All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

She rose quickly, and I moved forward, taking the seat in front of him. Immediately he sat and leaned close, looking me over, finally meeting my gaze.

“You look tired, Miro. Not sleeping well?”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, fiddling with the manila folder Rohl had left in front of me. “Can we talk about the situation in Northbrook?”

“Whatever you want to talk about is fine with me.”

“But it’s your thoughts that we’re interested in.”

He coughed softly. “Did you get the Christmas card I sent?”

“I did, thank you.”

He seemed pleased, his eyes softening, his smile widening. “Go ahead and ask me anything.”

I loosened my tie, which had him riveted. “So we both know you’re way too smart to have an accomplice.”

“It doesn’t seem likely, does it?”

“No,” I said with a smirk. “And the copycat thing?”

He snorted. “Tell me, did he have my clean lines?”

“No, not at all.” I rolled my shoulders, trying to dislodge the familiar tension there. Visiting a man who had shoved a knife into me carried with it a certain amount of stress. “But that brings me to our final question, Doctor.”

“Of course, but first may I ask after Detective Cochran? How is he?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I haven’t spoken to him in a very long time.”

“Because of me,” he almost purred.

I tipped my head back and forth. “Sort of.”

“You chose me over him, that’s why.”

“That’s a bit simplistic, Doctor.”

“Is it?”

“I think so,” I said, tired all of a sudden. “But tell me, do you have an admirer on the outside?”

He studied me a moment. “I would very much like to see you more than only when you need an answer about something.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Are we negotiating?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

“Marshal,” Rohl warned from behind me.

“He’s talking to me right now,” Hartley reminded her icily before his gaze returned to mine. “So?”

“What do you want?”

“What are you offering?” he asked softly, seductively.

I thought of what I could actually do and not need to give myself the Silkwood shower when I got home and added to that. “Once a year.”

“Every six months,” he countered.

“Done,” I said, because that was, in fact, my limit. The most time the prison allowed was thirty minutes in maximum security. I could go there twice a year, for a total of an hour. I could. “Now tell me about your admirer.”

“I’ll say who, but not how.”

“Okay.”

“And you should relocate my sister and her family, Miro.”

I met his stare. “Why’s that?”

He shrugged. “I have more than one follower, and many of them blame her for my arrest.”

“She’s your sister,” I reminded him.

“She left the ring for you to find, Miro.”

“It was an accident; we both know it was.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he sighed, mapping my face, the study almost unnerving.

I turned in my seat, but Thompson was already on his phone.

“We’re on it,” he snapped.

I pivoted back to Hartley. “The name?”

“What will people think?”

“That I came here with these people and saw you and then we found this guy.”

“And I’ll be a snitch?”

“I caught you; it follows that I would catch him. Don’t you think?”

“But then you’ll have a bull’s-eye on your back,” he said sharply. “I can’t have that.”

“Well, however you talk to them all—make sure I’m okay.”

“As long as you keep your word.”

“I thought you were in my debt.”

He looked like I’d hit him.

“Aren’t you?”

Quick nod.

I inhaled quickly. “I’ll show. I promise.” He was a serial killer, and normally they didn’t do well in captivity. Someone always had a question for him—they needed insight, answers—and I was the carrot they dangled to get him to play ball. Someone would always be there to remind me of my commitment to the law, and therefore, to seeing Hartley.

He swallowed hard. “Clark Viana has a home in Highland Park.”

“What does he do?” Rohl asked.

“He’s a stockbroker.”

“And how will we know he’s our man, Doctor?”

“He keeps trophies in his wine cellar.”

“Okay,” Rohl huffed, and suddenly the whole room was on a phone, no longer caring about me or the good doctor.

Since they were all busy talking, no one noticed when Hartley reached out and took hold of my tie. The guard, from where he was standing behind Hartley, couldn’t see what was going on, but that was okay. I wasn’t scared. I had, in fact, never been frightened of him, and that had become the basis for our ongoing relationship. That and the fact that he’d tried to kill me and failed.

“I’ll find out how you’re getting messages out,” I promised.

His grip on my pale blue tie with the red circles was light; if I leaned back it would have slid over his curled fingers. “Someday, Miro Jones, I will possess you, and you will be my greatest work.”

I nodded.

“You might not believe me now, but you will.”

“I’m sure,” I said as he slowly opened his hand.