All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

“Everything,” I admitted, hoping my confession would hide the hiss of pleasure over being manhandled.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He was clearly scared and the emotion deepened his voice, his gaze concerned as it held mine. “You’re all flushed.”

I cleared my throat, easing free of his clutching hands. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“What can I—”

“After we book this guy, can we eat?”

Ian’s smile, the way his eyes warmed and his gaze lingered, sent my stomach into a familiar tumble. The look of blatant ownership never failed to send blood rushing straight to my cock. And the man had no clue.

I had thought when it was new, us as partners, I was reading too much into the way I would glance up and fall into his smile, catch him glancing my way, or feel the weight of his stare on my back. No other man who didn’t want to fuck me had ever reacted that way, would look right back at me, unwavering, before softening—happy, it seemed, to simply be in my space. But he did. Ian did. And it was a constant source of both unease and pride.

IT TOOK a couple of hours, the paperwork. We sat at Bridger’s desk and he typed into the computer as Ian wrote out what he saw and I recorded what I had witnessed. Other people at the party were still being questioned, and as Bridger made more notes, I turned so I could scrutinize my partner.

“What?”

“Do you have a plan to make up with Emma?”

The glare was another of my favorites, used when the glower or squint wasn’t enough. “Make up with her why?”

“You busted her brother.”

He glanced at Bridger, who nodded, before returning his attention to me. “I’m not the one who invited a drug dealer to my house.”

“Yeah, but you could have given her, and the others, fair warning about what you were doing. You could have gotten them out before they got swarmed by policemen.”

“Yeah,” Bridger agreed. “Man, you better make with the groveling.”

“I was doing my job,” he defended himself.

I shook my head.

“Is he kidding?”

“Sadly, no,” I told the detective.

Bridger whistled low and went back to typing.

“What else?” Ian prodded begrudgingly.

“I think I’m crippled,” I complained, my body starting to cramp from sitting so long.

“That’s what happens when you jump off buildings,” a new voice growled.

Fuck.

I winced and lifted my head slowly, which did nothing to lessen the intimidating presence of the man I didn’t want to face. At six four, covered in hard muscle and in possession of the coldest pair of steel-blue eyes I had ever seen, my boss, Sam Kage, was not the kind of man you messed with. And it wasn’t just me who walked on eggshells around him. Ian was a badass Green Beret, an Army captain, but he didn’t mess with our boss either. There was something about him: a fierceness, a tenacity, so that you knew he would get you, hurt you, make you pay. And while I had only witnessed that resolve applied to criminals, I didn’t want to tempt fate.

“I didn’t have a gun,” I hastily explained. “We were at a party.”

All the men in my life squinted at me like I was an idiot.

“So I went after the suspect to tackle him,” I rambled on.

“Where were you?” he asked Ian.

“Securing the scene, sir.”

Kage moved closer to me. “You do it again, Jones, and I will bust your ass to court duty until you die.”

I coughed. “Yessir.”

“Go to the hospital and get checked out.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Before tomorrow or your ass is sitting home,” he barked. “Until further notice.”

Shit. “Yessir.”

His attention moved back to Ian. “You keep letting him get hurt, and I’m going to start questioning your decision to be a marshal, Doyle. Maybe this job is too tame for you. Can’t keep your head in the game without the threat of imminent death?”

“No sir,” Ian said sharply.

“Sorry?”

“I said, no sir.”

Kage grunted. “When I added to my original five-man team, with Ching, Becker, and then you, Kohn, and lastly Jones, I figured you’d all be with me a good, long time.”

Ian kept silent.

“But if your plan is to not actually watch out for your partner, I can find someone who will.”

The muscles in Ian’s jaw clenched.

“We’re a team, Doyle.”

He cleared his throat. “Yessir.”

Kage turned to Bridger. “Let me know what else you need from my office, Detective.”

Bridger nodded, taking the card from Kage with a sharp inhale. It made sense; the man was really scary. His height, the powerful build, the icy stare: all of it gave you the impression that if you fucked up, you’d be gone. I certainly never wanted to be in a position to test him.

“What floor is homicide on now?”

“Fifth,” Bridger answered quickly. “May I ask why, Marshal?”

“I need to speak to one of the detectives I’m supposed to be meeting here.”