Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

“Hey.” Barrett smiled at him. “Sorry to intrude. Just dropping off some alcohol and takeout.”

Ian smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes as he descended. He glanced at Chickie, who was standing beside Barrett, letting him scratch behind his ears, and then padded across the floor in his bare feet to join us.

He reached out, and he and Barrett shook hands.

“Ian, this is Barrett Van Allen. He bought the house on the left,” I explained. “And Barrett, this is Ian Doyle, who you’ve heard all about.”

“I have,” he replied affably. “It’s good to meet you, marshal.”

Ian nodded and withdrew his hand, taking the bottle of wine Barrett had brought over from me. “I heard what you said, and you’re right, there’s no jazz on. Miro thinks I don’t like it, but I just like my music better.”

Barrett chuckled. “Well, I have to tell you, Miro had the windows open the day I moved in, and the music was coming out of here along with the smell of—what was it?” he asked, turning to me, hand on my bicep.

“Pot roast,” I supplied, remembering.

“That’s right,” he sighed, and I heard the regard in his voice, the warmth and contentment. “And the mix of the two of them, and then Miro out back throwing the ball for your werewolf—I felt better than I had in months.”

“Werewolf,” Ian repeated, using my word for Chickie just as Barrett had.

“He took pity on me and fed me, and—well, when you’re new to a city, it’s really nice to make a friend.”

“It is,” Ian granted with a nod.

“And even though I’ve met a ton of new people now—Miro was the first, so I’ve got kind of a soft spot for him.”

“Sure,” Ian mumbled. “So where’d you move from?”

“Manhattan,” Barrett sighed, giving Ian a lopsided grin. “But it was time for a change, and when Mayhew and Burgess came calling, I had to say yes.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s one of the biggest law firms here in Chicago along with Jenner Knox and Pembroke, Talbot and Leeds.”

Ian looked sideways at me.

I shrugged. “I had no idea either.”

His smile made my pulse race; he had that effect on me. “We don’t know any lawyers here that’s why, only in LA.”

I was ridiculously touched that he remembered where my friend Min practiced law, and slipped my hand into his.

“You do now,” Barrett interrupted, giving Ian’s shoulder a gentle pat.

“Barrett’s now one of the top defense lawyers in the city,” I told Ian.

“Well, lucky we’re marshals, so we don’t need him,” he said, lifting my hand and kissing my knuckles before he let me go.

“But friends we can use,” I said, flashing him a smile before I went into the kitchen to check on the food and finish making the salad. “Especially ones who bring good wine.”

“Aww, gee, thanks, I feel so loved,” Barrett volleyed before walking by Ian to follow after me, putting the takeout on the counter. “And I got your favorite, the spicy eggplant, so you’ve got to keep it.”

“How ’bout this. I’ll keep that, and you take your weenie-ass mild kung pao chicken.”

His snort of laughter made me smile.

“Not all of us can handle hot,” he said, walking around behind me and putting a hand on my back. “But I’ve got to ask, what did you make? Because it smells fantastic in here.”

“Aruna cooked, not me.”

“Really?” His voice cracked.

“Do you know Aruna?” Ian asked as he joined us in the kitchen.

“Yes, I met her when Miro took me with him to her house on Labor Day. We had this amazing meal, her husband made smoked lamb—which I thought would be disgusting—but it didn’t taste like anything I’d ever had, and the sides she made were just phenomenal.”

“You sound a little starved for home cooking,” Ian observed. “How long’s it been since you had any?”

“Two weeks ago I took Miro to a Blackhawks game and he fed me before that.”

Ian nodded.

“It was just meatloaf and mashed potatoes and green beans,” I commented, because he didn’t need to make a big deal out of such a small thing.

“No,” Barrett said with a long exhale. “It was fantastic and I owe you a good dinner out in return. Next time Ian’s deployed, it’s a date.”

I groaned. “Don’t say deployed. I just got him back.”

“I’m sure it will be a long time from now,” Barrett soothed.

“God, I hope so,” I sighed, checking on the food.

“You should stay and eat,” Ian said, passing the wine bottle back to Barrett. “And open that up for you and Miro. I’ma get a beer.”

“No, man, it’s your homecoming. I don’t want to be a third wheel.”

“It’s just food,” Ian assured him, opening our Philco refrigerator and hunting for the beer he wanted. “There’s no floor show.”

Barrett laughed, clearly liking Ian already.

“Just stay and eat,” I insisted. “Put the bag in the fridge unless you wanna run it back to your place.”