Twisted and Tied (Marshals 4)

Ryerson blurted, “But we cannot guarantee your safety if—”

“I don’t need my safety guaranteed,” I told him. “He won’t hurt me.”

“You can’t know what—”

“Ask Kelson,” I argued. “He’ll tell you.”

“He’s not speaking.”

“Then bring him in here, and I’ll ask him. He’ll talk to me.”

“And how the hell do you know that?”

I exhaled deeply. “He’s got a hard-on for Hartley, and I don’t know why, but he does. You all think that was Hartley this morning in that gallery, and I think you’re wrong. I don’t think any of that was Hartley’s doing, but I have no idea what’s going on with your boy.”

“He’s not our—”

“Just—no one knows Hartley better than me, so Kelson will want to talk to me.”

Ryerson studied my face for a moment, checking to see if he was looking at resolve or just bravado, but he must have decided I wasn’t full of shit because he turned to a couple of his men and commanded them to bring Kelson into the briefing room.

Minutes later Kelson was brought in, in cuffs, Rodriguez and Brodie flanking him, and they put him in the chair across from me between the two of them.

All eyes were on the disgraced profiler as he stared at me, his eyes that same flat, cold lifelessness as before.

“Go ahead,” Ryerson directed.

“So,” I said to Kelson, “they think Hartley wants to hurt me. I say no. What do you say?”

The silence went on for several moments before Ryerson began speaking.

“I told you, Jones, he—”

“No,” Kelson agreed, cutting off his former boss. “Craig Hartley would try and take you, but not hurt you. That’s why the gesture today.”

I nodded, leaning forward in my chair. “You would’ve been in trouble if you killed me.”

“Yes. He would have had me killed if I’d succeeded.” And for the first time, I saw actual fear on his face, the worry in the twist of his mouth, the furrow of his brows.

“He never has to know,” I said with a slight smile, whispering the last conspiratorially. I needed him on my side so he’d talk to me. This was the only in I had.

He had sounded sad, dead, but suddenly he snapped his head up, and a light infused his face. “You won’t tell him?”

“Well, I hope not to talk to him soon, but no, I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you,” he said breathily, clearly overwhelmed.

I shrugged. “And you know, even if he reads it on some secure email, he won’t believe any other report but mine.”

“That’s true.” His smile was really beautiful. “I—you’re being very kind to me.”

“Why shouldn’t I? We’re two of a kind, aren’t we?”

He nodded.

“We both know Hartley well.”

“Yes,” Kelson agreed, sounding hopeful.

“There’s not too many of us.”

He leaned forward.

“I mean, how many more of us could there be?”

“You might be surprised.”

“Would I?” I asked as though unconvinced, digging gently, not wanting him to notice me trying to excavate the truth.

He nodded, hands on the table, doing the same thing Hartley used to when I visited him in jail, straining to get closer.

“Hartley can’t have that many acolytes.”

“Not like us,” he advised me, lumping us together. “But he has more friends in the Bureau. He’s very seductive.”

Gasps from all over the room.

“Do you know who?”

“Some, not all. I’m thinking that if I need some leverage down the road, pulling another name out of my hat will be a good thing.”

“That’s smart,” I told him, nodding, then cleared my throat. “Did you kill those guys, or did you have someone else do it?”

He looked surprised, shocked, but even in such a short time, from this morning to now, I was getting a feel for him, and the camaraderie I had going worked for him just as it had, in a way, on Hartley.

“Come on,” I prodded. “I’m thinking you had help.”

He smiled slowly, the façade of disbelief stripped from his features as he smirked. “I did have help. I have guys on my payroll, just like he does.”

I nodded. “Nice.”

“He thinks I’m so helpless, but I’m not.”

“No, you’re definitely not.”

Kelson puffed up, pleased with himself and me. “How did you know?”

“That it wasn’t Hartley?”

His eyes were sparkling with excitement as he nodded.

I smiled at him, tipping my head. “It’s not really him, right? The whole heart-in-hands thing is much more poetic. It was truly artistic.”

“It was, wasn’t it,” he sighed happily. “He was right about you, Marshal. You do see things so very clearly.”

“I try,” I said, moving my hand, reaching for his.

He grabbed me quickly, and Ian shifted beside me, hand on my thigh under the table, gripping hard, nervous suddenly, not liking what I was doing.

Kelson clutched at my hand, covering our joined ones with his other as he searched my face. “This is the scary part now.”

“I know,” I soothed. “You did all that to create a diversion, right? You know your team has to run those guys down, see where they were, find out the stories, and while they’re doing that, then you had time to do something else.”