Tied Up in Knots Page 11

  “Well, for one, you’re not as charming as me,” I replied, loving the fact that even though he had nothing to worry about with me, ever, that he was still rattled. There was a vulnerability there that touched me deeply. Scary-ass Ian Doyle worried that anyone could turn my head was terribly endearing. “And we both know you don’t make friends as easy, and—”

  “Go to hell, M,” he groused, whacking me in the belly. “I’m plenty fuckin’ charming.”

  “—I know you’d never cheat on me.”

  He froze. “Now, wait, I never said you did somethin’ with him.”

  “No?”

  “Fuck no!” he yelled, getting more worked up by the second. “You’d never.”

  “That’s right, I would never.”

  “It doesn’t make me any less jealous,” he husked, leaning in and kissing my cheek. “But that’s on me. I’m the one who leaves you all alone.”

  I was not getting into his military service at a funeral for his fallen team member. “Well, I’ll always be right here, waiting.”

  “That’s good,” he said, letting out a deep breath and hugging me tight again. “That’s all I need.”

  I hugged him back so he’d know, of course, I felt the same.

  “Okay, so we better go back,” he said, and I heard the hesitance in his voice even as he nuzzled a kiss against my cheek before slowly easing free. We moved like honey, savoring the contact, hesitant to break it but knowing our quiet moment of respite was done.

  Walking around the crypt, we moved out onto the cemetery drive that ran the length of the property and made our way back toward the others.

  “Goddamnit, Doyle!”

  There was Odell, Bates, and two other guys I didn’t know, and really, my plan was to be good. I was going to just shut up until it was time to leave, but then I got a clear look at the man I’d punched and the laughter rolled right out of me.

  “Fuck you, Jones!”

  It was hard to look menacing with tampons shoved up your nose, Ranger or not, and Odell—the picture he made, all puffy-faced and outraged—was hysterical. Even when I tried to stop laughing, the staccato snickering couldn’t be helped.

  “You proud of this shit?” one of the guys I didn’t know flared, the hostility thick in his voice and in his hands fisted at his sides.

  I shrugged. “He came at me first, man.”

  “It’s a funeral, you fuck!”

  “Yeah, I know,” I replied, gesturing at Odell. “Tell your boy.”

  Two other men joined them, and I saw Ian’s eyes dart around. We were away from other people and we were outnumbered, and probably it was just going to be a lot of back and forth, but I wasn’t taking any chances. All of these men were trained soldiers who could hurt me—Odell notwithstanding, with him being three sheets to the wind—and I wasn’t about to let any of them harm Ian again. Once was more than enough.

  “Hey, what’s goin’ on?”

  Everyone turned to see smiling Deputy US Marshal Chris Becker. At six three, built like the linebacker he was in college, he was one of the nicest guys anyone could ever hope to meet—until he wasn’t.

  “What’s up, ladies?” he asked Ian and me, snorting out a laugh.

  “Sorry to bug you at a funeral and all,” his partner and best friend, Wes Ching, said as he bumped through the men surrounding us and walked up on me. “But if we’re going to the Befuddled Owl for torture, we’re making sure you and Doyle are too.”

  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.

&nb
sp; 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.”

  We fell silent again, not sure what else to say to her. She wasn’t my friend. I had no shared memories to offer up in the moment.

  “Where are Eddie’s folks?” Ian finally asked. I’d watched him scan the room.

  She scoffed. “Oh, Ian, come on. You know they never thought I was good enough for their son. They buried him in the family plot and took the flag right outta my arms—did you see her do that at the grave?”

  He nodded.

  She leaned into him, against his chest. “That’s the last I’ll see them, just you watch.”

  “No,” he said because it was expected.

  She held up her hand with the diamond engagement ring and matching band. “If she comes for this ring he gave me—just ’cause it’s been in their family for however long—I tell you what, she can kiss my ass.”

  He squeezed her tight, and after she gave him a gentle pat, she left us to visit the next group of people.

  “Doyle.”

  It was his former CO, the same man who’d made sure we came to the house, Major Delaney, and he gestured for Ian to follow him outside.

  I moved to go with them, but Delaney shook his head.

  “Then no one else goes out there with you guys either,” I insisted.

  “And why’s that?” He dared me to speak, clipping the words.

  “His safety would be in question,” I retorted.

  “Is that right? What precisely do you think I’m going to do to him?”

  “I dunno, could be anything,” I shot back. “But at least I know you can’t leave him anywhere again.”

  Ian lifted his hand to quiet me as Delaney, fuming, threw open the door as well as the screen and pounded down the steps that led to the yard. Ian shot me a look—which I gave him right back—and then went after him, closing the door behind him.

  “Don’t worry about your boyfriend,” Odell called over to me from where he was on the couch. “The major won’t touch his faggoty ass.”

  “We saw you two duck out of sight at the cemetery,” Bates said, adding his two cents. “That’s disgusting, and if I’d known Doyle was like that, I wouldn’t’ve ever gone back for him.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Bates jeered, standing up. “Better dead than gay.”

  I lunged toward them but Becker caught me, holding tight as Ryan walked over to the men seated on the huge sectional.

  “Ya best quit runnin’ your mouths there, boys, or I’ll take you in for threatening the life of a federal officer.”

  Bates scoffed up at Ryan, who was looming over him. “Go to—”

  “We can hold you for seventy-two hours just for the threat alone.”

  “I’m a soldier, you prick.”

  “Me too,” Ryan assured him. “But we’re not talking about soldiering. We’re talking about right here, right now. And right now… you keep jawin’, and you’re going downtown.”

  All eyes were on him.

  “So,” he said with a sigh, the epitome of boredom. “What’s it gonna be?”

