Tied Up in Knots (Marshals Book 3) Page 5

  He was lying beside the small jungle gym Sajani was climbing on, and when he came… fast… the guys ran even more so. Everyone cheered, and Chickie was the belle of the ball for the rest of the day. None of the other mothers were afraid of him, even those with infants.

  “He’s a hero,” Aruna sighed, kissing and hugging the monster dog who had feet as big as a bear’s. I watched the animal that could have eaten her preen under the attention.

  The vet thought perhaps he was malamute and mastiff, with maybe some Caucasian Ovcharka thrown in along with some husky, and maybe—he confided in me the last time I was there—even some wolf. But since hybrids were illegal in Chicago and he couldn’t prove it, he was keeping his suspicion on the down low and had not recorded it in any official paperwork.

  Whatever Chickie was, he’d been making my two fellow marshals nervous, but once he lay down beside the couch with his head on my lap, making the grunting noises he made when he was happy, even they warmed to him and took turns scratching his ears.

  “I guess you never have to worry about burglars,” Kohn offered.

  “Yeah, neither do the neighbors on both sides,” I yawned. “That’s one of the reasons this Greystone cost a bit more. We’re in a cluster of four, and all the backyards are gated and butt up against each other.”

  “Oh, I thought you had, like, a small park behind you.”

  “No, four lots are connected so we can walk from my back door to the neighbor’s and come out one street over.”

  “I wondered what made your mortgage payment so high,” Kohn replied.

  Kowalski and I both looked at him.

  “What? You left your computer screen open last week. I was supposed to not look?”

  “Yeah,” Kowalski chided. “You don’t look, ya animal. What the hell? I’ve met your mother; I know you weren’t raised in a barn.”

  Kohn made a dismissive noise and tipped his head at Chickie. “So you said the neighbors don’t worry about burglars either?”

  “Yeah, no,” I said, snickering. “Some guy came through our neighbors’ backyard across from us, and I hear Mrs. Sasaki yelling at him that ‘that’s not allowed,’ and then out goes Chickie and the guy turned and ran.”

  “I’d run too,” Kowalski confessed.

  “Yeah, so after the guy gets out the gate, Chickie ran the length of the fence and snarled and barked, and Mrs. Sasaki, who I swear to God has never said two words to me, is smiling and waving before she comes down her back steps and is all over him, telling him what a good boy he is,” I said with an eye roll. “After that, all three neighbors are happy to have Chickie out whenever he wants and they all give him treats when he goes up to their back doors.”

  “So he guards the whole place.” Kowalski seemed really interested.

  “Yeah, he’s a little too vigilant. That’s why Ian put in the doggie door leading to the backyard, so we don’t have to get up and let him out anymore whenever he hears something weird in the middle of the night.”

  “This is still Chicago, though. You’re not worried some guy’ll get in here through the monster dog door?” Kohn sounded concerned.

  I arched an eyebrow. “And run the risk of being face-to-face with Chick?”

  “No, I mean during the day when he’s not here.”

  I snorted. “Ian made the door. When it’s closed, it’s like Fort Knox; no one’s coming in through that.”

  “Speaking of, when’s he getting in?” Kowalski chimed in.

  “Not until tomorrow around seven.”

  “I’ll call the guys, then, we’ll have poker night over here tonight.”

  “What? Why?” I just wanted to sleep. Didn’t I look tired?

  “Maybe he wants to sleep?” Kohn threw out.

  Kowalski scoffed. “Fuck that, he owes us all money from last time.”

  I did, it was true.

  “Ain’t no rest for the wicked, everybody knows that.”

  I flipped him off, and then Kohn as well because he started laughing.

  Chapter 4

  MY FRIENDS—and I used the word loosely since they had no problem taking my money and not giving me the opportunity to win it back—stayed until the early morning hours. They’d all come, except Sharpe, who had a hot date with an Eastern European ballerina he’d met on a DEA bust. He showed up at nine the following morning, pounding on my front door because I was close to where he was when he woke up and got the hell out of her apartment. Since he’d become single again, the term manwhore could officially be applied.

