“You should introduce me. You were raised better than that.”
Morgan growled in response, the irritation rolling off him as he gestured at me with a tip of his head. “This is Deputy US Marshal Miro Jones, who’s been my new partner for the week. Jones, this asshole is my older brother, Lieutenant Connor Morgan.”
“SWAT, huh?” I said, holstering my Glock.
“Con’s always had to be the one with the biggest dick. Or be the biggest dick. I get that all confused,” Morgan replied sarcastically. “Because getting a gun and a badge wasn’t good enough, he wanted a tank and a battering ram too.”
“I know the type.” I had a Green Beret of my own who was of a similar disposition.
Connor’s guys were bagging up the guns on the asphalt and zip-tying everyone. People just didn’t fuck around with SWAT. If they were on-site, no questions asked, they could just kill somebody. Everybody knew that, even dirty-as-hell pieces of crap who worked for the DEA. The clean ones knew they’d be shaken loose, but the ones on the take knew they didn’t have a chance in hell of walking away.
“Hey,” Morgan said, taking hold of Connor’s bicep. “Let’s not mention this to Miki, okay?”
Connor guffawed. “Then I suggest you and the marshal get the hell out of here because dispatch just told us Dad’s on his way.”
“Shit, that’ll bring the vultures and their cameras,” Morgan grumbled, glancing around. “I’ll meet you at the precinct.” Connor nodded and Morgan reached out for his hand, and Connor clasped it tight for a second.
“Thanks, Con.”
“Always,” his brother murmured, and I heard the depth of the feeling in the singular word.
As I followed Morgan, walking briskly down the street, dodging the people rushing toward the action we were trying to ditch, I had a question.
“Your dad?”
He grunted.
“Speak.”
Heavy sigh. “He’s a captain, and we’re about on the edge of this territory.”
Okay, two questions. “Lots of cops in your family?”
“You have no idea. We’re up to five at last count. We’ve got one who’s a fireman because, well, he’s shite with a gun, and one who’s a professor. History and whatnot at the college. Baby sister hasn’t decided yet. She’d do it if she could wear heels with her rookie uniform.”
“Who’s Mickey? Like the mouse? Wife? Girlfriend?”
“It’s Miki, no E or Y, and he’s my boyfriend.”
“Got it.”
I must have sounded odd after my near-death experience, because even though he snorted out a laugh, there was an edge to his voice when he spoke. “Problem?”
“Oh fuck no,” I assured him. “I was just being nosy.”
His laugh turned warm.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“That was my brother that did that.”
“No, it was you.”
He shrugged. “Thank you for believing me. It would have been just as easy to trust Sandell.”
“I have a good track record with Irishmen,” I teased.
“Do you, now?”
I shot him a grin.
ONCE AT the precinct, Morgan downloaded the files from my phone while we watched through the glass windows as Koegle, Sandell’s superior, screamed at Morgan’s boss, Lieutenant Casey.
Koegle was turning red. Casey looked bored.
“Your boss is cool under pressure, huh?”
Morgan just scoffed. Clearly this kind of thing happened to Casey a lot. When we’d first walked into the area right outside his office, the DEA head was apparently lying in wait because he came roaring out and right up to us.
“You had no warrant, Morgan! How the hell did you even—”
“Sir,” I said softly.
“You think you can just—”
“Sir.” I got louder, even adding a cough.
“—barge into a—”
“Sir,” I barked, and when he turned in a huff, clearly irritated, I lifted my badge for him to see. “Deputy US Marshal Miro Jones out of the Chicago office,” I explained. “I was here on temporary assignment with the Northern District here, and—”
“I don’t give a damn who you think—”
“Step back,” a voice had called out.
Fun was everyone swiveling around to see the very tall, very elegantly dressed man in a topcoat and dark navy pinstripe suit with brown buttons and a red pocket square come striding into the bullpen, flanked by four other men. He was handsome—as I’d thought when I first met him when I got into town—imposing like my boss, his skin a deep rich umber, his teak-colored eyes taking in the room in one glance just like Kage always did. It wasn’t protocol to meet the higher-ups when one got to town, but Vance and Kage were friends, so I’d been directed to pay my respects.
“Who the hell are—”
“Supervisory Deputy Xavier Vance,” he announced, stepping around Sandell’s boss to reach me.
I took the offered hand and he clapped me on the shoulder.
“You good, Jones?”
“Yessir.”
“Excellent,” he said in a low baritone. “Kage wants you on a plane tonight.”
“Yessir,” I said, smiling. “He must be back.”
“It’s why I got a call.”
“Yessir.”
He turned to Morgan and extended his hand. “I need to see your boss.”