Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

I WAS surprised when we reached the office to find everyone there. It wasn’t just me and Ian and our team, but other teams that now reported to our boss. As soon as we walked in, Kage called us into the conference room, where four other people were already sitting.

“Have you watched the news?” Kage asked before we even had a chance to find seats.

I glanced around the table before answering him. “No, sir.”

He indicated where he wanted Ian and me, and we dropped into the chairs at the end of the long table.

“This is Special Agent Oliver and his partner, Wojno, as well as Rohl and Thompson.”

I knew everyone but Oliver, who seemed to be in charge, judging by the way he leaned forward and stared at me. It would have been better if Wojno wasn’t there, because now I’d have to tell Ian that I’d slept with the man before my last boyfriend, Brent Ivers. It was always uncomfortable to reveal past hookups to your significant other.

I nodded, and Oliver clasped his hands in front of him as he studied me before turning to Ian. “We’re allowing you to be in on this briefing, Marshal Doyle, but it’s a courtesy, as you’re Marshal Jones’s partner and therefore would be asking questions. We expect total confidentiality and your compliance in this matter must be absolute.”

“Yessir.”

Oliver nodded and then returned his attention to me. “So, Jones, it was reported that Craig Hartley escaped from prison today, but it was actually three days ago.”

I was really proud of myself for not letting anyone see the jolt of fear that lanced through me, and for not throwing up right there on the table. Only Ian heard my sharp intake of breath, and I was thankful for his warm hand on my thigh under the table because it was the only thing real and grounding. My body flushed with a chill, and the heat from his palm coupled with the possessive hold was so much more than comforting.

“We were able to keep a lid on the information, as we wanted to run down leads before alerting the media, but now that all trails have gone cold, we need all the help we can get,” Oliver continued.

Three days the man who wanted to kill me had been running around free. The idea that he’d been on the loose and I’d had no idea was staggering. I could have opened the front door and there he would have been. It was absolutely terrifying.

“Keep in mind, Jones, that the moment we learned of his escape, you were under constant surveillance.”

Which would do absolutely nothing if Dr. Craig Hartley wanted me dead.

No amount of any kind of protection would be enough. I could never be kept safe, it wasn’t possible. He’d get to me if he wanted, simple as that. He obviously didn’t, which was why I was still drawing breath. I had no doubt that if he changed his mind, I was bound for the morgue. “Okay.”

Years ago when I was a police detective, the last investigation I worked with my partner Norris Cochran was the Prince Charming case. Some guy was killing women and turning them into pieces of art. For a while they called him The Master, after all the great artists he mimicked, but it didn’t stick. When we really dug in and found out the guy was like a walking, talking wet dream come to life up to the point that he killed you in your sleep… his name became Prince Charming. That had stuck.

Lots of detectives worked the case, and there were many viable suspects, but Cochran and I had a hunch about Hartley and neither of us could let it go. He was too squeaky clean, too calm under pressure, too nice—he used to send us doughnuts and lunch on occasion—but more than anything, he liked to talk. He especially liked to talk to me. At the beginning of the investigation, I thought maybe he was gay. But it wasn’t even that. He just liked being around me, near me, close in my personal space, and he liked it when we had tea late at night together and I told him about the case.

The night I discovered a ring belonging to one of the murder victims in his house, accidentally left behind by his sister—he’d given her the expensive bauble—he put a chef’s knife in my abdomen. I still carried the scar. But I’d pleaded with my partner for Hartley’s life and, in so doing, sealed us together until one of us died. He owed me his life, it was true, but I knew that if I ever found myself helpless in his hands, he’d do vile, unspeakable things to me and make me pray for death.

The FBI telling me that I was safe was ridiculous.