All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

“Damn, woman, you got a lotta hair.”

And that fast, instead of the obvious apprehension she had for the police detectives, I got a warm smile. She looked good in her navy Ann Taylor suit.

“I’m Nina Tolliver,” she said, like I didn’t know. Like maybe we were having a normal conversation. “And you are?”

“Miro Jones,” I answered, smiling back.

She tipped her head. “Miro?”

“It’s short for Miroslav,” I explained like I always did. “It’s Czech.”

“I like it,” she said, and I recognized that along with the interest I was getting, the genuineness, I was also seeing concern.

“Are you scared?”

She shook her head.

“Then what?”

“You two came alone?”

“No. There are two other marshals here somewhere. Maybe you haven’t seen them yet.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Gotta be,” I scoffed. “I promise you, we always transport in fours, not twos.”

Her brows furrowed. “You’re wrong. You’re the only marshals I’ve seen today.”

It was instant—the roll of my stomach, the shiver of dread, because I knew, right then, at that moment, that it was me and Kohn and Nina, and that was all.

I glanced to Kohn and he gave me a quick nod, understanding what was happening as much as I did.

“Oh Lord, I gotta pee,” he announced loudly, and all four detectives laughed as he darted out of the room.

“I like the running shoes,” I said, pointing at them. “They really set off the outfit.”

She shrugged. “I figured I’d carry my heels with me for the deposition, but I’m probably overdressed anyway. It’s not court today, not yet.”

“Right,” I agreed, realizing that now would be the perfect time to kill her, before the bright lights of the media circus. The calm before the storm, just a federal prosecutor and the defense attorney listening to what she had to say. “So we have some time. You want some tea?”

“That would be great,” she replied softly.

“I’ll make you some tea,” I yelled after Kohn before pivoting to face Nina again. “Take me to the kitchen if you would, please, madam.”

She graced me with a smile, and I was about to follow her down the short hall, but I remembered that I was acting and had to make sure it all appeared real.

“You guys want any?” I offered the detectives.

“No, man, we’re good,” Cassel answered.

Grabbing Nina’s arm, I walked her directly through the living room, into the kitchen, and stopped at the back door, where I waited.

“Hey,” one of the detectives called out to Kohn. “You all right in there?”

It was obviously to gauge where Kohn was, and in that instant, I heard the chirp of a sensor.

“Fuck!” came the yell as I heard feet pounding across the floor.

“Check the kitchen for the other one!”

Hurling open the sliding glass door, I drew my gun and shoved Nina through. “Keep up with me when I run,” I ordered loudly.

“Yes,” was all she said.

We scrambled down the back stairs, bolted across the yard, and I hopped the small chain-link fence that separated one piece of property from the other, and then helped Nina over, lifting her easily. I was surprised that I didn’t have to urge her on, to follow me, but she was very focused on survival. She wanted to live, kept chanting it, telling me as we ran.

“I have boys,” she repeated as she hiked up her skirt. “They need me.”

Through the neighbor’s obstacle course—a Jack Russell terrier that came streaking out through its doggie door to greet us, swing set, patio furniture—we ran as I pulled my phone from my pocket and called my boss on his private line.

“Jones?” he rumbled.

“I’m running from the safe house in Brookfield with Nina Tolliver. I’m not sure if Kohn got out or not. He was creating a diversion for me and the witness by going out the bathroom window. I have two detectives in pursuit. I think White and Sharpe are down somewhere on the grounds. I’m headed to George’s diner two blocks away because it’s the only place I know around here. Send backup now.”

“Copy that. We’re en route. I’ll be on-site in twenty, Jones.”

He was basically thirteen miles away, which could take him either twenty minutes or an hour. It all depended on traffic, even with a flashing blue light on top of his car. I-55—we never referred to it as the Stevenson Expressway—was the quickest way. “Okay.”

“Don’t die.”

“Yessir.”

And he was gone as Nina and I hit the street and ran. With her skirt around her ass and her running shoes on, she was flying. With my longer legs, I was still much faster, so I slowed to keep pace with her, but both of us were running for our lives.

A car closed in behind us, and a bullet hit a trash can beside me. I shoved Nina to the ground, turned, saw the threat, and fired. Cassel, who had come around the car to shoot me, went down as I put one in his shoulder. But Rybin, using the car as a shield, shot over the hood and caught me in my right shoulder, just off the edge of the second-chance vest I wore under my shirt. I absorbed the shock, feeling pressure and pain. Nina’s scream scared me as I fired back, putting shots in the hood and shattering the windshield, enough to make Rybin dive for cover.