  I took him to breakfast at Firecakes, my favorite donut place over on Clark, because the idea of eggs and bacon made him a bit green around the gills. But warm sugary goodness worked and he looked a bit more human when we left. I loaned him my sunglasses so he wouldn’t go blind, and then he walked back home with Chickie and me.

  “This is nice.” He sighed as he kept pace with me and my werewolf in the chilled morning air while we navigated the tree-lined streets. “I think I need a place out of the city.”

  I didn’t want to correct him and say that Lincoln Park wasn’t really a sleepy little ’burb because his head and stomach were still a bit dicey.

  “But then I’d be far from all the clubs.”

  There was that to consider.

  “If I try and pet the dog, will he eat my hand off?”

  I snorted out a laugh and moved around Chickie so he was walking between us. It was nice that Sharpe didn’t even have to bend to reach Chickie’s head. There is something so soothing about petting a dog.

  I watched the last of the night drain out of Sharpe. “You know, if going out and getting laid makes you so miserable that you drink and feel like crap and are totally stressed, maybe you might wanna rethink it, huh?”

  “Are you kidding? I love getting laid.”

  I was not going to inspire him into some cathartic moment. “Why don’t you come sit on my couch and watch football while I clean the house.”

  “Yeah, all right. You got clothes for me?”

  I did. I gave him sweats and a T-shirt and heavy socks, which worked out fine after he took a shower so he didn’t smell like cigarette smoke and alcohol anymore. He passed out on the couch watching not football, but Netflix. I cleaned around him and Chickie, the dog only opening one eye when I bumped him with the vacuum.

  I woke Sharpe up around four and made him an omelet and toast, and between that and the ice tea, he looked better when he left. I got a hug that we normally didn’t engage in, on his way to the curb to get into the cab I’d called for him.

  I hadn’t eaten because I wanted to wait for Ian, and with how excited I was, there was no way food was happening.

  A bit later I got a call from Min, who was upset after making her weekly pilgrimage to see her mother.

  “You guys get it,” she vented. “Why doesn’t she?”

  I sighed. “She’s worried if you don’t get married and have kids that you won’t ever truly be happy in life.”

  Her exhale was full of exasperation and sadness in equal measure. “But you guys know that’s not true. I love my job, I love dating, I love my life. I’m happy except for when I have to deal with her.”

  It hit me. “You told her about Janet, you dumb broad.”

  She giggled. “That was stupid, huh?”

  “No,” I soothed. “You were happy for your friend, so you shared the news with your mother. You didn’t think it was going to boomerang back and hit you in the face.”

  I got a real laugh then. “No, I certainly didn’t.”

  “Think before you speak, Min,” I teased. “You’re a lawyer, after all. I shouldn’t have to tell you these things.”

  That was it; she dissolved as I did a really good impression of her mother, Soon-Bok Kwon, who had never warmed up to me or Catherine but loved Aruna and Janet dearly.

  “Your mother hates me,” I said for the eight billionth time.

  She didn’t argue.

  “You suck.”

  “Not on t
he first date,” she corrected.

  “Oh God,” I groaned. All my friends were disgusting, men and women both.

  “Are you sleeping?”

  I hustled her off the phone after that, and she said we’d talk about it next time. And while I didn’t want to talk about how much rest I wasn’t getting, it was nice that I talked to her and Janet and Catherine at least once a week, if not more, even after so many years out of college. I was always so thankful that, when they’d left Chicago, I hadn’t lost them.

  I was still thinking about her and the others, about friendship and the family I’d made, as I drove to the airport that evening. But by the time I got there, the girls were out of my head and I was back to worrying. The thing was, I’d thought of something earlier, and as I stood outside the security point, leaning against a wall close to the benches in the waiting area, I realized my stomach had gone from gentle butterfly-wing fluttering to full gale-force wind tornado. What kept running through my brain was that sometimes Ian said things in the heat of the moment that he regretted once the ache of need passed. I hoped he still wanted me there when he emerged with the rest of his unit into the terminal from the concourse.

