Twisted and Tied

by Mary Calmes

  “I know.”

  “And if you get hurt—which you will.”

  “Which I will, agreed.”

  “Then I’ll be here to take care of you,” he finished, stepping into me, my space, and wrapping his arms around my neck to kiss me and throttle me all at once.

  Just as Drake cared for Cabot, and Marcello protected Josue, Ian would shelter me. It was how it went when you loved someone.

  “You signed on for this,” I reminded Ian as I closed my eyes and leaned on him.

  “Yes, I did,” he agreed. “I most certainly did.”

  Chapter 10

  THE BOYS slept over, which made for interesting sleeping arrangements on the couch and floor, but they all wanted to stay to watch a movie with Ian, especially Marcello, who must have thanked him a million times for sticking up for him.

  “Just don’t be a stranger anymore, and come with Josue when we all do stuff.”

  “I will,” he said, beaming at Ian. “I so will.”

  The hero worship was cute.

  When our alarm went off at six the following morning, I was surprised to find Cabot up already, having made coffee and smiling at me blearily.

  “Why’re you up?”

  “I just wanted to say that I appreciate all you and Ian have done for me and Drake since you got stuck watching over us.”

  “Never been stuck with anything or anyone in my life, kid,” I told him, tousling his hair. “I kinda like you.”

  His smile got even brighter before he took a sip of his coffee. “What’s Custodial?”

  I enjoyed talking to him. He was the introspective one, the artist, and when I was done explaining, he was certain I’d do great there. “You take such good care of all of us.”

  “Stop sucking up, kid,” Ian grumbled as he walked into the kitchen, yawning, leaning in to kiss me before staggering toward the coffee maker.

  At work an hour later, having rousted the boys and dropped Chickie off with Aruna, I was really not surprised to find Bodhi Callahan, Redeker’s partner from Vegas, standing in the hall that led to the locker and breakroom.

  “Callahan,” I called.

  He moved quickly, gracefully, smiling as he came, hand out for me to take.

  I grasped tight, grinning at him. “I knew you’d be right behind him.”

  Instant frown. “Did he tell you this was my idea?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “I have a friend who just moved back to California a couple weeks ago, so he’s letting me sublet his place,” he told me. “It’s a loft over on Michigan Avenue.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “In the Prairie District?” he said, grimacing. “I dunno what that even means yet.”

  “It means it’s nice,” I assured him. “They made a lot of those old industrial buildings into lofts. I looked at those, but I wanted a private gated area and the whole sanctuary when I got home, you know? No neighbors right on top of me.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “But you’re happy with it?”

  “Only been there a day, but yeah.”

  I had to ask. “And Redeker?”

  “What about him?”

  “Come on.”

  He shook his head, and the sun-streaked dirty-blond mop that fell to his shoulders caught the light, the wheat and copper, chestnut and gold. Between the hair and golden tan that was now, I realized, his natural coloring, he was stunning. He was twenty-seven when we met a year ago—with Redeker eleven years his senior—but I could tell he was one of those guys who would never age. I was betting people stopped and stared at him wherever he went, which was not great for a federal marshal, as we preferred to go unnoticed until the very last second before a bust went down. He and Redeker together, as striking as they both were, had to be a challenge.

  “So?”

  He squinted at me. “So what?”

  “You transferred here too.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Are you supposed to see Kage?”

  “Yeah, and then Doyle?”

  I nodded. “Ian Doyle’s the new deputy director.”

  “And your guy, right?”

  “Yes,” I said, feeling it in the pit of my stomach, the warmth of saying that yes, Ian Doyle was with me.

  “I wanted to ask—”

  “I thought you were fucking with me on the phone last night.”

  We both turned to find Redeker there, glowering a few feet away.

  Callahan snarled back. “If I fuck with you, you’ll damn well know it.”

  “Okay, that’s my cue,” I said, coughing into my closed fist before taking a step back and retreating around the corner to the entrance of the breakroom before popping my head back out to eavesdrop on them. No way was I bailing to be left in the dark. If I was going to help them work their shit out, I had to know how deep the crap was.

  “Well, that was fuckin’ great,” Redeker groused.

  “Like Miro cares, he’s not like that.”

  “It was still rude.”

  “The only one who’s rude and an asshole is you.”

  Redeker shook his head, and I saw the glower and the clenching of his jaw. “I told you not to—you can’t be here.”

  “It was my idea to come. I reminded you of that last night on the phone, so why wouldn’t I be here?” he asked indignantly. “I told you I’d be here this morning. I spent all day yesterday moving into my new place because, unlike you, I built in time for that.”

  “This is a mistake.”

  “Yeah, yours, for not just waiting and coming up here with me,” Callahan said imperiously, somewhere between condescending and furious.

  “I thought—” Redeker swallowed hard and took a shaky breath. “—you’d be good there if I left.”

  “If you ran, you mean.”

  Redeker tugged on his hair again—obviously a nervous habit, self-soothing that I did myself. Light glinted off the ring, and I watched Callahan’s attention catch on it. He ghosted his fingers across the silver before he took a step forward and put his hands on Redeker’s sides, holding him still exactly as Ian had held me the night before. It looked as possessive and claiming as it felt.

