Fit to be Tied (Marshals 2)

I wasn’t really surprised. He was Homeland Security, after all. “You like living here in Phoenix?”

He scoffed. “I live in Washington DC. I wouldn’t make it here on the surface of the sun.”

I liked him. I knew we could be friends if we lived anywhere near each other. “Have a safe trip home, Agent.”

“You, too, marshal,” he said as he walked away from me, down the long hall.

“Miro?”

Turning, I found Oscar.

“Hey buddy,” I greeted him.

He gestured for me, so I followed him back into the room.

It turned out that Sofia’s left wrist was sprained, but other than that she was in good shape. Oscar was dehydrated, but other than a few cuts and bruises, he too was fine. Once Mrs. Guzman heard that, I got kissed and hugged all over again.

“I know you’re the reason that both my children are still with me, Miro.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” I assured her, because I knew that without Ian giving me backup—as always—I wouldn’t have been able to save both of them.

“Yes, I know,” Mrs. Guzman agreed, smiling sweetly at me, like I was dear to her. “Marshal Doyle will be in my prayers along with you for the rest of my life.”

I grinned. “I appreciate that, you know. I can always use the help.”

She sighed deeply as she hugged her kids.

When I finally had to leave to join Ian at the office, Mrs. Guzman took my information and put it in her phone so if she felt like it, she could call, e-mail, or text me. It was the only way the kids would let me out of the room. Their mother would have kept me had six bodyguards not shown up. They all shook my hand, and as I surveyed them, I was really glad I meant the family no harm. The men were enormous, tall and muscular, and each one carried some kind of firearm. I wouldn’t have wanted to mess with them. I left knowing Mrs. Guzman and her sweet kids were in safe hands.

The FBI sent a team to pick me up and take me back to their field office where Ian, Segundo, and Hewitt waited. We were joined by Brooks Latham, who was explaining to Supervisory Special Agent Zane Calhoun that his men had followed all procedures and that Ian and I were incorrigible. He’d disciplined us yesterday afternoon for a different incident, after all, and he was very concerned that with the clear lack of discipline we were used to operating under that—

“Hold up,” Calhoun said, smiling, having raised a finger to get Latham to shut up. “You think that Chief Deputy Sam Kage is soft on discipline?”

“I—”

Calhoun’s snort of laughter sounded funny coming from such a serious-looking man. “I so wish we could get on a plane tonight so you could tell him that in person. I would pay good money to see that.”

“I—you know their boss?”

I was interested in that answer myself.

“I do,” he replied, nodding, “and if I told you how many times I wanted to break protocol when we worked an op together and how many times he recited the book to me…. Except for once,” he added, like he was remembering something before he was back, present and focused. “You’d pass out. That man is a walking manual, so I suspect that Smith and Morse here are very well versed in the procedures of being a marshal.”

“Yes, but begging your pardon, I think—”

“Tonight’s incident was a special circumstance,” Calhoun said, glancing from me to Ian and back to Latham. “And I have a remedy for the situation in either case.”

We all remained quiet as he turned toward a knock on the door. In came two men with sealed plastic bags. Ian, me, Segundo, and Hewitt were all given one, and inside the bags were our guns.

“These have all been processed, gentlemen, and your accounts of who you shot at and why are now in the record. While it will take another few days for you to all be cleared, your weapons are being returned at this time.”

“That’s fast,” Ian commented.

“We’re the FBI,” Calhoun said smugly.

A woman came in then, walked over to Ian, and delivered the Heckler & Koch P30L he had used last night.

“This isn’t mine,” Ian stated.

“You used it,” Calhoun told him, “and we ran ballistics on it and it’s clean. The serial number is gone, burned off with acid, so the gun is completely untraceable. I’m giving it to you because it will play well undercover for what I’d like you and your partner to do. At the conclusion of the op, you’ll return it to us and we’ll have it destroyed.”

“I’m sorry?” Ian asked.

“What part of returning the gun didn’t you—”

“No, sir, not that,” Ian expressed quickly. “You said undercover?”

“I spoke to Sam Kage, and he gave me permission to move you onto my task force with the DEA. You need to collect your things because I need you two in place and ready to go tomorrow morning.”