Tied Up in Knots Read online

  Of course, I’d stopped to kiss Hartley, so maybe Chickie wasn’t such a priority for me if I wasn’t concerned for him then.

  But Hartley was a doctor, a real one, was one of the best in the United States before he got caught killing people, so when he told me Chickie would live, I believed him.

  Yes, he needed to see the vet, but I wasn’t scared until Dr. Alchureiqi was. When he saw Chickie, his face fell, and fear and remorse slammed into me. I’d held my breath, waiting, panicking in the hallway, terrified that Ian’s werewolf would die after all.

  But then he was okay and the adrenaline drained out of me all at once. Now, in the front seat of my truck with blood- and rain-soaked jeans, shivering, zapped of energy, I wasn’t really sure what to do.

  Leaning back in the seat, I finally answered my phone.

  “Miro.”

  He never called me by my first name. “Eli,” I sighed, using Kohn’s. “How ya doin’?”

  “Where the fuck are you?” he shouted.

  “I’m outside the vet’s,” I murmured. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at your place because the Feds alerted us when two of their agents didn’t report in.”

  “Eamon Lochlyn killed them.”

  “I see. And how do you know that?”

  “He told me.”

  “Okay.”

  “So you’re at my house?”

  “I am.”

  “Kowalski too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is Ian home yet?”

  “No. I’ve been trying to call him, but he’s not picking up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Your place is covered in bullets and blood, and the crime scene guys just pulled Hartley’s prints from in here.”

  “Yeah, I know he was there. I just saw him.”

  “You saw him?”

  “Well, we talked, yeah. He killed Lochlyn. He’s got a new gun he’s sort of loving.”

  “Miro!”

  He was shrieking, which was weird. “What?”

  “Miro!”

  Again with my name. “Jesus, what?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “You sound hurt.”

  “Huh.”

  “Miro?”

  “I’m not hurt.”

  “Out of it, then.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it.”

  “It’s raining.”

  “Yes, it is. Are you in the rain?”

  “No.”

  “Are you cold?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed fast.

  “You might be in shock.”

  “From what?”

  “Oh, I dunno? Your friend trying to kill you, Hartley, take your pick.”

  “That makes me sound kinda weak, huh?”

  “No. You’ve been through more than most people I know.”

  “Really?”

  “Do you know that most people don’t get kidnapped in their lifetimes?”

  “That’s probably true.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I told you, at the vet.”

  “Why?”

  “Barrett shot my dog.”

  “He shot Chickie?”

  “Didn’t anybody at my house tell you that?”

  “I just got here! Ryan and Dorsey went to the hospital because that’s where we thought you were going to be.”

  “Oh.” That made sense.

  “Miro!”

  “God, stop yelling,” I groaned, lying down sideways across the seat. “Fuck, it’s cold. I think I need a shirt.”

  “Why don’t you have a shirt?”

  “I had to use it to help save Barrett.”

  “And you forgot to put on another one?”

  “Chickie had to go to the vet.”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t think the truck’s on.”

  “Fuck,” he moaned. “Tell me the address of the vet.”

  I told him, and then I hung up and closed my eyes. When my phone rang a few minutes later, I answered but didn’t open them.

  “Hey,” he said softly, gently, just the sound of him utterly thrilling. I’d miss him when he was gone.

  “Ian,” I almost moaned.

  “What’d you do, fall asleep?”

  “No.”

  “You sound like you’re in bed.”

  I exhaled. “We need to break up.”

  Silence. It went on for so long I almost drifted off.

  “What?” He sounded angry and frantic.

  I took a breath so I wouldn’t need to take another for a bit. “I miss you too much, and I know it’s shitty and needy and whiney and everything ’cause hundreds and thousands of people wait on soldiers every year, and they’re so strong and awesome, and I’m weak. So weak. You deserve better. You deserve the kind of person who can be strong for years on end if need be, and that ain’t me.”

  “Love—”

  “And I don’t just wantcha ’cause you keep the demons away, because I don’t need you to do that anymore. I mean, if I can kiss Hartley, I think the fear factor is kinda gone, right?”

  “I’m not—I don’t—what?”

  “And you were jealous of Barrett, but you shouldn’t have been, because he was never my friend. He was in love with Kerry Lochlyn, and his brother Eamon—Kerry’s brother—he was the one who killed the other guys on your team. He’s dead now, though. Eamon. And Barrett’s in the hospital. So you don’t have to worry anymore, and you should tell the other guys so they can leave Fort Bragg.”

  “What?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Call Kohn. I gotta take a quick nap,” I said and hung up because I really needed the rest.

  The rain bouncing off the truck’s roof was soothing, and I tried to imagine my life without Ian. It would be hard to stay in Chicago, and maybe this was a signal to move. Ian could get the Greystone and Drake and Cabot, and now Josue too. I wondered if he’d let me have Chickie. I couldn’t lose everything all at once. It would be too much.

