Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

I turned to Ian.

“Please just don’t even look at him anymore,” he begged. “And don’t talk either.”

That at least got a half a grin from our boss.

Chapter 10

“THIS IS why you’re supposed to wear a mask,” Ian said when we got to their door and Drake greeted us.

His smile instantly fell as Ian walked by him, but I reached out, grabbed him, and hugged him tight. He relaxed in my arms; he was still a kid, after all, and needed the support.

“You did a great thing. Everybody knows it. I know it, Ian knows it. But we have to make some decisions now.”

He nodded into my shoulder, and when I tried to let go, he held on. After a few more moments, Cabot appeared beside him, the blond golden cherub he’d always been, beautiful and delicate boned in sharp contrast to the taller, broader, tightly muscled specimen his boyfriend was.

“Drake, let go,” Cabot ordered. “I want to see Miro too.”

Drake gave me a last squeeze and then Cabot was there, hugging me tight, shivering like something was wrong and he needed the comfort. I would have to find out what that was about.

“You all right?” I whispered just in case the problem was Drake.

“This got long,” he said into my throat, ignoring the question, his fingers in my hair that needed to be cut, kicked out over my ears, got in my eyes, and would soon cover my nape.

“Enough of that,” Ian muttered, walking up beside us and peeling Cabot away from me before standing in front of both of them, arms crossed, glaring. “So?”

I realized they were both looking at Ian the way I probably looked at Kage, with the same trace of wariness and respect. I liked Kage, but he terrified me at the same time. I suspected it was the same for them with Ian, especially when the man I loved was in his dress uniform, looking particularly breathtaking.

Drake nearly choked taking a breath. “You look awesome.”

“Listen,” Ian began. “You—”

“Were you getting a medal or something?”

“I was at a funeral,” he answered harshly.

“Awww, man, I’m sorry,” Drake said, moving forward to put a hand on Ian’s shoulder.

The growl he got for his trouble was not surprising. “You need to shut up so Miro and me can figure out—”

“If we stay here, will we still see you guys?” Cabot blurted.

Christ.

Cabot and Drake were special to Ian and me. We brought them into witness protection when our relationship was brand new. Cabot’s father was rich and crazy. Now he was cooling his heels in federal prison for the next eight years at least, and the word was the boys—both twenty now—no longer required protection. Originally Drake was witness to a murder he told Cabot all about, which began the whole spiral leading to them being on our radar, and Cabot’s father took that opportunity to try to kill Drake. It was a mess, but we got it sorted out. But because Cabot’s father was well connected even in prison, he still posed a potential threat to the boys.

However: Drake had saved a little girl—a great, wonderful thing—and his face got splashed all over the news. He was being called the Sexy Samaritan, and the shot of him coming out of the water, dripping wet with his shirt plastered to his carved chest and abdomen, went viral. Good heart and great body were the buzzwords. So, no more witness protection.

“Yes,” Ian said quickly, and I was so stunned I turned to look at him. “We’ll probably see more of each other, actually, and of course, if either of you gets the feeling like something just isn’t right—you need to tell us right away.”

“You can come have turkey with us,” I told them, throwing that in since my man was being so accommodating.

“Really?” Cabot asked, his eyes lighting up.

“Yes, really,” Ian grumbled irritably. “Now are you going back to Ford and Jenner, or keeping the new last names?”

They were keeping the new ones; those were what they’d used to build their new lives and what they’d use when they got married in the spring.

I envied them the wedding part.

“Miro, come look at this still life I did,” Cabot pleaded, grabbing my hand and tugging me after him toward the bedroom.

It was a cute little apartment they’d moved into after they decided the one we initially put them in didn’t fit the kind of people they were. This one was in Hyde Park close to the university Drake attended and had all the charm of a first place a couple got together: exposed red brick, a fire escape to sit on, wooden floors, radiators in every room, an ugly tiled kitchen, and the requisite black tabby alley cat turned house cat that had gotten huge from nonstop eating and sleeping. His name was Boozer, and I didn’t want to know why.