Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

We sat on the patio away from where you could play shuffleboard and ping pong, on couches around an unlit fire pit. Apparently in the winter—mid-November, December—it got cold enough to use it. I couldn’t imagine.

Ian got a beer—they had the Dogfish 90 minute IPA he liked—and I had the Green Flash they had on tap, plus water for both of us because really, hydration was important in the heat. We let Segundo do the ordering, getting us appetizers, meat, and cheese, and though he suggested the prosciutto deviled eggs, since I was not a big egg eater outside of omelets, I had to put the kibosh on that. It was nice that his partner, who had not made the walk over, finally caught up and joined us.

Hewitt was the exact opposite of Segundo—blond-haired, blue eyed, with a golden tan and a lean, long muscled frame. Segundo’s body was gym-toned, cut and hard, and between that and his deep, dark brown eyes and thick black hair, I was betting that he had never in his life been starved for female companionship.

“It’s about time I get to meet the guys who are giving our commander an aneurysm,” Hewitt greeted us happily as he stood and leaned over the table, offering us each his hand one after the other. “I hope you’re planning to stick around for a while. I’m looking forward to seeing his brain explode.”

Segundo snorted out a laugh. “He really don’t like you guys.”

I knew that already.

“Please tell me you both like to play pool,” Hewitt said hopefully.

“Who doesn’t like pool?” Ian asked quietly, but I heard the edge in his voice as he bumped his knee against mine and let it rest there.

“Well, then, we should go after this. I know the best place.”

I was going to say that we’d see, that if we were vertical we could decide, because the two of us were operating on zero sleep and I knew from experience that the less rack time—as Ian called it—he had, the more on edge he would get. And not like cranky the way I got, or prickly and generally a dick. Ian had occasional night terrors that the shrink who regularly cleared us all for duty said was mild PTSD.

Kage made us all go talk to the staff psychiatrist every six months. I hated going, made sure to smile a lot and give answers so he’d think I was simple. More than likely Dr. Johar knew I was bullshitting him, but he was nice enough to never call me out. But my partner was another story. Dr. Johar had concerns about Ian and his bad dreams, which could wake him up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panting for breath. Since he’d moved in with me there had been none, but he confessed that he got them when he was deployed or if he slept somewhere else other than with me. Lately, being overly tired all the time, sleeping so hard when he finally did, he’d been having nightmares. I had planned to get him to bed at a decent hour, sometime before midnight, and so playing pool seemed like a bad idea.

“Sure,” Ian agreed, leaning back on the couch, taking hold of my sleeve. “I’m a shark, right, M?”

I looked over my shoulder at him. “Definitely.”

After the one beer, Ian and I both stuck to water, so by the time we left two hours later, we were the sober ones. Both Segundo and Hewitt had pounded down drinks, easily two an hour, so since they were stuck walking the rest of the night, we were as well.

The pool hall Hewitt took us to wasn’t his favorite, he said—that one was out in Mesa—but the family-owned place downtown would suffice until the weekend, when he’d take us to his spot. On our way in, I noticed a little boy standing outside an alley on the opposite side of the street, and as we waited in line to get into the pool hall, he tried to get the attention of people walking by. No one stopped to listen to him even though once or twice he even grabbed for the clothes of those passing him by. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but between how scared he looked and the way he wrung his hands, head turning left and right, I could tell he needed help.

“I have Cardinal tickets for a couple weeks from now,” Segundo said, draping an arm around my neck and squeezing gently. He was obviously one of those guys who you got a few drinks in and got all touchy-feely. I didn’t mind, he was harmless, but Ian’s glare was getting icier with every passing second. “You and Morse should come with us.”

I made a noise of agreement, still distracted.