All Kinds of Tied Down Read online

  “You’re such an asshole, Doyle!” Pellegrino yelled before Ian slammed the door shut.

  “Don’t bruise him,” I cautioned like I always did.

  “Why the fuck not?”

  I groaned.

  “And for the record,” Ian huffed, rounding on me. “You do not go into buildings alone. What did we say about that after Felix Ledesma?”

  I mumbled something because my iPhone had buzzed with a text and I was reading.

  “Miro!”

  “I hear you.”

  “Look at me.”

  My head snapped up. “Yeah, fine, okay, shut up.”

  “No, not fine. Not okay. Every fuckin’ time you take off your shirt and I see the scar right above your heart, I—”

  “I know,” I soothed, leaning close to bump his shoulder with mine.

  He growled.

  “Oh,” I said, noticing the time. “You need to dump me and the Cleaver off so you can make your date with Emma.”

  The way his whole face tightened was not a good sign, but far be it from me to tell him that his girlfriend, though wonderful, was not for him. It would have been so much easier if she was toxic and I hated her. The truth was, she was sort of perfect. Just not for him.

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  “When?” I was confused. “I’ll process our prisoner so you can be on time for once.”

  He looked uncomfortable. “And then what?”

  “Oh, I’m supposed to be playing pool tonight with some guys from my gym.”

  His face lit up.

  “No.” I snickered. “Bad. Your girlfriend does not want to play pool with strangers.”

  His glare was ridiculously hot. “How do you know?”

  “That’s not a date, Ian.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t go either.”

  I wondered vaguely if he had any idea how petulant he sounded. “I broke my left wrist, not the right. I can hold a cue just fine.”

  “You should go home and go to bed,” Ian said, glowering as he walked around the car to the driver’s door.

  “No, man, I gotta work through the pain,” I teased before I got in.

  “What’re you talking about?” he asked irritably after he slammed his door and turned to me. “You broke your fuckin’ wrist.”

  “But isn’t that your mantra or some shit? The Green Beret code and all? Screw the pain?”

  “Playing pool isn’t work. You don’t hafta do it.”

  Throat clearing from the back seat. “You know, you guys could just leave me here,” the Cleaver suggested cheerfully. “Then nobody has to do paperwork at all, and maybe you guys could double date.”

  Ian twisted around in his seat. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you shut the fuck up before I get you back out of this car, take off the cuffs, and make you run away so I can shoot you.”

  “Maybe you’ll miss.”

  Ian scoffed.

  “I’ll take that deal. What’re you carrying, a nine millimeter?”

  “Again, not cops. Marshals,” Ian explained. “You ever get shot with a forty caliber?”

  I couldn’t contain my chuckle at how contrite the Cleaver appeared.

  “Maybe I’ll just stay put.”

  “And shut up,” Ian barked.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  He turned around and gripped the steering wheel, and I realized how tense he was.

  “Shooting people is bad,” I stressed playfully, poking Ian’s bicep.

  I got a derisive sound back, but that quickly, he seemed better, the edge gone.

  “Move this crate. I need to get this guy processed fast, because I really have to change.”

  “At least your shoes, huh?” Ian teased, the tip of his head and the eyebrow waggle really annoying.

  I did my best to ignore him.

  Chapter 2

  GRANGER’S WAS an older pub downtown, close to The Loop. I had fallen in love with it over the many times Ian dragged me there. It had good cheap beer, great hotdogs, and a haphazard floor layout that sort of meandered from room to room, making it feel bigger than it really was. Ian and I normally staked out a spot between the pool tables and the dart boards where we could still see whatever game was on the TV above the bar as well as the door. Checking who came in was always important to law-enforcement types and was something that couldn’t be turned off.

  So I wasn’t thrilled that the table where my gym cronies gathered was toward the back, but I made my way through the crowd to them anyway after stopping at the bar to get an IPA I liked.

  “Miro you made it,” Eric Graff, my occasional racquetball partner and one-time fuck buddy, greeted me as I reached them.

