Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

“Never?” I pressed, because it was so odd.

“No. Have you guys?” Segundo asked.

I tipped my head giving him a maybe without committing before I got in trouble for oversharing. That, too, was an issue with Latham. Without meaning to, Ian and I ended up going on and on about how we did things in Chicago. It was not endearing us to our current boss. And I understood, I did, no one liked to hear how they were not measuring up in comparison, but if the information could be helpful and the job could be done better, how was that not a good thing? Ian said the Army was just like that. Heaven forbid someone wanted to make a change so things ran more efficiently. “So where’s your partner? I’d love to meet him,” I said to change the topic.

“He got paperwork duty, but he’ll be done shortly,” Segundo answered, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Well, we’re on our way out, so we’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow,” I said, trying to extricate myself.

Ian’s scowl had been immediate. He was not a big fan of new people putting their hands on me. Even before we were anything, he’d been very possessive of my space.

“Hey,” I said to my partner. “We better go find some place to eat before we both pass out from hunger, right?”

“Yeah,” he agreed quickly, reaching out and taking hold of my bicep, easing me forward to stand beside him. “I’m starving.”’

We didn’t make it to the elevator that was not even five feet away.

“Hey, you should let me and Hewitt take you guys out to one of our favorite places. We can swap war stories, eat, and get our drink on.”

I wanted to go to the store, get food, and go back to the condo and veg with Ian, but it was not the smart thing. We needed to bond with the people we were working with, and Segundo seemed like a good guy. Even more importantly, I didn’t want to sit around and talk to Ian about Hartley and he didn’t want to share the reasons… again… why he didn’t want to get married. We were sort of talked out and if we weren’t alone….

“Yeah, sure, just tell us where it is,” I agreed quickly, drawing a frown from my partner. “We can meet you there.”

“We can actually walk it. That way no one has to drive if we overindulge.”

“But it’s a school night,” I teased.

“Work hard, play hard—isn’t that the marshal motto?”

I didn’t think it actually was.

THE CULINARY Dropout at The Yard was on 7th Street, a few blocks from the courthouse. I had thought to drive because normally it was cooking outside, but at the time of day we were walking, right around six, it had cooled somewhat, down to the high 80s, so it wasn’t horrible. Without humidity, strolling, not running, it was almost nice.

Usually when we went out to eat, we went home first and changed out the Glock 20s so we were both carrying our secondary weapons. Ian had a SIG Sauer P228 semiautomatic, and I had a Ruger SR9C Compact Pistol with laser and stainless-steel slide that I could keep either on my hip or in an ankle holster. He’d bought it for me after hearing me say enough times that, unbelievable as it was, I did own only one weapon. Ian found that whole idea horrifyingly sacrilegious—he owned three, counting his M1911 that he took with him when he was deployed. So he remedied that when he moved in with me. I got the gun, which he liked and found both dependable and easy to conceal, in a beautiful wooden box with my initials carved in the top right corner. Kohn had given him crap about it, not understanding why it wasn’t a nickel-plated Desert Eagle or something, but Ian being Ian said it was the man carrying the gun, not the gun itself that made it badass.

It felt odd to be walking around with my duty gun strapped to my hip when I was off for the night, but everything about Phoenix was weird, so it was simply one more thing in a long list. I had also wanted to change out of my undershirt and button-down and trousers, but it wasn’t in the cards. In Chicago I would have made certain to wear a jacket, but it was just too hot here to even contemplate. Ian looked a bit less miserable in his Dockers and denim shirt, only the AMI Alexandre Mattiussi Black Chelsea boots he had on dressing up his outfit at all. Of course, Ian had no idea what was on his feet. I bought shoes, put them in his side of the closet, and he wore them. It was probably good that he didn’t know the prices of any of them.