Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

“What if something happens to my unit because I’m not there?”

“You’re saying you’re the only person who can do your job?”

“I’m saying I do my job really well, and there aren’t a lot of guys with my training or my experience, so yeah, I’m the most qualified.”

“So there’s nobody else with your skill set.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying, of the guys out there, I’m one of the best.”

“Which I don’t doubt in the least, but this is something you choose to do.”

“Yeah.”

“So I’m asking, when will it be enough? When will you stop?”

He was silent a moment. “I’ll stop when they don’t need me anymore.”

“Which is never,” I mumbled. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I have my answer.”

“Which means what?”

“It means I know what I’m in for then.”

We were silent until I pulled up on our street in Lincoln Park and slid in behind a sleek little silver Saab.

Getting out, I grabbed the umbrella behind the seat and went to dart around the side to cover Ian, but he threw open the door, yanked his now soggy duffel from the bed of the truck, and started charging down the sidewalk toward home.

Locking the vehicle with the remote, I jogged after him, but when I tried to cover his head, he batted the umbrella away.

“Why’re you being an ass now?” I shouted over the sound of the driving rain.

He rounded on me. “If it’s not worth it, we should just call it quits already,” he barked.

I was stunned… for a second. And then I felt the anger wash through me, over me, spread to my tightening gut and up into my throat I could barely get sound out of.

“If you want out, be out,” he said flippantly. “But the bitching about me serving my country is killing me.”

The serving his country part was a nice dig.

“Did you hear me?” he asked curtly.

“I did,” I replied, meeting his gaze. “And yeah, I’m out.”

His eyes went wide as I pivoted and stalked down the street.

Chickie met me at the front door, but instead of petting him, I wrenched him outside by his collar and pointed him down the street.

“Look, it’s Daddy,” I choked out and watched as the werewolf flew down the stoop, heading for Ian.

Slamming the door shut behind me, I turned on the lights, hurled the umbrella into the stand, kicked off my sneakers, and headed upstairs. I had my coat hung up and everything that was wet off my body when I heard the front door bang shut.

“The fuck are you doing?” he roared up at me.

Standing beside the railing on the loft, staring down into the living room at him, I realized he was shaking. Hard to tell if he was cold or mad, but I was guessing a little of both.

“You—” I started but stopped, unable, even in the midst of a crisis, not to smile.

“The hell are… you… oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Chickie.

He was so happy to see Ian, he was jumping up and down beside him. He wasn’t touching Ian, but he was obviously so excited, so over the moon, that he could barely stand it, and as a result, he was doing a really good kangaroo impersonation. The height he was reaching was impressive.

Up and down, over and over, the epitome of joyful delight.

Stupid dog.

Ian did a slow turn, and Chickie whimpered and whined, stopped hopping for a second and made a circle, singing to his master in a sweet low howl he normally saved for serenading Sajani before he put his front paws on Ian’s shoulders and licked his face all over.

The chuckle that came out of me was involuntary, but watching Chickie bounce around, there was no way to keep a straight face.

“Get down,” Ian grumbled as he petted his wet dog and tried to wipe rain and dog slobber off his face with his own dripping sleeve.

“You should take a shower,” I told him. “I’ll come down and dry off Chick.”

His head snapped up. “How could you just say—”

“How could you,” I fired back, leaning over the railing. “That was bullshit and you know it, but you said it anyway because you’re mad at the situation and taking that crap out on me.”

His glare was dark.

“I’ve never once said I didn’t want you, not ever. Do I get the whole putting yourself in danger all the time? No, I don’t. Do I get you signing up to be away from me? No, I don’t get that either,” I growled. “What I do get is that you feel like you have to because you’re the only one who can. And even though I think that’s a helluva lot of ego there—because I’m betting there are others just as trained up as you—I get that if something ever were to happen and you weren’t there, you’d feel guilty for the rest of your life.”