  None of them said a word. Apparently federal marshals trumped Rangers when said Rangers were not on active duty. They all got up to leave, and they gave Ryan a wide berth.

  Becker let me go with a straightening of my coat and a pat on the back, and I went to the window to look out at Ian and his old CO.

  “Excuse me.”

  Turning, I found Danita Stanley in front of me. Up close she was flawless, perfect, like a 1940s Hollywood starlet standing luminous in a spotlight. I got why Ian had done it, why he’d reached for her. If girls did it for me, I would have too. “Yes?”

  She cleared her throat. “Did I hear Odell say…” She trailed off because it hadn’t been a nice word the asshole had used and she must not have wanted to repeat it. “Is Ian gay?”

  “Ian’s bi,” I corrected, giving her a look. “Obviously.”

  “No, we— He must’ve told you about us because you’re his… his… you’re with him.”

  “I am.”

  “So you know that we didn’t.…”

  “Didn’t what?”

  She exhaled sharply. “When we, that time, it was—”

  “Actually I really don’t need to know any of this. It’s none of my business.”

  She was quiet, thinking. “Yes, you’re right. It’s not, except that you should know that Ian was the only one who saw me.”

  I waited for her to say more, but she couldn’t, as evidenced by her reddening eyes and trembling chin. I took her hand and I saw her relax, sort of cave in, before she gave me a trace of a smile.

  “My husband,” she began. “He was into being a soldier, and he left me alone even when he was home, and Ian…. Well, he saw me.”

  I nodded.

  “He would talk to me and flirt, of course, but they all did with all of us—all the wives. It’s fun and friendly and sweet in a way, so that we all know we’re loved by the group, a family, and it was great. But I was so lonely. And when Jace came home, he still wanted to be with those guys, going out, raising hell, drinking. Most of them have families, so they couldn’t, but a few of them did, and then he had friends who weren’t those guys, too, and… then there was Ian.”

  She’d been waiting a while to tell this story, I could tell.

  “How was I supposed to turn down attention from that man?”

  I understood. Ian’s attention, once given, was something one developed a taste for. Just his eyes on you was enough to illicit surrender.

  “I’ve never been kissed like that in my life.”

  I smiled at her because, yes, I agreed. Ian had a wicked mouth, and he knew how to use it.

  “But when it was time to….” She looked uncomfortable.

  “Pull the trigger?” I offered.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “When it came time to do the thing… he couldn’t.”

  I caught her wandering gaze and held it. “Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?”

  “Wouldn’t,” she amended. “He said he didn’t want to compromise me, and he couldn’t do it to Jace and still look him in the eye.”

  “But?” I heard the “but” in her voice.

  The tears came fast. “I was mad, right? I wanted to be compromised. I wanted to be Ian Doyle’s conquest.”

  “So you lied,” I concluded, releasing her hand.

  “I lied.”

  “And your husband told his buddies and everything that happened, happened, and then Ian came back and left, and today’s the first time you’ve seen him.”

  Quick nod of her head.

  “Does anybody else know?”

  “I told Jace when the divorce became final two years ago.”

  “How did he take that?”

  “Not well,” she said quickly, so I was guessing that was an understatement. “We’re no longer speaking.”

  “And where is Jason now?” I asked formally, using what I assumed was the long form of his name.

  “He moved to Florida.”

  “Not a soldier anymore?”

  “Oh no,” she said hotly, and I could hear the lingering anger. “He got out and married some teacher he met there. They’ve got a couple of kids already.”

  “And you?”

  “I have a type,” she replied, her voice crackly. “But most men my age who serve are married or have someone.”

  “Sure.”

  “And everyone talks a good game about cheating, but once it’s there, on the table, you’d be surprised how many men chicken out.”

  Or were just good guys who were caught up in the moment but came to their senses before it was too late.

  She crossed her arms. “I saw Ian and I didn’t see a ring.”

  “Right.”

  “He looks better now than he did six years ago.”

  There was no doubt Ian would get better looking with age. He’d have peop
le propositioning him right and left when he was seventy.

  “I thought I’d been given a gift, a second shot at what I’d missed out on the first time around.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “But now he’s gay.”

  I wasn’t about to correct her a second time.

  “Or bi,” she added. “Right?”

  “He was always bi.”

  “What about latent homosexuality and all that?”

  “I dunno,” I answered, because having been gay all my life; I had no idea how anything else worked and honestly never cared to learn. Since Ian liked both women and men, and now liked me best of all—that was really the extent of my interest in any discussion of his sexuality.

  “But he’s bi, you said, so that means he likes women too.”

  Was she asking me or telling me?

  She tipped her head, studying my face. “That doesn’t scare you? That it’s not just one or the other, but both?”

  I didn’t need to let her in on my thoughts, on the fears that sometimes still plagued me because, just as I’d thought the night before, even though Ian was equally attracted to both genders, I was the one who had his heart.

  “That would scare me to death.”

  I would have answered her, but Ian was striding in from the middle of the backyard where he’d been talking to Delaney, and was now closing in on the door. Slipping around her, I was there when he reached it and opened it for him.

  “So?” I asked him.

  “I need to go to the office before we hit Portillo’s,” he said, grabbing my bicep and yanking me after him.

  “Wait,” I argued, pulling free so he had to turn and face me.

  “What?”

  “Is there actually someone out there that you think is trying to kill you and whoever else?”

  “Not me, but Delaney’s spooked, because of the six of us who went out with Lochlyn the night he freaked out, Laird and Regan have both died in hit-and-run accidents over the past five months.”

  “Okay, but who’s this Lochlyn guy?”

  “I’ll explain at the office, I swear.”

  “Then let’s go now.”

  He smirked at me. “You saw that I was trying to get us out of here, right?”

  I glared at him and he opened his mouth to defend himself.