Twisted and Tied (Marshals 4)

I was caught in the jaw hard and then the stomach harder, but as I went down, I still managed to kick the guy’s feet out from under him. Of course he came down on top of me, which wasn’t great, but then I heard Dorsey—he had a bellow that was unforgettable—and I relaxed.

“Jones!”

Ching was there, and Becker, and they shoved the guy off me so I could breathe. Dorsey lifted me to my feet. He was kind of big.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan breathed, doubling over, hands on his knees. “I thought you were shot when you went down.”

“So did I,” Ching huffed, hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “I haven’t run that fast in a long fuckin’ time.’

“You took years off my life, Jones,” Becker grumbled like it was my fault.

It was nice they were all worried. I was sort of touched. “You guys start running when the earpiece went dead?”

“Hell yes,” Dorsey told me as he led the zip-tied Bellamy from beside the car to the sidewalk and helped her to her knees, then laid her facedown on the sidewalk.

“Where’s Warren?” Ryan demanded as he squatted beside her. “We want him.”

“He’s in the same ditch she is,” Bellamy snarled, “but you’ll never find either of those stupid fucks if you don’t let—”

“Take her phone,” I told him quickly. “She told me when I met with her before that this was her first trip to Chicago. At least we’ll have the route to check.”

“Jones!” she shrieked.

“Got it,” Ryan informed me before he got on his phone and ordered the download on hers. Hopefully it would be quick.

“I’ll tell you where they are,” offered the guy who hit me with his gun. “You guys make me a deal, I’ll talk. I haven’t done shit but drive.”

He was an accessory, but there were levels, for sure.

“I swear to God, I wasn’t even with them when they killed the marshals.”

It hurt to hear they were both gone, even though I hadn’t known either of them. But they were my tribe, and I’d miss them.

“Hey.”

I turned my head to see Becker, who took my face in his hands and lifted my chin, checking me over, gentler than I’d ever known him to be.

“You need stitches, Jones. Let’s get you to the hospital. They’re gonna have to take a picture of your head an’ see if you’ve got a concussion.”

“I didn’t even—”

“I’m sorry; did you have something to say?”

Sometimes Becker made me feel really stupid. “Nope.”

“I didn’t think so. Let’s go.”

“Yessir,” I groaned as Bellamy screamed in rage behind me.

I was surprised when he took hold of my arm.

“I can walk, you know.”

“I know,” he told me as he continued to lead me to the car.

“What’s with you?” I asked.

“You could’ve left us today,” he said gruffly. “I don’t think I’m ready to lose anybody on this team just yet.”

It was hearing about Hicks and Warren. Everything had become real in an instant.

Chapter 2

MY EYEBROW only needed five stitches, which, compared to some of the other lacerations I’d suffered over the years, was nothing. The doctor on call checked me out—I got jumped in line because I got hurt, technically, in the line of duty, and because Ching looked pissed and no one wanted to tell him no.

Because I was a federal marshal and had to carry a gun 24-7, I always had to be checked out so a doctor could vouch for my brain not being scrambled. No one wanted someone to get shot accidentally because a marshal had a concussion and mistook them for a bear or something. I certainly never wanted to be the guy on the wrong end of a shooting incident.

As I sat there in the ER, blood on my shirt and sweater, waiting as Becker talked to Kage and Ching paced as he talked to Dorsey, the curtain that separated me from the next bed was yanked open and Eli appeared, another man right behind him, like it was a magic show.

“Hey,” I greeted, smiling, finding it odd he was there.

“I was driving by from the airport and told you were still here. Since we’re supposed to be eating tonight, and I figured Doyle stranded you at the pickup site when he left with the SOG guys, it made sense to come grab you.”

I nodded. “That seems reasonable,” I teased. “I find your logic sound.”

He rolled his eyes theatrically but moved quickly, his nonchalance belied by how fast he got to me.

Stepping between my parted legs, he checked my eye and face, upon which, Dorsey had informed me, the bruises had started to darken. Eli winced at the damage and my clothes. “I’m thinking we have to go by your place so you can clean up and put on something without blood splatter on it.”

I grunted before holding out my hand to greet the man who must be his cousin but looked only fleetingly like Eli. Where Eli was tall and built like a swimmer with wide shoulders, a broad chest, narrow waist, and long legs, Ira was leaner with long muscles, not ones defined in a gym like Eli’s.