All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Then I’m going to kill you.”

“You can try.”

He grunted. “So cocky. I truly wish we could have met under other circumstances. I think we would have got on well.”

“We still can, Daoud, just gimme your gun.”

“Sadly, like you, I cannot be parted from it.”

I watched his eyes, and the second I saw his gaze shift, I grabbed my gun.

He darted around the corner as I yelled out the order for him to freeze. Flying after him, reaching the entrance, I ran to the right far enough that the bullet he fired at me grazed my left bicep instead of embedding itself in my heart.

His expression, the begrudging respect paired with the head tip before he turned and ran, was infuriating.

He tore through the terminal, gun in hand, and I followed, arms and legs pumping, gaining ground, as we flew past the boarding area where Ian and the boys waited. I didn’t slow to say anything, knowing he would stay and protect them.

Airport security joined in the chase; they ordered us both to halt, which, of course, caused neither of us to slow even a little.

I was too close behind Daoud for him to stop, turn, and fire a second time, and shooting over his shoulder at me would slow his momentum. If he faltered even a little, I’d have him, and he knew it as well as I did. He screamed at people to get out of his way, and they made a hole that he and I charged through.

It was not a big airport, and when we ran past security, I yelled “Fire!” to get attention and held my gun up, which caused the expected eruption of shouting.

More people started to chase us as Daoud bolted through the automatic doors, and I was seconds behind him, running straight out into the middle of the street and almost getting hit by a car—screeching tires, blowing horns as people slammed on their brakes to miss us. I sprinted down the median after him before stopping suddenly and hitting the pavement as a barrage of bullets strafed the road.

I saw him get into the passenger seat of an SUV that tore away, but not before Daoud waved.

“Fuck!” I roared, getting to my knees, not missing the fact that there was no plate on the car.

Sirens, armed men and women all converged on me, and I was ordered to drop my weapon and put my hands behind my head.

Laying my gun down gently, I laced my fingers over the top of my head and waited. The first guy who reached me almost put his foot on my gun to kick it away from me.

“You touch the gun, and you’ll buy me a new one.”

He stopped—they all stopped—and then someone noticed the badge on my belt.

“Oh fuck.”

My sentiment as well.

Fifteen minutes later, I was talking to the head of airport security and individuals from the sheriff’s department, and getting my arm bandaged up by two EMTs.

“How long’s it been since you had tetanus booster, Marshal?”

“Like a month ago,” I informed her.

“Get shot a lot, do you?”

“Pretty much,” I said, wincing as she cleaned the wound.

“Miro!”

I groaned, leaning around her to see Ian charging through the terminal, Drake and Cabot in tow. From the bellow I’d been treated to, the hard set of his jaw, and the tight bunch of his fists, I got the idea I was in trouble.

Pushing through bystanders, he reached me and dropped down to one knee beside the bench I was sitting on. “What the fuck?”

“There was a hit man for the Nava Cartel in the bathroom.”

“What?”

“I—”

“There’s a dead man in there now,” someone chimed in.

His eyes flicked to my arm. “Jesus.”

“It’s a graze.”

“It’s on the same side with your heart.”

I grimaced.

“Again!”

“Yeah, but—”

“Miro!”

“I got a name,” I said quickly, hoping to get him to change the subject.

“You got whose name? The hit man’s?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

What was I supposed to say? “He was kinda flirty.”

“Flirty,” he repeated flatly, and I watched, utterly riveted, as his eyes went from their normal pale icy blue to deep, dark cobalt.

“Wow,” I said, grinning without meaning to. “You have it kinda bad, you know?”

His eyes narrowed to slits.

Crap.

He moved to get up, but I took hold of his wrist and held tight. “Don’t leave me.”

“Oh, I won’t leave you until I kill you,” he promised, smirking. “Now I’m gonna call your boss. I hope you live.”

That wasn’t nice.

BECAUSE IT was my day, Kage was flying into the Tri-Cities airport to rendezvous and fly back to Chicago with us. We had, of course, missed our plane, and with the latest development, he wanted to be on site. He would have been leaving Arlington today anyway, but now he was backtracking to help us transport our witnesses home because I was, technically, out of commission. Even though I told him I was fine, he was coming because he, too, wanted to hear what I had to say to the sheriff’s department, FBI, Homeland Security, and airport security. Press swarmed everywhere, and law enforcement sequestered us in the lounge, since no one was supposed to see our witnesses.