  The other men and women were also pleased to see me, all except Eric’s new boyfriend, Kyle, who, I was guessing, didn’t love Eric’s arm draped around my shoulders. I would have told him not to worry—I never went back for seconds unless either my mind was challenged or there were fireworks in bed. Neither had been the case with Eric.

  Giving his arm a quick pat, I extricated myself and moved through the group until I reached Thad Horton, who was more than an acquaintance but not quite a friend.

  “Hey,” I greeted the pretty man who I had swam laps with many a time. He was a tanned, tweezed, manscaped twink, always quick with a smile and a kind word.

  “Miro,” he almost squeaked when he saw me, which alerted the gorilla standing beside him.

  “Babe?” he asked, checking on Thad before focusing his attention on me. “Who’re you?”

  “Just a friend from the gym,” I said quickly. “You must be Matt. Thad talks about you all the time.”

  He took my hand, clearly relieved, shaking fast. “Matt Ruben.”

  “Pleasure.”

  “Oh, are you the FBI agent?”

  “Marshal,” I corrected him, watching Thad grimace behind him and mouth the word “Sorry.”

  Quick shake of my head to let him know it was no big deal.

  “That’s right. Marshal,” Matt went on. “Thad was very impressed.”

  “It sounds far more glamorous than it is.”

  “Doubtful,” Matt said kindly. “You wanna break, man? We’re just starting a new game.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  It was fine, and everyone was nice enough, but I’d made up my mind to leave when the game was over. I was bored, as was the usual with me unless either Ian or one of my very best friends was there. I really was lousy at casual interactions. When my phone buzzed a few minutes later, I leaned back against the exposed brick wall to answer.

  “You’re on a date,” I commented.

  “It’s actually a group thing, and we’re having dim sum.”

  I snorted out a laugh. Dim sum would not fill Ian up. He loved Chinese food as much as me—but noodles, chicken, and pork in large portions, not small pieces in steamer baskets.

  “Fuck you, come meet me.”

  “Meet you? It’s a date. She wants you to get comfortable with her friends.”

  “I don’t care. I feel like hitting a ball.”

  Whenever he was bored, he thought about going to the batting cages. “Closed until March, buddy,” I reminded him. “It’s like twenty degrees outside right now, plus snow.”

  “What about bowling?”

  “What about it?” I chuckled.

  Silence.

  God, I was ridiculous for even considering going. “Where are you?”

  My hunger for Ian Doyle’s company had gone from casual appreciation and friendship to a craving for the man himself that sat like a cold, hard stone in the pit of my stomach. Not that anyone knew; even the object of my affection would never be allowed to see how famished I was for his touch on my skin, his scent on my sheets, his breath in my ear. I hid the yearning well.

  “At Torque in River North.”

  “That’s not a Chinese restaurant.”

  “Like I don’t fuckin’ know that.”

  “Then what’re you—”

  “I told you
, it’s stupid.”

  “Are you sure it’s okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure, just come on.”

  “All right,” I muttered, levering off the wall, “Gimme like—”

  “Wait, where are you?”

  “I’m at Granger’s.”

  “Oh, I’ll come there instead.”

  “Ian, buddy, you’re on a date,” I emphasized. “You’re not supposed to bail.”

  “I’ll just tell them—”

  “Just stay put. I’ll be right there.”

  A huff of breath and then he was gone.

  I made my excuses to the group, drained my beer, handed off my pool cue, and was on my way to the door when I moved to shift around a woman and she turned.

  “Jill,” I said, smiling fast.

  “Miro.” She beamed for a second and then faltered. “Oh, is Ian with you?”

  How her whole face fell, like there was nothing worse she could think of than seeing my partner, was sort of sad. “No, he’s not. I’m actually going to meet him now.”

  “Good,” she sighed, clearly relieved, and then she visibly realized what she’d said. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like—”

  “It’s fine.”

