Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

I checked the screen myself and saw that according to our database—not only the same one the bureau and Homeland Security used, but also our own warrant information network—Kerry Lochlyn was nowhere to be found.

“He refused treatment and was discharged, and that’s the last record we have.”

“Look, though,” I said, pointing at the address. “His folks live in Trenton.” Turning in my chair, I yelled for Sharpe.

“Jesus, I’m right here,” he snapped.

I ignored his tone. “Hey, remember when you went to Jersey to pick up what’s-his-name—the cat burglar who saw the mob hit….” I had to think. “Tommy something?”

“Timmy,” he corrected me. “Timmy Halligan. Yeah, why? What about him?”

“You worked with a couple guys you said would fit right in with us, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember the guys, but”—he turned to White—“what were their names?”

“Kramer and Greenberg,” White supplied.

“Yeah,” he said and then looked back at me. “Why?”

“Ian needs them to make a home visit.”

“Send it over here and I’ll call ’em.”

Swiveling around, I was faced with a glower. “What?”

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea to mix military business and marshal business.”

“If this guy is gonna try and hurt you, then it’s all the same,” I assured him.

“I don’t think so, and Kage probably wouldn’t want us wasting company resources on—”

“Let’s see,” I said, standing up.

“Miro,” Ian snapped irritably, trying to grab me and pull me back down into my chair. “Just shut—”

“Men,” I called out to the room. “Listen up.”

I had everyone’s attention.

“Who thinks Ian and I should check out a guy who may or may not have a vendetta against Ian’s old team from when he was a Ranger and who might then want to kill him?”

It took a few moments for my words to sink in.

“Is this a trick question?” Becker asked.

I arched an eyebrow for Ian.

“I’m calling now,” Sharpe let me know.

“Sit the fuck down,” Ian grumbled.

It was fun being right.

CHING WANTED Greek food, so the six of us headed over to The Parthenon on Halstead to get our saganaki on. We all ate a bit at the house after the funeral, but not big full plates, so eating so soon was not a problem. We were caravanning to Hyde Park. Becker and Ching were leading in their car, and Ian, Ryan, Dorsey, and I were following in the tricked-out Hummer they had been assigned. It was one of the things we did, driving cars seized in drug raids and awaiting auction.

“This is nice,” I said, wiggling in my leather seat. “We should carpool somewhere else before this baby gets sold.”

“We could seriously help SWAT out in this thing.” Ryan snickered. “I feel like people should get the fuck out of my way… in… traffic….”

“What’s wrong?” Dorsey asked, able to read Ryan’s voice just as I could Ian’s.

“The fuck is going on up there?”

Ian and I leaned forward, and the four of us watched as, on the other side of the street, through the light we were now stuck at, Becker and Ching were stopped.

A police cruiser was sitting behind them, and as we waited for the red to change to green, another cruiser roared up and parked behind the first one while still another slid into the spot in front of Becker and Ching.

“What the hell?” Dorsey asked as we saw the four uniformed officers all draw their weapons and aim them at the interior of the car.

“Oh fuck, no,” Ian roared as the light changed colors.

Things happened fast.

Ryan gunned the motor, and we were there behind the last cruiser, coming to a screeching halt that couldn’t be helped with how close we were and how fast we moved. We all got out at the same time and jogged toward the scene.

The shouting was immediate as I heard sirens in the distance.

“Stop where you are!”

“Those are federal marshals!” Dorsey shouted back. “The hell are you doing?!”

There were more cops in minutes, but by then, the four of us were around Becker and Ching’s car, all with our hands up but not giving up our weapons—if we in fact had them, which we did, but they couldn’t see under our coats—and certainly not getting on our knees. The cops hadn’t shot at us, luckily, and we hadn’t stopped, stubbornly, but that was as good as it was going to get. Already, that fast, things had escalated. It was scary and really, it had to look odd, four men standing around a car while six officers held guns on us and no one backed down or away, everyone just static. As the first news helicopter flew over us, I thought it was time for the officers to rethink their position.

“You’re drawing down on six federal marshals,” Ryan informed the cops even as others joined them. “Do you want to maybe look at some ID at this point?”