Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

It started to rain really hard, and only then did I realize I’d left my leather jacket at work on the back of my chair and the bag I brought back from Vegas under my desk. I’d spaced on it when I left, the alcohol had warmed me in the club, and the driver had the heater going full blast in the cab. But now in the deluge of water, I could drown, but I would probably die of hypothermia first.

I was jogging toward my door when the call of my name stopped me. Barrett was standing in his doorway, letting other people in and waving at me.

Diverting since there was no one at home waiting for me anyway, I darted up his steps and stopped on his welcome mat, which burped with the water I squeezed out of it even as it absorbed more.

“You need the kind with holes in it like I have,” I teased.

“Jesus, get in here,” he insisted, taking hold of my bicep and dragging me inside, closing the door quickly behind me. “You’re soaking.”

I grunted my agreement.

He looked at me like I was nuts. “Are you all right? Your pupils are huge.”

“I think I just killed my Alexander McQueens, and that’s a damn shame.”

He glared at me. “We’re worried about a pair of shoes right now?”

“Boots,” I clarified, nodding, not liking my chances of them living through all the water in them. The noise they were making when I walked, that sort of a squelchy, soggy sound, was not good.

“Take off your boots and I’ll get you a towel.”

I shook my head, which sent cold rivulets down the back of my neck and into my eyes. “Home is right there. I just stopped to say hi.”

“You’re soaked to the skin.”

“I am,” I agreed.

He studied my face a moment before he reached out and put a hand on my cheek. “Not that you don’t look good, but what’s with the all-black ensemble?”

“It’s a long fuckin’ story,” I said, smiling at him, lifting free of his touch, roughly putting my hands through my hair, pulling out the water, squeezing the small ponytail that told me it was more than time to get it cut. Now I was surprised Kage hadn’t reminded me earlier in the day.

“Do you want to stay here?” he asked softly, taking a step closer to me. “You could take a shower, and I’ll run over to your place and grab some of your clothes. I’ll send everybody else home and make you a real dinner.”

“Real?”

“Yeah,” he croaked, giving me a trace of a smile. “All I’ve got are burgers and hot dogs right now.”

“That sounds good,” I said. “How about I run home, shower, and then come back and meet your friends and eat.”

His face lit up. “That would be great.”

“Okay.”

“Is Ian gone?”

“Yeah, he was deployed.”

“Wow, that’s fast. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “It’s his job.”

“Yes and no,” he let slip. “But go home and come back.”

“If I don’t it means I passed out, all right?” I said, turning for the door.

“Then don’t go yet. Eat first. Let me get you a towel. I’m afraid you’re going to pass out with only alcohol in you.”

“How do you know I drank tonight?”

“Miro, my friend, you smell like smoke and beer.”

“Gross,” I said, chuckling. “I really should go home then.”

He studied me. “You’re not drunk, though.”

“There’s still a bit of a buzz left, but not much. Any food will soak up the remainder.”

“Well, then let’s get you fed, and after you eat, you better strip down and take a nap in my guest room. I think you need a keeper tonight.”

“Ian’s jealous of you,” I said, because my filter was nonexistent not from alcohol but instead due to a profound lack of sleep.

He grinned slightly. “Ian should be afraid, but not of me, per se.”

“Afraid?”

He put an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. Can you walk?”

“I was running,” I quipped. “You just saw me.”

“Yes, but I think you’re fading just a bit.”

I scoffed even as I felt my knees wobble ever so slightly. Eating was not the worst idea ever.

Barrett’s friends were nice. They were a few guys from his gym, and some people from work who brought their husbands/wives, another partner at his firm and his husband, and a friend from college who’d come in from New Jersey and was staying with him through the weekend—like Janet would be with me—upstairs on the phone at the moment. He’d apparently been there since Monday.

“So you must be the hot guy who lives next door that Barrett’s been telling us all about at work,” a woman said as I inhaled my burger, far hungrier than I’d realized.

“I think he was probably talking about my boyfriend,” I teased with a wink.

She smiled back. “Perhaps.”

Barrett coughed, clearly uncomfortable. “You know you can have another one, right?”