  She exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I know he’s your partner, but honestly the only good quality the man has is having you for a best friend.”

  I smirked. “You don’t think that’s a little harsh?”

  “No, I really don’t. You should have a PSA made, Miro. Something like: even though Ian Doyle is drop-dead gorgeous, just walk away, because dating him will be short and disappointing, as he’s clearly holding out for someone else.”

  I nodded, moving to leave. “So you’ve given this some thought, I see.”

  “I wasted a month of my life thinking a US marshal would be a fun thing to have,” she said, shrugging. “I may be an idiot, but he’s the one guilty of false advertising.”

  “Well, I think—”

  “And he’s terrible in the sack.”

  It was my cue to run; it was too bad I couldn’t. The crowd was too thick for me to bolt, so I plastered on a smile and pushed through. She caught my hand quickly, squeezing tight, letting me know that we were still good, before I pulled away and she was swallowed.

  Outside, I moved to the curb to hail a cab, and my phone rang.

  “What?”

  “We’re on our way to The Velvet Lounge. Meet me there.”

  I laughed into the phone. “Ian, buddy, I am so not dressed for The Velvet Lounge.”

  “Me neither.”

  “You’re wearing a suit, aren’t you?”

  “No. Why?”

  Lord. “Let me talk to Emma.”

  There was some muffled noise and then, “Miro?”

  “Hey, Em,” I said softly. “Are you guys going to The Velvet Lounge?”

  “Yeah, we are, right after we drive Ian by his place so he can change.”

  I coughed softly. “Em?”

  “Yes?”

  “Was The Velvet Lounge a last-minute group decision?”

  “Well, yeah. I’m doing some PR work for the owner, and he just called to say he put me on the list for tonight. How awesome is that?”

  “So great,” I agreed weakly. “But would it be okay if I borrowed Ian? My plans fell through, and I don’t know if he told you I broke my wrist today, but—”

  “No, he—oh, I’m so sorry,” she said sympathetically. “But ohmygod, yes. Can I pretty please pawn him off on you?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I swear to God, he’s so bored and he’s bringing everybody down.”

  I was certain he was. Ian did not suffer in silence. “Yeah, please. Put him on.”

  “I’ll owe you big time. Thank you.”

  If she only knew how permanently I wanted to take him off her hands. “No problem.”

  Again there was the muffled noise of a phone being passed around. “Hey?”

  “I’ll grab sandwiches at Bruno & Meade. You come over, bring Chickie, and we’ll take him for a run after we eat, all right?”

  “Yeah?” He sounded so hopeful.

  “Yeah, come on. Your woman said you can come play with me.”

  “I don’t need fuckin’ permission,” he said, instantly defensive.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t want to hurt her feelings, which was nice,” I pacified. “But she’s fine, ready to have a fun night, and you’re bringing all the hipsters down.”

  “Like I give a—”

  “You’d rather be there?”

  No answer.

  “E?”

  “I’ll meet you at home.”

  “No, at my place, not yours.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  It wasn’t what he said unless… but thoughts like that did me no good. “Okay.”

  “Yeah, so, all right.”

  Which was his version of thank you and I’m sorry for being a dick and everything else. He was very lucky I spoke Ian. “Don’t forget to bring the scoop thing, ’cause I ain’t picking up your dog’s crap.”

  He was laughing when I hung up.

  WHEN I got home, the lights were on in my small Greystone, so I knew Ian was already inside. I tried really hard not to like the idea of him being there when I walked through the door, because wanting something I couldn’t have was a recipe for bitterness. I loved having Ian as a partner, we fit perfectly, each playing off the other’s strengths, and I didn’t want that feeling to change. So I squashed down the stomach flip over seeing him in my kitchen, drinking a glass of water as he leaned against the counter.

  “Just come in, why don’t you,” I groused.

  From around the side of the couch came Ian’s creature. Easily a hundred pounds of powerful muscle, Chickie appeared even bigger than he was with all the long black and white hair. I wasn’t sure what kind of dog he was, and Ian didn’t know either. I had often said maybe timber wolf.

