you guys go with them; you’re their backup.”

  “Yessir,” both men said quickly, and as they all headed for the door, I saw Rodriguez grab Brodie’s barn coat when Brodie was about to walk into one of the agents. Brodie gave him a smile and moved quickly to match Rodriguez’s stride. I hoped Ian or Becker saw that. It was nice when new partners started out even being thoughtful of each other.

  “Eli,” Ian said, and I saw then how his eyes flickered over to me. He wanted to go with me; it was taking a lot for him to accept that he needed to stay there. But I wasn’t in imminent danger, and we all had jobs to do. “I need you with him like a shadow, yeah?”

  “Absolutely,” Eli agreed quickly, reaching out to give Ian a quick touch of reassurance.

  Ian nodded, swallowing hard before stepping in front of me. “You lose Eli for any reason, I’ll assume that you want to be single.”

  My gaze met his, and I saw how steely his was, how level.

  “Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  “And you will answer your phone when I call,” he said flatly. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” He took a breath. “I’ll see you soon.”

  He turned away from me without another word, pulling out his phone as he moved, and I was suddenly faced with Becker.

  “We’ll head back to the office, Jones, so you and Eli can make a plan for the day. It looks like he’ll be going with you to meet some kids.”

  I glanced over at Eli in time to catch his look of horror. Oh yeah, he was thrilled he got to babysit me, I could tell.

  Chapter 7

  WHILE KELSON sat in one of our six holding rooms, Ryan and Dorsey manned the office. Kage, who was in the process of moving down the hall and giving Becker his old office, was meeting with Adair’s boss and his boss’s boss—the Feds had an organizational chart that was hard to follow—as well as the police superintendent and the deputy mayor.

  Eli and I stopped on the way back to the office for coffee because I was frozen inside, plus something to eat because, as he said, “You look like you’re going to pass out.”

  “How’d you know?” Eli asked as we sat in the drive-thru at Starbucks.

  “That Kelson was wrong?”

  He grunted.

  “It’s a sad truth, but no one knows Hartley like me.”

  “Do you think he had anything to do with that?”

  “No. That kind of vigilantism has never been him.”

  “But he’s still out there somewhere killing people.”

  I shook my head. “I disagree. It’s not him anymore, and I don’t know how to explain it other than it’s like the killing he did, that’s out of his system.”

  “But you can’t say that for certain.”

  “Yeah, I can,” I sighed, leaning my head back. “I think if the Feds just let him go now, he wouldn’t be a threat anymore.”

  “Willing to stake your life on it?”

  I thought a moment of what I knew of Hartley. “Yes.”

  “No shit?” He was startled and turned to me instead of ordering, stunned.

  “I need a red eye, so tell her,” I said, pointing at the speaker. “And get me a scone.”

  At the window, Eli was still so flustered when she told him they were out of blueberry scones, and did he want something else, that he started saying things they didn’t even have. Once they agreed on a chocolate croissant, he tried to give the cashier a hundred-dollar bill she clearly wasn’t about to break. I leaned across him and passed her my phone instead.

  “Thank you,” she said, shooting Eli a look of pure distaste.

  When he pulled away, I patted his thigh. “Calm yourself.”

  “You realize that right now you sound as psycho as Hartley.”

  I turned to him and laughed. “Really? Just as psycho?”

  He had to pull over so I could drive when he realized he’d compared me to a serial killer.

  Once we were back at the office, Kage told Eli to get his ass back to the crime scene so he could keep the reporters off Ian and Becker.

  He didn’t want to argue, but he didn’t want to leave me either.

  “Redeker,” Kage barked, and Redeker rose from Kowalski’s desk, which was apparently going to become his, and crossed the room to me. “You’re with Jones today.”

  “Yessir.”

  Kage pointed at the door, and Eli moved fast, talking to me over his shoulder. “I’ll tell Ian as soon as I get there.”

  “I’ll call too,” I told him before turning back to Kage, who had left without another word. “Okay, I guess that was all,” I said to no one in particular before pulling my phone from the breast pocket of my suit jacket to call Ian.

  “Are you all right?” he said instead of hello.

  “Yeah, I just wanted to tell you that Kage sent Eli back to you so he can talk to the press and do all that,” I explained.

  “Then who the hell is—”

  “Redeker.”

  Silence.

  “He’s good, Ian, I swear. You’d like him.”

  He gave that grunt I knew so well, the one saying he was deciding what to do.

  “I’m not helpless anyway, right? I carry a gun, Hartley’s always been the biggest threat to me, and honestly, we both know whatever that was this morning had nothing to do with him.”

  Back to silence.

  “He might not even be in Chicago.”

  Quick clearing of his throat. “Lemme talk to Redeker.”

  “No,” I said gently. “Just… stop. I’ll be fine.”

  “Turn on the GPS on your phone.”

  “Ian,” I sighed. He knew as well as I did using the tracking software on our phones to keep tabs on each other was prohibited by the marshals service. It was probably the same for the FBI or DEA or ATF. No one wanted a cloned phone to find an undercover agent or a marshal on a task force ready to serve a warrant. If Kage ever caught either of us with it on—I didn’t even know how severe the ramifications would be.

  “Fine,” he growled, “just—please.” Unspoken: Be careful, come home in one piece, don’t do anything stupid, and take care of yourself.

  “Yes, dear,” I agreed. He was silent, and so was I, and in that moment, the fear of the changes being made and how we were going to cope and even if we should… drowned me. “Ian—”

  “Just focus on the day, all right?” he said sharply.

  I took a shaky breath because he sounded ice-cold, which meant he was pulling away, turning his emotions off, both of which were bad for me, for us.

>   “Focus on the job, all right? Be safe.”

  I had no choice. I would keep busy so I couldn’t think. It was all I could do. “Yes.”

  He hung up, and I faced Redeker. “Listen, I’m sorry that—”

  “So your boss—”

  “Your boss now too,” I corrected because I was a smartass.

  “Jesus.”

  “Sorry, but technically he is our boss.”

  “Who is? That’s what I’m confused about. Who am I reporting to?”

  “Becker,” I told him as he walked with me to the Custodial office. “Kage is Becker’s boss—which is weird for all you new guys because he hasn’t been all that great about giving up command.”

  “You think he will now?”

  “I think now that it’s Becker, who he trusts… yeah.”

  “That’s good, then.”

  “I think it will make things around here easier.”

  “So Kage, he gets stuck with the suits a lot?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And Becker and Doyle, they have to deal with the on-site crap?”

  “It’s brand-new for both of them, but yeah, they’ll both be there until the scene gets turned over to CPD, and then I’m thinking they’ll come back, and Becker will decide who’s going to be whose partner and have them report to him. I’m thinking Ian will have to go around to all the other offices and meet people. He’ll have to create the database of who’s where and who to talk to, and—that just sounds horrible to me.”

  “Yeah, that job with all the red tape and the million different ways of doing things—I mean, what’s the SOP for a task force?”

  “Is there one?”

  “No, but there should be, right? I mean, if everyone is coming to work with the marshals, then the marshals should lead. It should be our rules.”

  “Have you ever seen those enforced?”

  “No,” he answered implacably, “but I’ve never been in an office big enough to have a deputy director either. You gotta figure our boss can have that now since he’s got a man under his supervisor to take over making sure every other agency complies with how we do things, not the other way around. Most offices don’t have someone like Doyle to take over that piece, and there aren’t enough hours in a day for the supervisory deputy to deal with it all.”