  “Don’t—I’m trying not to fuck up your life,” Redeker whispered, shifting on his feet, ready to ease free.

  Callahan moved closer, very clearly not about to let him go, and slipped his hands under the parka Redeker had on. I watched Redeker close his eyes as though it took every drop of concentration to remain standing. He lifted his own hands to Callahan’s face but then dropped them back to his sides.

  “Where are you staying?” Callahan asked, his tone changing to gentle, coaxing, even as his lips hovered over the side of Redeker’s neck, debating, I suspected, whether to press his mouth to the freckled skin, or his teeth. The desire was rolling off him, the need to stake his claim, and I so understood. Back when Ian and I were just friends, not touching him whenever I wanted, not making him mine, had been almost physically painful. “You should stay with me.”

  It was a good offer. I really hoped Redeker would take him up on it.

  Redeker’s eyes drifted open slowly, languorously, like he was drugged. “I can’t—I shouldn’t—I don’t want it to be just like—”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Callahan said, easing back, letting him go but remaining in Redeker’s space. “It won’t be like Vegas at all, I can promise you that.”

  “And what the hell does that mean?” Redeker muttered, back to scowling but still not pulling away, allowing the touching.

  “Everything will be exactly how you want it.”

  “Why does that not sound good?”

  “I have no earthly idea,” Callahan said innocently.

  “Explain to me what you mean by—”

  “What’re you doing?”

  Redeker’s words faded out as I turned to see Ian behind me. “Where did you come from?”

  “Ove
r there,” he said, grinning, pointing at the ever-present enormous fruit basket in the breakroom. “Sometimes your body just craves citrus,” he explained, showing me the Valencia orange in his hand.

  I grunted.

  He tried to look around me, but I stepped sideways into the hall so he couldn’t. “I wanna see who you’re spying on.”

  “No one,” I insisted as I turned and saw Redeker and Callahan walking toward us.

  “Oh, I see,” Ian teased, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Just be nice to them. They’re working things out.”

  “I’m always nice,” Ian claimed, smirking before tipping his head at the two approaching men. “Are you Callahan?”

  “I am,” he said, offering Ian his hand. “Are you Doyle?”

  “Yeah,” Ian replied, shaking hands before tipping his head at Redeker. “You guys were partners in Vegas, right?”

  “We were.”

  “And you both transferred up, so—you good to keep being partners?”

  “We are,” Callahan answered before Redeker could say a word.

  “Great,” Ian sighed. “That makes things much easier. Come with me, and we’ll get your paperwork done. And you should go down and get a car before all the good ones are gone. There’s a Gremlin down there, so you might wanna hurry.”

  Redeker looked at me, horrified, releasing his breath in a rush. “I thought you were kidding about that.”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you say a Gremlin,” Callahan asked, the concern flooding his face, looking a bit stunned. “Is that even safe?”

  Ian shrugged. “I dunno, but I wouldn’t wanna test it.”

  Redeker bolted for the elevator as Callahan followed Ian like he was in a fog. The horror of the truly frightening automobile—been there.

  I SPENT some time that morning doing follow-up calls and checking on the placements made the day before. Eli called right about noon and asked if I wanted to get lunch, and when I asked where Ian was, he said he was stuck in his office with DEA agent Corbin Stafford. Apparently they were working out things to do with Lorcan and a joint task force, so maybe a better working relationship was on the horizon. Maybe. I wasn’t going to hold my breath. Perhaps, though, with Ian at the helm, there could be new inroads made with the DEA. But it wasn’t anything I would ever be working with him on, and acknowledging that was bittersweet because, yes, Ian and I were still together, still both marshals, but we were separated. I’d decided I was content to be in Custodial—it was the better fit for me—but not having Ian at work was new, and I felt the pang of being without him. It wasn’t logical; it simply was. It would take some time to get used to.

  I was about to make the turn from the bullpen to head to my office when Becker stopped me. When I turned to him, he pointed at the elevators, which dinged almost as if on cue.

  “Oh, what the hell,” I said under my breath as I saw a woman getting off the car with six other men in trench coats.

  The woman stopped in front of me as Eli sidled up on my right. She opened her credentials so I could see the FBI badge, and her expression was grim and resigned at the same time.

  “What happened?” I groaned, terrified of what the answer would be and knowing instinctively her being there had something to do with Hartley.

  The agents with her came in close, circling us so it was only me and Eli and Becker together, no one else allowed.

  “I’m Christina Stigler from the Office of Partner Engagement, and I flew out here from Langley to speak to you, Marshal Doyle, on Monday, as I’ll be working with you going forward to coordinate—and I have no idea why I’m giving you this background, because none of that matters right now.” She sighed, and I saw how tired she looked. “What’s important at the moment is that Kol Kelson just explained two hours ago that he has a bomb inside of him that could go off at any time.”

  I shook my head. “So they called the bomb squad and had him checked for radiation, and let me guess: he beeped.”

  “He did.”

  “So they transported him where?”

  “They were on their way to—”

  “And they were forced off the road.”

