Twisted and Tied (Marshals 4)

“Oh yeah,” Eli said. “This is my cousin, Ira. Ira, this is Miro Jones.”

The smaller, nerdier, bespectacled cousin of a guy I trusted with my life moved forward to take my outstretched hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ira.”

“And you,” he said with a half grimace, half smile.

I patted our gripped hands with my other, then let go, gesturing at my face. “Oh, this is nothing. Par for the course.”

He nodded. “I have a friend, Tracy. This kind of thing happens to him too.”

“Is he in law enforcement?”

“No, but his brother is.”

“Turns out you know the brother indirectly,” Eli explained. “Me and Ira were putting it together in the car that you know Alex Brandt, and he’s Ira’s friend’s brother.”

How did I know that name?

Eli, who read me pretty well after the years between us, noticed me struggling. “You worked with my buddy Kane Morgan in San Fran the last time you were there and—”

“Oh, Brandt’s the DEA agent,” I realized. “Shit, how is he?”

“Good,” Ira said, grinning. “He’s annoying and kind of a douche, but yeah, all in one piece.”

“Oh, I’m glad.” Even though I’d never met Brandt myself, Inspector Morgan struck me as the kind of man who didn’t take his friendships lightly. I was pleased to hear he wasn’t missing anybody. “And damn, that’s a small world,” I said to Eli.

“It is. I mean, I know Kane, but I had no idea Ira knew the Brandts.”

I looked back at Ira. “So you like San Fran?”

“I do,” he said, then indicated Eli with a tip of his head. “This one liked it too until Natalie.”

Eli inhaled sharply, which made me ready to hear all about whoever Natalie was.

“Hey,” Becker said, snapping his fingers to get our attention.

Eli and I turned to look at him.

“State police in Huntsville, Alabama, already found a shallow grave off I-65 North.”

“So they recovered both bodies?”

He nodded.

“That’s good.”

Becker half shrugged, and I understood. Yes, it was good they’d been found because this way their families got closure—but bad for the obvious reason—they were dead.

I twisted back around, taking a breath before smiling at Ira, giving him an eyebrow waggle, needing the diversion of a good story. “Okay, so, dish about Natalie.”

“No,” Eli barked, putting it on. “Shut up, Ira. Don’t you say a fuckin’ word.”

Ira chuckled.

“I’m not kidding.” He pointed at him. “Just—you don’t need to tell him about—”

I grabbed Eli’s arm and drew him closer, upsetting his balance just enough that we bumped and he had to put his hand on my shoulder to steady himself. “Tell me all about Natalie,” I instructed Ira.

Ira was enjoying seeing us jostle around, the delight easy to read on his face.

“Don’t,” Eli warned.

“Do,” I pressed, holding Eli’s arm tighter when he tried to lunge at Ira.

“He followed Natalie out here from San Fran, and a week later, she dumped him.”

I moved my hand to Eli’s shoulder, squeezing tight. “Aww, buddy, is that before you started dressing well?”

“Fuck you,” he groused as he eased back into my hold, not struggling, content to stand there beside me.

It was funny. We were fooling around, and in the midst of waiting in the ER, I was comfortable, and I realized that was because I was with Eli and the rest of the guys.

I realized at Thanksgiving last year that I’d stopped looking for companionship outside of my circle, outside of the guys I worked with and counted on. My last friendship with a nice attorney who moved in next door to me and Ian turned out to be nothing but a ruse, and in the aftermath of that betrayal, I found myself hesitant to open up to anyone new. I was never a real trusting guy to begin with—foster care did that to you, made you wary of strangers—but now where I used to smile and make conversation with everyone, I was far more reserved, downright quiet. I listened a lot, which was good, and as a result, the guys, especially Eli, had become the ones I looked to for companionship.

“So,” I said, looking at Eli. “You followed a woman out here and, what, fell in love with the city?”

He shrugged. “She left to go back, couldn’t take the winter, and I stayed here.”

“And then your mom moved here too?”

“Well, yeah,” he replied with a smirk. “She can’t live without her baby.”

“Which sucks for the rest of us,” Ira chimed in, “because his mother can cook.”

I smiled at him. “And yours can’t?”

He winced. “Just don’t—if you ever meet her, don’t tell her I said that.”

“Said what?”

Ira pointed at me, grinning at Eli. “Oh, I like him.”

Eli was going to say something shitty back, I was sure, but a commotion in the hall interrupted us, and we all watched uniformed hospital security rush by, and then a nurse and a doctor followed. Before I could even open my mouth to ask, a person—I couldn’t tell if it was a kid or a woman—bolted past, and then Ching, who was still behind me, drew the curtain wide, opening it around my bed so we could see what was going on.