Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

Glancing at Ian, I saw his lips drawn into a hard line. Apparently he didn’t like me questioning the colonel in the least.

“Can you tell me what the process will be, sir?”

“CID, the JAG corps, and finally,” he sighed, “if it’s not deemed to be a military matter, then the FBI, as I’ve said.”

“And why is the bureau involved?”

“Because if Lochlyn is responsible, then these killings across state lines constitute a federal crime,” he informed me.

“How long will the men be questioned, sir? Marshal Doyle and I are supposed to fly to Las Vegas in the morning to transfer a witness.”

“We’ve contacted your supervisor, Jones, and marshals from the office in Las Vegas will meet you at the airport there when you land tomorrow to assist you in acquiring your witness. Then you’ll be able to return him or her to Chicago.”

I cleared my throat. “After the questioning, will Marshal Doyle be returning here, sir?”

“If he is not implicated or needed in the field,” Harney said coolly, “then of course.”

Which basically meant Ian could be gone, just like that, and this was the last time I’d see him for God knew how long… again.

“His unit just returned home, sir,” I said breathlessly, trying not to let the raw, pained, aching sadness bleed into my voice.

“Do you presume that Special Forces units take time-outs, marshal?” he asked me, his tone biting and clipped. Clearly he was not enjoying me questioning him. “That the enemies of our country ever rest?”

It was probably meant to shame me, being a civilian, but I didn’t care. The only thing I cared about was how Ian was perceived, and so I answered respectfully. “No, sir.”

“And are you prepared to do your duty, Captain?” he asked, turning to Ian.

“Yessir,” Ian almost shouted.

The duty part was meant for me, and I got it. I did. What Ian did was important, and I’d tied myself to a soldier. I knew that from the beginning and was so very proud of him. But… his job as a deputy US marshal was of paramount importance as well. Even if we were nothing else but partners at work, didn’t his current job matter just as much as being a soldier? The answer was a clear and resounding no.

“Grab your gear,” Harney ordered.

Ian had two bags packed at all times so that the second he got home, if he was called back to service that same night, he’d be prepared to leave. In the time he was gone, my job was to unload the pack he brought home, wash everything, and repack it so it would be ready. I knew most units came home from active duty and were off for months at a time. The difference for Ian’s twelve-man team was that they were Special Forces, deployed for retrieval or to subdue a target by any means necessary. It was guerilla warfare on the ground in a foreign country, and it was his duty, and he could… easily could… be going immediately out on an active mission after he was questioned about Lochlyn.

Again.

I was having trouble moving air through my lungs.

Again.

Just got home and could be leaving again.

Ian moved quickly to the house, opened the front door, and moments later, Chickie ran outside to me. He came fast and stopped at my side, eyeing all the men but not moving, keeping vigil over me, protecting my flank.

“This is the life,” Harney said to me.

My gaze met his, and I checked for any trace of disgust or judgment. Ian had told me that no matter how things changed on the outside—the death of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell; the intolerance of slurs or prejudice—the Army still cultivated a mindset of non-acceptance. You just never knew when you were going to run into it. But as I scanned the colonel’s face, I saw him only making a statement of fact that he would to any spouse or partner of a soldier.

“Yessir,” I agreed.

It took Ian only moments and he was back. He didn’t say a word to me, didn’t even look at me, and I realized he was embarrassed. My questions, my obvious distress had shamed him in front of his superior.

“Marshal,” the colonel said to me before he walked away.

Ian’s eyes met mine only for an instant, but after he got into the car with the others and was gone, what surprised me and left me speechless on the sidewalk was how wrong I was. In that instant when he left me, I hadn’t seen anger or humiliation. He wasn’t judging what I’d said or done. I saw only longing.

He wanted to stay. I saw it clear as day. The yearning had been there, all over him, on his face, in the catch of his breath, the parting of his lips, the fist he made with his right hand, and the way he almost stumbled when he turned to follow the man who was taking him away. I was home for him, I knew I was, and leaving me was gutting him.