  “You don’t think this is a bit like an ambush?” a woman behind me said.

  “What’re you talking about?” another replied.

  “He’s coming home from a mission that took four months longer than it was supposed to, and as soon as he gets here, the wife of one of his buddies springs a blind date on him?”

  “You could’ve skipped it, if that’s how you really feel.”

  “And I probably would have, but then you had to go and show me his picture.”

  An amused chuckle followed. “I told you Ian Doyle was gorgeous.”

  It felt like someone punched me in the gut.

  “And you’re sure there’s no one special?”

  “Not that I’ve ever seen when I come pick up Paul.”

  “Yeah, but Paulie’s brand new to the unit. This is only his second time out with these guys, and the last time he came home at like six in the morning, didn’t he? Was there even anyone else here but you?”

  “No,” the second woman snapped. Clearly it was a sore subject. “All the other guys actually think about their wives and girlfriends and don’t make them pick them up before dawn.”

  “Well, then Ian could be married and how would you even know?”

  “It’s true, Paul doesn’t know either. He said Ian’s not a real talkie guy, but I understand he’s not only a reservist but also a US marshal. How hot is that?”

  “Hot,” the first woman purred. “Really hot.”

  “Yeah, so that’s why we’re here, dressed better than usual for the airport—to catch you a man.” She giggled.

  I had to know what she was wearing to snag the love of my life, so I did a pivot, pretending to look behind me, and caught four-inch heels, black tights, a long cream-colored angora sweater with a chunky cowl, and beige cashmere overcoat. Not slutty, not skanky, elegant, with immaculate makeup and jewelry. She was lovely.

  Her friend, Paul’s wife, was just as fashionable in her asymmetrical sweater with the shawl collar, jeans, and knee-high platform brown leather boots, all under a black swing coat. Both women looked classy, ready for a night on the town.

  I got a quick, easy smile from each of them, which I returned before I was facing front once more.

  I felt a shiver of dread because occasionally, I still worried whether I was enough for Ian Doyle. After all, the world was full of men and women more attractive than me who had way less baggage.

  “Miro?”

  I turned sharply to see a pretty blond woman dressed more like me, very casual, ready not to go out, but just to go back home after this.

  We were both in old jeans and T-shirts, but whereas mine was under a white wool knit button-up cardigan, hers was under a hoodie and a motorcycle jacket. Her over-the-knee distressed black leather boots were as flat as my white Converse sneakers. Neither of us had dressed up at all.

  “Yes,” I answered as she closed on me, hand out in greeting.

  “I’m Stacy Qureshi. I’m Mo’s wife.”

  I smiled at her even as I shook her hand. “I’m sorry, I haven’t met—Mo?”

  “Mohammed,” she said kindly, looking at me askance.

  “Yeah, I’m a bit out of the loop.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s just great to finally put a face to the name, or, you know, part of a face, at least,” she teased. “Lights too bright in here for you, marshal? Gotta wear shades in the terminal?”

  I pointed at my eyes under the aviators I had on. “I got hit on the job. It looks worse than it is, but still. I don’t wanna scare people.”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “Sweetheart, I’m here to pick up a Green Beret. You think he comes home abrasion-free?”

  I chuckled and took off my glasses, hanging them on the collar of my T-shirt.

  “Oh, see,” she sighed. “He’s gorgeous.”

  “You’re very nice.”

  “No,” she said impishly. “Really not. Kind of a bitch, actually, but you’ll learn that and find it charming down the road.”

  I grinned at her.

  “Oh yes, definitely pretty. I can totally see you and Ian together. That must be something when you guys are out together, stopping traffic and all.”

  The chatter behind us ceased instantly.

  “It’s Ian. Everybody looks at him.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m aware. The first time I met him, my husband said ‘You’re drooling.’”

  She was fun, I liked her already. “It’s really nice to meet you,” I said sincerely.

