At five ten and the smallest member of our team, people made the mistake of thinking he was not the scariest of us all. That was so not the case. I’d seen Ching with three bullets in him taking down a fugitive, seen him run down the middle of the Eisenhower Expressway dodging cars and trucks, and I’d seen him sprint over scaffolding twelve stories up at a construction site. His balls were so big it was a wonder he could walk, so when he moved through a crowd, people got out of the way, even the clustered military elite. They made a hole for him. He, like our boss, had been a Marine. Apparently that chip stayed on the shoulder even when you left the Corps.

“Attention!” came a yell from behind the men.

Everyone froze where they were and saluted the man who also moved easily through the crowd. Ian showed the same respect, saluting as well, and held the rigid posture as the man stepped directly in front of him. The uniform’s black nametag read “DELANEY.”

“At ease,” he said to Ian, but everyone else relaxed too. “Doyle.”

“Sir,” Ian answered, and the icy tone was not lost on me.

“I need you to come to Laird’s house so we can discuss an issue of a highly sensitive nature that impacts all of us.”

“Pardon the question, sir, but I haven’t been a part of this unit in quite some time.”

“But you were when Lochlyn was, and therein lies the problem.”

“Sir?”

“I believe he’s trying to kill a few of us.”

Chapter 8

BEFORE WE got to Eddie Laird’s house in Canaryville on the 700 block of West Forty-Eighth Street, I made Becker stop at a Dunkin’ Donuts we passed on the way so we’d walk in with something. Three dozen glazed seemed the least we could do. When we got to the house, I was surprised by how much Janice appreciated the gesture.

“Come in, have something to eat,” she urged us.

“Ma’am,” Ian said, introducing her to Becker and Ching, who were there with us now, as well as Ryan and Dorsey, who’d gotten held up at the office, but since Ryan knew I needed backup, he’d sent the others on ahead.

The house was built around the 1800s, I could tell from the neighborhood. As I looked around, I realized it was two stories of small box rooms with an asphalt roof and a basement covered in wood paneling Eddie and Rose never got around to renovating. A scrolling metal railing—brown with rust instead of black—wrapped around the front porch, the front door had a tiny window that looked like a porthole in it, and inside shag carpeting patterned in green, white, and black became beige Travertine linoleum in the kitchen. I had no idea what was in the bathroom because I had no reason to go in there. An oppressive damp coldness inside the cluttered home felt real, but could have just as well been my imagination. I didn’t ask anyone else if they felt it too. I just needed to bide my time so I could take Ian home.

As we stood in the living room, all of us still in our coats with plates and drinks Janice insisted on, Ian finally got around to asking our fellow marshals what they were doing there. He’d been so busy in the car, catching up from being away for four months, happy to see them, that he didn’t notice the timing was odd.

“You needed backup,” Becker explained, smiling at Janice as she came by to check on us. “Ma’am, may I say that this chicken tetrazzini is marvelous.”

Her smile was instant and flushed her cheeks a very becoming shade of pink. “Thank you, it’s my mother’s recipe.”

“Well, she must be a great cook.”

She patted his arm. “Yes, she was.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it was years ago. It’s just so lovely to see you eat. I always wanted to cook for Eddie, but he was never home, and now I won’t have grandbabies to cook for either.”

“My condolences,” Becker said gently.

She squeezed his bulging bicep and then turned to Ian. “I know you’re not in their unit anymore—Rose just told me—but are you still on active duty?”

“Reserves,” he told her.

“Oh good, that’s good,” she sighed, smiling at him through welling tears. I suspected she’d be weeping on and off all day. “Stay home and settle down, Ian. There’s more to life than being a soldier.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ian replied automatically.

Of course my heart was lodged in my throat, so I could not have said one word. Amazing that people just spoke your wildest dream out loud.

When she left, we were all quiet until Rose joined us.

“The meal is wonderful,” Ching offered.

She nodded. “Yeah, Greta, Odell’s wife, she’s a great cook, and my mom made the chicken dish ’cause it was Eddie’s favorite.”

Tags: Mary Calmes Marshals Crime
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