Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

“It’s a big fuckin’ ding,” Kowalski informed me.

I pointed at Ian. “He just doesn’t wanna drive it anymore.”

“Yeah, I can’t blame him,” Kohn admitted, looking revolted. “It doesn’t scream armed and dangerous, more middle management.”

Kowalski shivered. “I can’t even fit in that.”

I snorted in spite of myself, and Ian cracked a grin. “Fine,” I relented. “We’ll have it towed back so the dent can be banged out.”

Ian’s whoop of happiness made me smile.

“Call it in,” I directed, shaking my head when he hit my abdomen in excitement.

HEADING TO the restaurant, riding in the back seat of the Mercedes Benz that was Kohn and Kowalski’s vehicle, I complained about how slow he was driving.

“Miro’s used to me taking the corners on two wheels.” Ian snickered.

“I try and keep all tires on the road at all times,” Kohn affirmed in his superserious voice.

I approved of that, just not the lack of speed. When I complained some more, he actually hit the gas, but not enough to make me happy.

“I could die of old age back here,” I insisted, leaning forward between him and Kowalski. “Lemme drive.”

“Not on your life,” Kohn assured me as his partner put a massive hand on my face and shoved me back.

I turned to Ian. “You gonna let him treat me like that?”

Since he couldn’t stop laughing, I figured my backup was not forthcoming.

After we’d eaten, we walked three doors down to a bar Ian knew, and he and the marshals from Oregon, along with me and Kohn—Kowalski bailed to drive Joyner and one of the other detectives back to their hotel—got down to some serious drinking.

When the stories started getting swapped, I was ready to go. It was well after midnight and we all had to work later today. But Ian got talked into darts and more drinks and finally, around one thirty, I had to take drastic measures.

I caught him coming out of the bathroom as I lay in wait.

“Hey.”

He turned fast, saw me leaning against the exposed brick wall, and strolled over.

“What’re you doin’?”

I shrugged. “I’m beat, so I’m gonna head out.”

“Without me?” he asked, instantly concerned.

“I don’t want to keep you from having a good time.”

He took a breath.

“Unless you’d rather come home with me?” I asked softly, taking hold of his hips and pulling him into me, my eyes locked on his.

“I… yeah,” he rasped, inhaling sharply as I opened my stance, allowing him to push in closer, my thigh sliding between his legs.

“I wanna kiss you,” I promised softly, gently. “But I can’t do that here.”

“But you will at home.”

“Oh yes,” I said, smiling at him.

“Okay, let’s go,” he replied hoarsely.

“Good,” I agreed, glad that we didn’t have to go pick up Chickie from my friends Aruna and Liam, since they’d agreed to keep him overnight. I’d had no idea how long the op would run, so I’d made arrangements.

When we got back to the table, the others wanted to know what bar we were hitting next. I got it, I did, we worked a crazy scary job, and the unwinding was necessary and allowed people to bond. But I was beat and could barely make conversation, let alone sing “Kumbayah” with all of them.

“Actually we’re both going,” Ian apprised them. “Work and all that.”

We were called lightweights, but Kohn called it a night, too, and we caught cabs, Kohn over to Roosevelt and State where he lived in some new high-end apartment building, and me and Ian down to the Loop where we caught a bus out to the Fullerton stop in Lincoln Park. It took longer than a cab would have, but that would have cost a mint. As it was, the walk from the stop to the Greystone was short.

I was about to start telling Ian all the hot sweaty, sticky things I had planned for him the second we got home when his phone rang. As soon as he looked at the caller ID, I saw his face fall.

“Oh no,” I said without meaning to, because I’d had a few drinks. “No-no-no.”

But it was obvious and unchangeable. He was leaving on a mission later this morning—I caught that much listening to his yes-and-no answers—and all we’d have would be a few hours, for God knew how long. His smile after he hung up tried hard to show me that everything was going to be all right.

Once inside, Ian locked the front door before we both took off our jackets and hung them up, and then he turned to say something to me, but I grabbed him instead.

“You’re leaving me again,” I whispered, shoving him against the door, my chest plastered to his back, holding him in place. I caught his left wrist with my right hand and pinned it above his head, using my other to reach up under his shirt and pinch his left nipple, hard.