And suddenly I was being smothered with hugs and kisses, and there was no way I was getting out of the house anytime soon.
Eventually Min and Jensen took Catherine downtown with them to the Four Seasons for the night. We all agreed to reconvene for breakfast the following morning before the three of them flew out.
Ian and I cabbed it home with Chickie and had the driver drop us a couple blocks from home so we could get our werewolf’s walk in.
“So who were you talking to before we left this morning?” I asked as I walked beside Ian, his arm around my shoulder.
“Kage. I needed to let him know we were flying.”
“And he must’ve let you tell people that you were there on official business.”
“He did.”
I grunted.
“What?”
“It’s not like him to break the rules.”
“It wasn’t rule-breaking, though, right? It was just being able to say, ‘I’m here as a federal marshal, not just as Ian Doyle.’”
“Still, that was nice of him.”
“I’m in his direct chain of command now. He has to do stuff for me; it’s part of picking me in the first place.”
I chuckled.
“What? It is.”
“I guess you—Ian?”
He had stopped walking and didn’t let me take another step forward. As I looked down the street toward our house, four other houses between us and it, I saw a man sitting on our front stoop.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“I don’t—”
“Oh no, wait,” I said as the man stood up and waved to me. “I know him. That’s Efrem Lahm from Homeland.”
“Who?”
“Efrem Lahm,” I repeated, waving back. “I met him in Phoenix at the hospital when I went in the ambulance with the Guzman kids.”
“And what is he doing here?”
“I don’t know, baby. Let’s go ask.”
Ian wasn’t thrilled, but the closer we got, and when Efrem came down the steps and stood on the sidewalk, looking crisp and polished in a cashmere trench coat, dress pants, and Prada wingtips, but not in any way threatening, Ian calmed. Seeing also, up close, that Ian had easily fifty pounds of muscle on the smaller, more delicate man, helped put him even more at ease.
“Efrem,” I greeted when we got close, hand out, reaching.
He took my hand, shook warmly, and then repeated the motion when I introduced him to Ian.
“It’s nice to see you,” I said as he pet Chickie. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“This is going to sound odd, but I need you to bear with me.”
“Course.”
With that he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a beautiful antique gold pocket watch and passed it to me.
I turned it over in my hands, opened the case, and saw the inscription. It was simple, just the words For Miro with the initials CH underneath. I took a breath before I lifted my head to meet his green gaze.
“The fuck is this?” Ian asked coldly, on edge, there to protect me, glancing around the street, scanning for a threat.
“Efrem?” I questioned, squeezing the watch in my hand, not about to let it go and wanting to at the exact same time. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“What you have there is an eighteen-karat-gold Phillippe Patek chronograph pocket watch that has a matching eighteen-karat-gold watch chain with the key to Doctor Craig Hartley’s safe on the other end.”
“His safe?”
“Yes.”
“Explain.”
He cleared his throat, pivoted, and waved to someone on the other side of the street.
A moment ago Ian and I had just scanned the street for other people, and there was no one else there. But evidently there had been, and that someone managed to evade our notice until now, obviously put Ian on edge. Briefly he looked scared, almost panicked, but just as quickly, he squinted and his expression grew irritated. “Harris?” he said after a second.
“Doyle,” whoever Harris was called back from the shadows. I couldn’t see anybody at all, but apparently Ian could.
“What’s the deal?”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d heard. I didn’t want to spook you, plus your husband knows Ef, so I figured that was the best way to make contact.”
“We were in Afghanistan together,” Ian said, hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “We’re good.”
And with that, a stunning man stepped out of the darkness he’d blended so well into, looked both ways, and then jogged across the street to us.
He had warm eyes of the most unusual color, like a spring green with gold all swirled together. When he got close, he held out his hand for Ian, who took it quickly.
“I apologize for the subterfuge,” Harris said, addressing me. “I just didn’t know if your husband would shoot me on sight.”
I glanced at Ian. “Why would you do that?”
“Because this man used to be a CIA operative, and the last I heard, he was a contract killer, so I would have assumed that Hartley’s last request was to put you in the ground.”