  I was having a dream that I was fishing with an alarm clock, which made no sense until I woke up enough to answer my phone.

  “Miro.”

  “You have the best-sounding voice,” I told him. “Has anybody ever told you that?”

  “Yeah, you. All the time,” Ian assured me, and it occurred to me he was breathing strangely, fast, and I could hear the crackling in his tone.

  “So Barrett shot Chickie, but Hartley saved me, and he had a gun and I kissed him, and when I was kissing him, I thought—Ian would be pissed ’cause if you kissed anybody else, I’d fuckin’ kill you, and then I thought that’s sorta hypocritical of me since I went all needy on Hartley, and even though that was bad, I realized that I’m not being fair to you. I’m lying and saying that it’s okay that you’re gone, but it’s not. I’d rather be by myself than miss you all the time, and if I kiss anybody else, then I won’t have to feel guilty about it.”

  “You’re at the vet, you said?”

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Every word, yes.”

  “It’s not fair of me to ask you to change,” I said, opening my eyes and watching the rain pelt my window. “And it’s not fair of you to ask me to need you less.”

  “Neither of those is fair, I agree.”

  “I’ll sell the Greystone and give you half.”

  “Just wait.”

  “We gotta clean it though, since there’s blood in the kitchen right now.”

  “We’ll clean it.”

  “Chickie tried to save me.”

  “But he got hurt and you got hurt, and Craig Hartley had to save you both from a man who wanted to kill me.”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” I said, my eyes fluttering shut. “How funny.”

  “Miro—”

  “I didn’t get hurt,” I corrected.

  “Oh, I think you did.”

  “I’ll never be clean again, you know.”

  “What?”

  �
��I kissed Hartley. I’ll never get that off.”

  He hung up then, which was a little rude since we were breaking up and everything, but I understood. Maybe it wasn’t that important to him.

  When my phone rang again, I answered.

  “Miro, honey, is the heater on in the truck?”

  Ian calling me honey made me sigh like an ingenue in a really bad movie on the Lifetime channel. “What?”

  “The truck. Is the heater on in the truck?”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Could you turn it on for me?”

  “But the truck’s not on.”

  “Miro—”

  “I’m so sorry, Ian.” I gulped down a sob. “You deserve someone who—”

  “Shut up!” he yelled. “You’re the one who deserves fuckin’ better, but fuck you, M, that ain’t gonna happen! You’re stuck with me, and that’s it, that’s the end of it, do you understand? Do you get it? You don’t get to make a decision alone. Neither do I. We’re in this together, and we’re staying together. Period.”

  “I can’t,” I said hoarsely. “I break when you go.”

  “So do I, you stupid shit!”

  He did? “You do?”

  “Fuck, Miro, yes.”

  “Then why do you go?” I asked, trying not to sound as forlorn as I felt.

  “Because I think I had an idea in my head about being a man and what a man does and how a man is, and because I’m with you, I felt like I had to do even more, be even more.”

  “You didn’t want anyone to think that being with me made you soft.”

  “Yes,” he rasped.

  “But that’s really stupid. Being gay, or bi, or whatever doesn’t make you weak.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Then?”

  “It’s one thing to know it and one thing to think it about yourself sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” I did. Logically you knew things but it didn’t always help, and it didn’t always translate to the real world.

  “Not only do I leave the man I love when I go, but I leave my work partner, too, and you get hurt when I go because there’s no one here to watch your back.”

  “That’s not true,” I said in deference to my friends. “The guys watch out for me just like they would for you.”

  “But you’re not a priority for anyone but me.”

  “’Cause you love me,” I whispered, wanting him so bad that my skin ached with the need. “Right? Ian? You love me?”

  “I’ve never loved anyone more. Ever.”

  My breath hitched. “I’m sorry I kissed Hartley.”

  “I forgive you since he had a gun.”

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t just the threat of death.”

  “No, it could be the loneliness and gratitude, and probably a healthy dose of shock.”

  “Shock?”

  “Barrett shot Chickie. He told you he was going to kill you, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Didn’t expect that, didja?”

  “No,” I said, my teeth chattering.

  “Oh God, love, please turn on the truck and get the heater going.”

  “I will.”

  “Never mind, I’ll do it. I see you.”

  “What?” But I understood when there was pounding on the window and I checked and found Ian standing in the pouring rain.

  “Open the door!” he yelled, but it was muffled through glass and sheets of water.

  Sitting up, I unlocked and shoved over quickly so he didn’t drown.

  He immediately snatched the keys from me and started the truck. Once hot air was blowing through the cab, he turned to me. “So even though the timing is shitty because you’re completely out of it right now, I’m still going to tell you that I made the decision to go ahead and leave the military.”

  I was hallucinating.

  “Miro?”

  “I think I might be in a coma or something.”

  “I assure you you’re not.”

  “I’m in shock.”

  “That I will agree with.”

  “You’re really quitting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it doesn’t make sense anymore,” he said flatly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It used to be right for me—it’s who I was—but now I’m more invested here, at home, with you.”