  “Oh, you too,” she said, slipping her arm though mine, closing the distance between us. “I kept meaning to pick Mo up at least once so I could check you out after my husband told me you and Ian were together.”

  “Ian told Mo about me?”

  “He told all the guys, and frankly, I was thrilled.”

  “You were?”

  She nodded, waving to another woman wearing a sweater dress, leggings, and boots who came darting over to us. “I was. I always worried about Ian because there was never anyone he talked about or who came here to grab him after an op, and that was so sad.”

  “Hey, girl,” a beautiful woman said as she reached Stacy, leaning in to give her a hug. “How are you?”

  She was the kind of woman you watched walk by on the street: brilliant smile that made her dimples pop, big sepia eyes framed in long thick lashes, and gorgeous smooth brown skin with golden bronze undertones. I would bet the reason for the size of the rock on her finger was her husband wanting to send a clear, concise message to any would-be suitors before he was forced to kill them with his pinky. The man was a Green Beret, after all.

  “I’m good,” Stacy replied before squeezing my bicep tight. “Zahra, this is Miro, Ian’s guy.”

  Zahra’s whole face lit up. “Oh, it’s so good to finally meet you,” she said warmly, like she meant every word, walking around Stacy to give me a hug. It was nice. She wasn’t one of those hover huggers where you barely felt it. Instead, she grabbed and squeezed. I was a fan already.

  When she pulled back, she was beaming at me. “It’s so great to put a face to the name. I’m Danny O’Reilly’s wife.”

  “Ian hasn’t introduced him to any of the guys, so he has no idea who our hubbies are,” Stacy explained.

  “Ah, sounds like them,” Zahra said, and then she noticed the two women behind us. “Hi there, can I help you?”

  “Oh” came a gasp, and I finally had a reason to turn when Stacy did as well. “I’m sorry for staring. I’m Paul’s wife, Chloe Jermaine.”

  Zahra’s scowl was instant. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I mean,” Zahra began, her voice going cold, “why are you here?”

  “To pick up Paul.”

  “And why would Paul be here?” Zahra clipped the words, and the chan
ge from how sweet she’d been with me, how warm, to frigid ice queen, was odd.

  “Because he’s a member of the team, of course.”

  “Did your husband tell you to pick him up here?”

  “No, but I checked his e-mail, and the time and date were in there,” she told Zahra, who made a tsking noise.

  “That’s probably Danny’s bad. He didn’t take you off the list, and I bet you didn’t get put on it, did you, Miro?”

  “No,” I answered, even though she didn’t turn and look at me, too focused on Chloe and her friend.

  “Well, I’ll make sure he fixes that,” Zahra promised as she pointed at Chloe. “And I’ll make sure he takes you off immediately.”

  “I don’t understand what’s going—”

  “What’s going on,” Stacy began coolly, “is that your husband, Paul, is no longer a member of this unit. How do you not know that? We all know that.”

  And when she said “we all,” she gestured at the ten or so other women now milling close to us.

  “I think you’re mistak—”

  “Listen,” Zahra said acidly, “if your husband told you he was going on a mission, he lied, so you best sort that out when you find him. But I can assure you that he will not be coming though that security point with the rest of our boys.”

  “I… he—”

  Zahra advanced on Chloe. “As you know, my husband commands this unit, and he told me he transferred yours out after the last time he nearly got him and the others killed. Not only did Ian Doyle have to save my husband in a firefight that your husband caused, Danny was hurt enough that Ian had to carry him out,” she said, then taking a deep breath. “So don’t tell me that he’s still a part of this team, because the hell he is!”

  As certain as I was that none of that should have been shared, I was just as sure that Zahra O’Reilly was overwrought. Her husband had confided to her that because of the actions of one man, he was nearly killed, and because of the actions of another, he was still alive. All of that information was there, in her head, in her heart, running around, and seeing the wife of the guy responsible for her husband’s brush with death tipped her over the edge.

  She broke down then, the tears simmering right there below the surface.