Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

The trip to my hotel, Days Inn Las Vegas at Wild Wild West on Tropicana, was fast, being just three miles from the airport, and when we got there they waited as I checked in. It wasn’t on the Strip, but I couldn’t have cared less. The important part was that it was cheap and clean and, if I needed a car, the parking was free. It was perfect for me.

After I ditched my bags and the suit and tie I was wearing, we got back into the car and drove over to the Strip, to the Plaza Hotel and Casino and Hash House A Go Go inside it. It was busy, but Redeker had either called ahead or had an in with one of the managers, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t ask. I just followed when he told me to and took my seat in the booth across from him and Callahan.

“Don’t even look at the menu,” Redeker ordered. “Just have Andy’s Sage Fried Chicken Benedict. You’ll thank me.”

“It’s too big,” Callahan cautioned. “Take a look at the other—”

“Starving,” I reiterated, passing Redeker my menu. “I’ll have that.”

I had orange juice and coffee, and when my food came, what looked like ten pounds of chicken. I took a picture and was going to send it to Ian, hoping that it might spark a quick text in return, but then I realized that wasn’t me. I’d never done it before. Even if I felt that needy on the inside, showing the ache to Ian wouldn’t fly because it did nothing for either of us. I’d make him sad and then I’d feel guilty. It was useless on both sides, as was hoping for some word. When he was doing anything related to the military, there was never any word. I had to be better about reminding myself of that.

My problem was putting Ian out of my mind. It was easier said than done, especially when faced with a meal he would have found so much joy in sharing with me. Taking a breath, I pulled out the large rosemary stalk jammed into the top of my dish and dug in.

“Jesus,” Callahan said a while later, staring at me. “You’re actually going to finish that.”

“You should see what my partner and I normally do for breakfast,” I told him.

“No, I don’t think I should,” he teased.

Once they both relaxed, the company was as good as the meal. I got to hear about their last case, and there was much debate over who hit the windshield of the car that made the driver swerve. The conversation made me homesick for Ian, but when I went quiet, neither man noticed.

When we got back to the hotel, Callahan and Redeker checked in with their boss, Supervisory Deputy Braxton Ward, who was by all accounts a man who yelled often and hated the DEA as much as I did.

“Yeah, you could transfer out here,” Callahan assured me. “You’d get along with Ward just fine.”

As I worked on my laptop, pinging Ian just in case, I watched Callahan moon over his partner and wondered how Redeker was missing it when it was so transparent.

When Callahan had him look at something on his laptop, Redeker leaned in close, and even if I hadn’t seen Callahan inhale, I would have heard it. He was pining… hard… and I was guessing from Redeker’s lazy smile and “lighten up, kid” attitude that he had no clue he was inspiring such hunger. I wondered if I was ever so dense, or if Ian had been quite so oblivious.

I was probably reading way too much into their partnership.

“We need to go over the plan, Jones,” Redeker said as he crossed the room and sat down beside me on the bed.

It was really very simple. We’d go to the lounge, dive bar, whatever it was, in the early evening and catch Hess between sets. If he was ready to go, we’d call for backup, follow him home, and get him into custody. If he wasn’t, he’d have uniformed police officers watching him who would put a serious crimp in his freedom.

Callahan and Redeker left me about two o’clock so I could catch a nap and we could all shower and clean up. Before I crashed out for maybe a couple of hours, I called the office and Kohn and Kowalski were on desk duty, answering phones and running background checks.

“Check the news,” Kohn told me after we exchanged greetings. “The interim chief apologized to Becker today.”

“No shit.”

He grunted.

“Did Becker go to the press conference?”

“Fuck no. You know that ain’t him. Plus, a marshal that has his picture splashed all over the place is not a smart man.”

“True.”

“Becker did issue a statement saying that the practice of pulling people over when their only crime is driving while black must stop.”