  I was afraid to let his words sink into me because they were exactly what I’d been hoping for and really, seemed too good to be true.

  “I think if I wasn’t a marshal that I’d have trouble walking away from the military because the service—military or law enforcement—defines me.”

  It did, I would agree. Ian was the guy who volunteered to put his life second to someone else, for someone else, because it was how he was made, how his heart was made. “It’s because you’re a good man, Ian Doyle.”

  He shook his head. I knew there were things he’d done in his life that he knew were the opposite of good, and those haunted him. “I’m not leaving the military because I think I can’t be an asset to them anymore, I’m leaving because I think I can do better things here with you, at home, being a marshal, and being your partner both at work and at home.”

  I shivered because his words were exciting and scary at the same time.

  “You’re a big part of the reason that I’m going to retire, but you’re not all of it, and I’d think that would be comforting in a way.”

  It was. The decision wasn’t all on me, then. It wasn’t just because of me. His own thinking had changed as well, and I couldn’t ask for better.

  “I truly believe that I can do more good here instead of halfway around the world.”

  I wanted to take him at his word and start his life, but that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t what he would do if the shoe was on the other foot. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I thought this was what you wanted.”

  “It is. You know it is.”

  “Then be happy.”

  “Not if you’re sad. Not if you’ll be missing who you are. I’d rather us break up than have that happen.”

  He took my face in his hands. “I’m not sad. I get to stay home with you now, and believe me, that’s exciting.”

  “I want you to be sure.”

  “Oh, I am. I know you’re the adventure.”

  “No, that’s not what I—”

  He laughed and then tried to ease me forward to kiss me.

  I pulled back, away, or tried to, but he tightened his hold so I couldn’t move.

  “The hell are you doing?”

  The tears were not a surprise. “I have to go home and brush my teeth and shower and be dipped in lye or something. I’m covered in filth.”

  “You’re covered in our dog’s blood and Barrett’s, who tried to kill you and who you still saved, but more than anything, you’re still you and you still love me, right?”

  I couldn’t even see him through the tears.

  “It’s a mess, all of it, but you need to kiss me now to remind yourself what kissing and being kissed by the man who loves you feels like.”

  “How can you even want to?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” he scolded softly. “You belong one place, and that’s with me.”

  I took a stuttering breath.

  “Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes,” I husked.

  “Then don’t pull away from me, not ever.”

  I exhaled the shame and fear as Ian leaned me forward and kissed me. And it was probably my imagination, but the way he took, the kiss felt different. It was possessive and languorous, like he had all the time in the world.

  “Ian?”

  “I’m really, truly home now. You’re never getting rid of me.”

  “Swear.”

  “Oh, I do, trust me. You promised to marry me, remember?”

  I had to close my eyes with the swell of emotions that rolled through me
. “Yes.”

  “We should do that very soon.”

  I was overwrought. That was the only reason for the tears that came hot and blurring.

  “Come on, gimme ’nother kiss. Let’s seal the deal.”

  I had to take him at his word and jump with him, so I kissed him with every bit of hope and happiness and trust that was in me.

  He was home and he was staying. It was officially the best Thanksgiving ever.

  “And now we’re going to the hospital to check you out,” he announced as soon as our lips parted.

  “What? No. I’m fine, I swear to God. I was out of it, probably still am, but I just need sleep. Lots and lots of sleep, and lots and lots of sex,” I begged him. “Please, Ian, it’s a waste of time. I wasn’t the one hurt, I swear.”

  He studied me for a second and then nodded and passed me his phone. “Call Kohn. Tell him we’re coming home, and tell him to get the crime scene—otherwise known as our kitchen—released right fuckin’ now.”

  I groaned as I put on my seat belt and we flew away from the curb. “Those guys are federal. They’re never going to—you’re just gonna leave the Cabriolet there?” I asked, noticing the car parked a few spaces down from where we were.

  “Yeah, maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll get stolen.”

  I had to smile. Fucking Ian. “That’s not nice.”

  “Cabriolet or an ancient Dodge, the hell,” he grumbled.

  “But as I was saying, federal crime scenes can take days to process.”

  “Normally, yeah, but you’re a witness and Barrett’s a witness—and by the way, you don’t get to pick out your own friends anymore,” he mandated with a look that dared me to say a word.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  He grunted.

  “But so you’re thinking, because I’m a witness and can say what happened, and Barrett’s story will probably corroborate most of mine—”

  “He might change motivation in his version, but blood spatter and bullets, fingerprints, and everything else will tell the tale.”

  “Kohn won’t be able to rush them. A good crime scene investigator will never be rushed. They can hold the scene for as long as they want.”

  “Yeah, but they’ve got direct evidence in this instance. They have you.”

  I groaned. “I will be explaining what happened for days. I’ll be lucky if I’m out of interrogation to even eat anything tomorrow, let alone play host.”