  “What are you doing in my house?” I asked the dog, who didn’t break stride until he reached me, shoved his wet nose in my palm and danced for me, so very happy to be included.

  “Thanks, M,” Ian said as he drained his glass and sat it down. “You’re the only one he doesn’t freak out.”

  “It’s because I know he doesn’t really eat people,” I said, scratching behind Chickie’s ears and under his chin as he wriggled and then pranced after me as I joined Ian in the kitchen. “Maybe we should run him now, before we eat. He seems kinda wound up.”

  “Yeah, that’d be good,” he agreed.

  “Lemme change,” I said, putting the bag of food down in front of Ian. He was in sweats and a hoodie, so I needed to be dressed the same. “Throw this in the fridge and see if I have any beer glasses in the freezer.”

  “What’s wrong with drinking from the bottle, princess?” He grinned at me.

  “Dick.”

  He started to whistle as I took the stairs to the loft where my bed, closet, and second bathroom were. It wasn’t a whole second level, which I liked about the layout.

  Once I was in sweats that had “US Marshal” down the side, I came back down and headed toward the front door.

  “Why do you wear those?”

  He lost me. “What?”

  “The work sweats.”

  “I don’t understand the question. We wear these when we train.”

  “Yeah, I know, so why the hell would you wear them when you’re off?”

  “They’re sweats, Ian. Who the hell cares?”

  “They’re flashy.”

  My eyebrows lifted involuntarily. “They’re flashy?”

  He flipped me off, snapping Chickie’s leash on and stalking to the door.

  “They’re flashy,” I repeated.

  “People are gonna want to see if you’re a real marshal, and what if they fuck with you?”

  “Yeah, that’s true, because, you know, the dog won’t deter anyone at all.”

  Again I was flipped the bird before the three of us went out the front door. Locking it
behind me, I leaped off the top step of the small stoop.

  “One, two, three—go!” I yelled, and I bolted away from Ian, running down the sidewalk like a crazy man and charging across the street without looking, knowing that in my Lincoln Park neighborhood the only thing I was in danger of being hit by would be a snowplow.

  It was dark but the streetlights were on, and the sky was a beautiful deep blue with indigo patches that would soon be lit up with stars—though I might or might not be able to see them for the light pollution. I loved the time of night when people were sitting down to dinner and I could see into their homes for just a moment as I jogged by on my normal run. The houses blurred at the moment, as I raced toward the park with Ian and Chickie close behind.

  “Miro!”

  I didn’t stop, and I heard Ian curse before Chickie was suddenly running beside me. Ian had allowed him to run free off the leash.

  Veering right, I ran by one of the poles that kept cars off the gravel path between the field where kids played soccer and the playground with the swings and jungle gym. Chickie caught up with me again, and when I took a different route down toward the jogging path, Ian was there, hand suddenly fisted in the back of my jacket, holding on.

  I slowed down, laughing, and he yanked me into him, bumping; his chest pressed into my back. We were both still moving, so he lost his balance when we collided and would have gone down if he hadn’t wrapped an arm around my neck for balance.

  His hot breath, his lips accidentally brushing against my nape, brought on a shiver I couldn’t contain.

  “Why’d you run?” he asked, still holding on, his other hand clutching the front of my jacket, his arm over my shoulder, across my chest.

  “Just to make sure Chickie had fun,” I said, feeling how hard my heart was beating and knowing it had nothing to do with the sprint I’d just led him on.

  “Yeah, but you’re cold,” Ian said, opening one hand, pressing it over my heart for a moment before he stepped away from me.

  I was freezing the second he moved. “Yeah, I am,” I agreed quickly, patting Chickie, who was nuzzling into my side. “Let’s jog back, get the blood pumping. That way we’ll get warm.”

  Ian agreed, and we jogged together along the path, Chickie flying forward, only to come loping back, making sure Ian was where he could see him.