Twisted and Tied (Marshals 4)

“So?”

He squinted at me. “So what?”

“You transferred here too.”

“Obviously.”

“Are you supposed to see Kage?”

“Yeah, and then Doyle?”

I nodded. “Ian Doyle’s the new deputy director.”

“And your guy, right?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling it in the pit of my stomach, the warmth of saying that yes, Ian Doyle was with me.

“I wanted to ask—”

“I thought you were fucking with me on the phone last night.”

We both turned to find Redeker there, glowering a few feet away.

Callahan snarled back. “If I fuck with you, you’ll damn well know it.”

“Okay, that’s my cue,” I said, coughing into my closed fist before taking a step back and retreating around the corner to the entrance of the breakroom before popping my head back out to eavesdrop on them. No way was I bailing to be left in the dark. If I was going to help them work their shit out, I had to know how deep the crap was.

“Well, that was fuckin’ great,” Redeker groused.

“Like Miro cares, he’s not like that.”

“It was still rude.”

“The only one who’s rude and an asshole is you.”

Redeker shook his head, and I saw the glower and the clenching of his jaw. “I told you not to—you can’t be here.”

“It was my idea to come. I reminded you of that last night on the phone, so why wouldn’t I be here?” he asked indignantly. “I told you I’d be here this morning. I spent all day yesterday moving into my new place because, unlike you, I built in time for that.”

“This is a mistake.”

“Yeah, yours, for not just waiting and coming up here with me,” Callahan said imperiously, somewhere between condescending and furious.

“I thought—” Redeker swallowed hard and took a shaky breath. “—you’d be good there if I left.”

“If you ran, you mean.”

Redeker tugged on his hair again—obviously a nervous habit, self-soothing that I did myself. Light glinted off the ring, and I watched Callahan’s attention catch on it. He ghosted his fingers across the silver before he took a step forward and put his hands on Redeker’s sides, holding him still exactly as Ian had held me the night before. It looked as possessive and claiming as it felt.

“Don’t—I’m trying not to fuck up your life,” Redeker whispered, shifting on his feet, ready to ease free.

Callahan moved closer, very clearly not about to let him go, and slipped his hands under the parka Redeker had on. I watched Redeker close his eyes as though it took every drop of concentration to remain standing. He lifted his own hands to Callahan’s face but then dropped them back to his sides.

“Where are you staying?” Callahan asked, his tone changing to gentle, coaxing, even as his lips hovered over the side of Redeker’s neck, debating, I suspected, whether to press his mouth to the freckled skin, or his teeth. The desire was rolling off him, the need to stake his claim, and I so understood. Back when Ian and I were just friends, not touching him whenever I wanted, not making him mine, had been almost physically painful. “You should stay with me.”

It was a good offer. I really hoped Redeker would take him up on it.

Redeker’s eyes drifted open slowly, languorously, like he was drugged. “I can’t—I shouldn’t—I don’t want it to be just like—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Callahan said, easing back, letting him go but remaining in Redeker’s space. “It won’t be like Vegas at all, I can promise you that.”

“And what the hell does that mean?” Redeker muttered, back to scowling but still not pulling away, allowing the touching.

“Everything will be exactly how you want it.”

“Why does that not sound good?”

“I have no earthly idea,” Callahan said innocently.

“Explain to me what you mean by—”

“What’re you doing?”

Redeker’s words faded out as I turned to see Ian behind me. “Where did you come from?”

“Over there,” he said, grinning, pointing at the ever-present enormous fruit basket in the breakroom. “Sometimes your body just craves citrus,” he explained, showing me the Valencia orange in his hand.

I grunted.

He tried to look around me, but I stepped sideways into the hall so he couldn’t. “I wanna see who you’re spying on.”

“No one,” I insisted as I turned and saw Redeker and Callahan walking toward us.

“Oh, I see,” Ian teased, waggling his eyebrows.

“Just be nice to them. They’re working things out.”

“I’m always nice,” Ian claimed, smirking before tipping his head at the two approaching men. “Are you Callahan?”

“I am,” he said, offering Ian his hand. “Are you Doyle?”

“Yeah,” Ian replied, shaking hands before tipping his head at Redeker. “You guys were partners in Vegas, right?”

“We were.”

“And you both transferred up, so—you good to keep being partners?”

“We are,” Callahan answered before Redeker could say a word.

“Great,” Ian sighed. “That makes things much easier. Come with me, and we’ll get your paperwork done. And you should go down and get a car before all the good ones are gone. There’s a Gremlin down there, so you might wanna hurry.”