He was glaring at me, but I saw him breathe through his nose, take in some air, and maybe calm just a fraction. “We were on Vaughn, you know the commander out at the fourth, but when he was busted for those murders, we got pulled off.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ian growled. “But I can get you in touch with Vaughn now, and with his intel, you could go after O’Brien.”
It was working, Stafford was deflating, and no, Ian didn’t have to, but he was the deputy director now, and he was supposed to be about building bridges, not slamming doors.
“Chris O’Brien had a lot of friends too, I bet,” Ian continued. “You got young guys who can go undercover?”
And of course he did.
“Call me tomorrow,” Ian offered, arms uncrossed, hand on the doorjamb as Stafford pulled his phone to put in the direct line he was given. “And I’ll get you to Vaughn.”
When Stafford met Ian’s gaze, he nodded and then turned, his men behind him all glancing at Ian before they thumped down the steps of our stoop.
“Lookit you being all professional and shit,” I teased Ian.
“Yeah, well,” he sighed, closing the door, rounding on me. “I guess I actually need to be a diplomat now, right?”
“Yes.”
“And I get you and Custodial.”
“How’s that?” I asked, feigning confusion.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, you knew that before you married me, so—who’s the idiot now?”
“Kage was right.”
“Oh?”
“You’re a caretaker, and you’re the best fit for Custodial,” he said, gesturing at the boys crossing the room to us. “You already do it.”
“I know.”
“And if you get hurt—which you will.”
“Which I will, agreed.”
“Then I’ll be here to take care of you,” he finished, stepping into me, my space, and wrapping his arms around my neck to kiss me and throttle me all at once.
Just as Drake cared for Cabot, and Marcello protected Josue, Ian would shelter me. It was how it went when you loved someone.
“You signed on for this,” I reminded Ian as I closed my eyes and leaned on him.
“Yes, I did,” he agreed. “I most certainly did.”
Chapter 10
THE BOYS slept over, which made for interesting sleeping arrangements on the couch and floor, but they all wanted to stay to watch a movie with Ian, especially Marcello, who must have thanked him a million times for sticking up for him.
“Just don’t be a stranger anymore, and come with Josue when we all do stuff.”
“I will,” he said, beaming at Ian. “I so will.”
The hero worship was cute.
When our alarm went off at six the following morning, I was surprised to find Cabot up already, having made coffee and smiling at me blearily.
“Why’re you up?”
“I just wanted to say that I appreciate all you and Ian have done for me and Drake since you got stuck watching over us.”
“Never been stuck with anything or anyone in my life, kid,” I told him, tousling his hair. “I kinda like you.”
His smile got even brighter before he took a sip of his coffee. “What’s Custodial?”
I enjoyed talking to him. He was the introspective one, the artist, and when I was done explaining, he was certain I’d do great there. “You take such good care of all of us.”
“Stop sucking up, kid,” Ian grumbled as he walked into the kitchen, yawning, leaning in to kiss me before staggering toward the coffee maker.
At work an hour later, having rousted the boys and dropped Chickie off with Aruna, I was really not surprised to find Bodhi Callahan, Redeker’s partner from Vegas, standing in the hall that led to the locker and breakroom.
“Callahan,” I called.
He moved quickly, gracefully, smiling as he came, hand out for me to take.
I grasped tight, grinning at him. “I knew you’d be right behind him.”
Instant frown. “Did he tell you this was my idea?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Of course not.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I have a friend who just moved back to California a couple weeks ago, so he’s letting me sublet his place,” he told me. “It’s a loft over on Michigan Avenue.”
“Whereabouts?”
“In the Prairie District?” he said, grimacing. “I dunno what that even means yet.”
“It means it’s nice,” I assured him. “They made a lot of those old industrial buildings into lofts. I looked at those, but I wanted a private gated area and the whole sanctuary when I got home, you know? No neighbors right on top of me.”
“Gotcha.”
“But you’re happy with it?”
“Only been there a day, but yeah.”
I had to ask. “And Redeker?”
“What about him?”
“Come on.”
He shook his head, and the sun-streaked dirty-blond mop that fell to his shoulders caught the light, the wheat and copper, chestnut and gold. Between the hair and golden tan that was now, I realized, his natural coloring, he was stunning. He was twenty-seven when we met a year ago—with Redeker eleven years his senior—but I could tell he was one of those guys who would never age. I was betting people stopped and stared at him wherever he went, which was not great for a federal marshal, as we preferred to go unnoticed until the very last second before a bust went down. He and Redeker together, as striking as they both were, had to be a challenge.