Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

I wanted to take him at his word and start his life, but that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t what he would do if the shoe was on the other foot. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I thought this was what you wanted.”

“It is. You know it is.”

“Then be happy.”

“Not if you’re sad. Not if you’ll be missing who you are. I’d rather us break up than have that happen.”

He took my face in his hands. “I’m not sad. I get to stay home with you now, and believe me, that’s exciting.”

“I want you to be sure.”

“Oh, I am. I know you’re the adventure.”

“No, that’s not what I—”

He laughed and then tried to ease me forward to kiss me.

I pulled back, away, or tried to, but he tightened his hold so I couldn’t move.

“The hell are you doing?”

The tears were not a surprise. “I have to go home and brush my teeth and shower and be dipped in lye or something. I’m covered in filth.”

“You’re covered in our dog’s blood and Barrett’s, who tried to kill you and who you still saved, but more than anything, you’re still you and you still love me, right?”

I couldn’t even see him through the tears.

“It’s a mess, all of it, but you need to kiss me now to remind yourself what kissing and being kissed by the man who loves you feels like.”

“How can you even want to?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he scolded softly. “You belong one place, and that’s with me.”

I took a stuttering breath.

“Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” I husked.

“Then don’t pull away from me, not ever.”

I exhaled the shame and fear as Ian leaned me forward and kissed me. And it was probably my imagination, but the way he took, the kiss felt different. It was possessive and languorous, like he had all the time in the world.

“Ian?”

“I’m really, truly home now. You’re never getting rid of me.”

“Swear.”

“Oh, I do, trust me. You promised to marry me, remember?”

I had to close my eyes with the swell of emotions that rolled through me. “Yes.”

“We should do that very soon.”

I was overwrought. That was the only reason for the tears that came hot and blurring.

“Come on, gimme ’nother kiss. Let’s seal the deal.”

I had to take him at his word and jump with him, so I kissed him with every bit of hope and happiness and trust that was in me.

He was home and he was staying. It was officially the best Thanksgiving ever.

“And now we’re going to the hospital to check you out,” he announced as soon as our lips parted.

“What? No. I’m fine, I swear to God. I was out of it, probably still am, but I just need sleep. Lots and lots of sleep, and lots and lots of sex,” I begged him. “Please, Ian, it’s a waste of time. I wasn’t the one hurt, I swear.”

He studied me for a second and then nodded and passed me his phone. “Call Kohn. Tell him we’re coming home, and tell him to get the crime scene—otherwise known as our kitchen—released right fuckin’ now.”

I groaned as I put on my seat belt and we flew away from the curb. “Those guys are federal. They’re never going to—you’re just gonna leave the Cabriolet there?” I asked, noticing the car parked a few spaces down from where we were.

“Yeah, maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll get stolen.”

I had to smile. Fucking Ian. “That’s not nice.”

“Cabriolet or an ancient Dodge, the hell,” he grumbled.

“But as I was saying, federal crime scenes can take days to process.”

“Normally, yeah, but you’re a witness and Barrett’s a witness—and by the way, you don’t get to pick out your own friends anymore,” he mandated with a look that dared me to say a word.

“Yeah, okay.”

He grunted.

“But so you’re thinking, because I’m a witness and can say what happened, and Barrett’s story will probably corroborate most of mine—”

“He might change motivation in his version, but blood spatter and bullets, fingerprints, and everything else will tell the tale.”

“Kohn won’t be able to rush them. A good crime scene investigator will never be rushed. They can hold the scene for as long as they want.”

“Yeah, but they’ve got direct evidence in this instance. They have you.”

I groaned. “I will be explaining what happened for days. I’ll be lucky if I’m out of interrogation to even eat anything tomorrow, let alone play host.”

“We have a lot of people to help us. Anything can happen. Have a little faith.”

I could do anything now. Ian was staying home.

Chapter 19

THERE WAS good news and bad news, and the good was that my kitchen, as crime scenes went, was pretty cut-and-dried.

All the bullets Hartley fired were in Lochlyn, aside from the one that blew out Barrett’s knee. He didn’t fire any others, and all the blood in the kitchen belonged to either Lochlyn or Barrett. The Walther in my sink had only been fired once in the house, and that bullet was with Chickie at the vet and would be collected from there.