  “Yes,” she said, sounding like she was a hundred instead of in her midforties like she looked.

  “You realize that by now you guys should have Hartley’s MO down, right?”

  “Agreed.” The pained tone did not recede.

  “How many times has he done this?”

  “It’s easy to see in hindsight, not when he’s doing it.”

  I nodded. “And there’s more.”

  “Yes.”

  Eli’s hand on my shoulder was more than comforting. It kept me grounded in the here and now instead of letting me go tripping into scary, dark places where nightmares lived.

  “My boss, Director Ryerson, was informed today that though his wife was saved and taken into protective custody yesterday, his son, going to school here at Northwestern, was not.”

  I took a breath, willing myself to stay calm.

  “No,” Becker said sharply.

  Her eyes scrunched up, and I saw the pain etched on her face. “It’s not your call, Marshal. That belongs to Marshal Jones.”

  “The hell it does,” he assured her. “Marshal Jones is—”

  “Stop,” I ordered. “Where is Hartley?”

  “We have no idea,” she said, and I heard the tremble in her voice. People got that way where Hartley was concerned. Everyone had to stay constantly vigilant, and being on guard all the time was hard to maintain. “You’re just supposed to go out the front door of this building and run as fast as you can straight down the sidewalk, and apparently it will become clear.”

  “But you don’t know if this is Hartley or Kelson.”

  “What?”

  “None of this is how Hartley normally operates. I could be running to Kelson and not Hartley,” I clarified.

  “Well, yes, I—yes.”

  “And someone, either Hartley or Kelson, has Ryerson’s son?”

  “Someone does,” she agreed. “We have proof of life.”

  “None of this sounds like Hartley,” I told her. “He doesn’t do this.”

  “Or hasn’t before,” she cautioned. “Perhaps you don’t know him as well as you think you do, Marshal.”

  “Or I’m absolutely correct, and Kelson’s gonna try and kill me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” I said and started taking off my blazer.

  “No,” Eli croaked, his voice rough and brittle. “And definitely not before Ian gets to come out here and talk to you.”

  “Agreed,” Becker said gruffly. “You stay here, I’ll get him.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Stigler rasped, worn thin.

  “We’re making time,” Becker insisted before pushing through the press of men.

  It took only moments for Ian to join us, and when he did, the stricken look on his face told me exactly how terrified he was.

  “It’ll be all right,” I assured him, wanting to touch him but afraid if I did, I wouldn’t go. Leaving him to go to Hartley went against everything in me.

  “No,” he protested. “I refuse to let you risk your life for—”

  “Stop,” I whispered, handing him my jacket so I could be unarmed when I met Hartley.

  “Miro,” he husked, taking the Glock from me, and the new holster he’d bought me for Christmas that was just like his, handmade leather with brass buckles.

  “You’d do the same,” I ground out. “Just—I’ll be right back. He probably wants to have a chat, and it’s not like he can call.”

  He took a quivering breath. “I don’t—I can’t—”

  “I know,” I whispered as Kage joined us.

  “The hell do you have my guy doing?” Kage thundered at Stigler.

  She took a breath and retold the story quickly as I put back on my jacket.

  “Everyone goes downstairs right now,” Kage demanded, turning on Becker. “I want SOG on stand
by now.”

  He said “now” about eight more times before I was allowed on the elevator. Ian came with me, standing directly behind me, hands on my shoulders.

  On the way down in the elevator, Stigler passed me a dime.

  “What is—”

  “You feel the weight?” I nodded as she took a deep breath. “It’s a tracker. He won’t be able to tell unless he holds it in his hand.”

  “Okay.”

  “He will not take you out of this area. We won’t let him. We have all the streets in a two-mile radius sealed off. Just get the boy and get out any way you can,” she stressed, grabbing hold of my shoulder. “We don’t want Hartley. We just want you and Max both in one piece.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” she barely got out, forcing a smile.

  I stepped away from Ian and watched him clench his jaw. “I’ll be right back.”

  His eyes filled, but he did not shed a tear. “Hurry.”

  The sidewalk was full of federal agents and CPD, and into that crowd came Kage and everyone from upstairs. When I saw Ching arrive, I turned to Kage, who gave me a nod. Turning fast, I bolted down the sidewalk.

  It was a long, busy street—all the driveways that opened out onto the road, with the endless purge of cars, thick crowds, homeless people, stragglers from groups—a continual tide I had to dodge or, in a few cases, leap, even veer into the street to avoid, only to almost get hit before careening back onto the sidewalk and running on. I was in good shape—I ran with Ian every other day, did my cardio, lifted weights—but still, after twenty minutes of running all-out, I was tiring. Ian was the distance runner, his muscles compact, tight, lean, and sleek like a big cat. I was more bull, with what Ian called my massive shoulders and hard, heavy muscle. When I saw the van out of the corner of my eye, I was thankful. When it stopped ahead, double-parking beside another car so two others couldn’t pull out, I ran to catch up, certain that was where I was going.

  It rolled forward half a car length into the crosswalk, and upon reaching it, I dived inside the open door as a young man with his hands tied behind his back and duct tape over his mouth was shoved out onto the hood of a parked Honda Civic.