All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

“Yeah, come on. Your woman said you can come play with me.”

“I don’t need fuckin’ permission,” he said, instantly defensive.

“Yeah, but you didn’t want to hurt her feelings, which was nice,” I pacified. “But she’s fine, ready to have a fun night, and you’re bringing all the hipsters down.”

“Like I give a—”

“You’d rather be there?”

No answer.

“E?”

“I’ll meet you at home.”

“No, at my place, not yours.”

“That’s what I said.”

It wasn’t what he said unless… but thoughts like that did me no good. “Okay.”

“Yeah, so, all right.”

Which was his version of thank you and I’m sorry for being a dick and everything else. He was very lucky I spoke Ian. “Don’t forget to bring the scoop thing, ’cause I ain’t picking up your dog’s crap.”

He was laughing when I hung up.

WHEN I got home, the lights were on in my small Greystone, so I knew Ian was already inside. I tried really hard not to like the idea of him being there when I walked through the door, because wanting something I couldn’t have was a recipe for bitterness. I loved having Ian as a partner, we fit perfectly, each playing off the other’s strengths, and I didn’t want that feeling to change. So I squashed down the stomach flip over seeing him in my kitchen, drinking a glass of water as he leaned against the counter.

“Just come in, why don’t you,” I groused.

From around the side of the couch came Ian’s creature. Easily a hundred pounds of powerful muscle, Chickie appeared even bigger than he was with all the long black and white hair. I wasn’t sure what kind of dog he was, and Ian didn’t know either. I had often said maybe timber wolf.

“What are you doing in my house?” I asked the dog, who didn’t break stride until he reached me, shoved his wet nose in my palm and danced for me, so very happy to be included.

“Thanks, M,” Ian said as he drained his glass and sat it down. “You’re the only one he doesn’t freak out.”

“It’s because I know he doesn’t really eat people,” I said, scratching behind Chickie’s ears and under his chin as he wriggled and then pranced after me as I joined Ian in the kitchen. “Maybe we should run him now, before we eat. He seems kinda wound up.”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” he agreed.

“Lemme change,” I said, putting the bag of food down in front of Ian. He was in sweats and a hoodie, so I needed to be dressed the same. “Throw this in the fridge and see if I have any beer glasses in the freezer.”

“What’s wrong with drinking from the bottle, princess?” He grinned at me.

“Dick.”

He started to whistle as I took the stairs to the loft where my bed, closet, and second bathroom were. It wasn’t a whole second level, which I liked about the layout.

Once I was in sweats that had “US Marshal” down the side, I came back down and headed toward the front door.

“Why do you wear those?”

He lost me. “What?”

“The work sweats.”

“I don’t understand the question. We wear these when we train.”

“Yeah, I know, so why the hell would you wear them when you’re off?”

“They’re sweats, Ian. Who the hell cares?”

“They’re flashy.”

My eyebrows lifted involuntarily. “They’re flashy?”

He flipped me off, snapping Chickie’s leash on and stalking to the door.

“They’re flashy,” I repeated.

“People are gonna want to see if you’re a real marshal, and what if they fuck with you?”

“Yeah, that’s true, because, you know, the dog won’t deter anyone at all.”

Again I was flipped the bird before the three of us went out the front door. Locking it behind me, I leaped off the top step of the small stoop.

“One, two, three—go!” I yelled, and I bolted away from Ian, running down the sidewalk like a crazy man and charging across the street without looking, knowing that in my Lincoln Park neighborhood the only thing I was in danger of being hit by would be a snowplow.

It was dark but the streetlights were on, and the sky was a beautiful deep blue with indigo patches that would soon be lit up with stars—though I might or might not be able to see them for the light pollution. I loved the time of night when people were sitting down to dinner and I could see into their homes for just a moment as I jogged by on my normal run. The houses blurred at the moment, as I raced toward the park with Ian and Chickie close behind.

“Miro!”

I didn’t stop, and I heard Ian curse before Chickie was suddenly running beside me. Ian had allowed him to run free off the leash.

Veering right, I ran by one of the poles that kept cars off the gravel path between the field where kids played soccer and the playground with the swings and jungle gym. Chickie caught up with me again, and when I took a different route down toward the jogging path, Ian was there, hand suddenly fisted in the back of my jacket, holding on.