Chapter 19

 

AT THE field office, we sat with Ryan and Dorsey as they performed the intake paperwork, going over the massive document that made Cabot Jenner and Drake Ford formal members of WITSEC. They went through where the boys would stay until an apartment was procured, how they were both officially now graduated from high school, and when they would go with me to the University of Chicago to get them both enrolled for the fall quarter.

“He went there,” Dorsey said, indicating me with a wave of his hand. “So he’s the best one to take you guys over.”

It took hours, like always—Ian and I had done it for others—and when I got up to go to the bathroom and get drinks for all involved, Kohn caught me in the hall.

“What?”

“White says you and Doyle are, like, together?”

I groaned.

“No, man,” he said, smiling, bumping me with his shoulder. “Nobody cares.”

“Maybe not you and White and—”

“Sharpe,” he teased.

Of course Sharpe already knew; White probably called him from the car. “Becker will care, so will Ching.”

“Nope,” Kohn assured me, shaking his head. “You and Doyle, we’re family, yeah? We’ve all got your back. You know that.”

I stared at him.

“Don’t be a dick, Jones,” he said irritably, walking away. “We never cared when we all knew it was just you.”

God, could it really be this easy? In our self-contained little group, no one cared? And it wasn’t that Ian and I were going to make a general announcement, but if the guys in our unit were okay with us, what else did we really need?

“Hey, you gotta come back in. Ryan’s digressing and we could be here all—what’s wrong?” Ian asked, walking around in front of me.

“Everybody knows.”

He shrugged. “Well, yeah, I told White I was gay at the airport. News travels fast with him. You know that.”

“White never let it slip about our boss.”

“That’s ’cause he’s our boss. But you and me are fair game.”

“So Ryan and Dorsey know?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, chuckling. “Dorsey just said to Drake and Cabot that they’re lucky that they have gay marshals watching out for them, so we can run ’em down to Halstead.”

“He did not.”

Ian smirked.

“Fuckhead.”

“And you’re surprised, why?”

“Ian.”

He grunted.

“Are you sure you’re okay with all this?”

“I get to sleep with you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then, I’m good.”

I took a breath, and he took the cans of Pepsi out of my hands and walked back into the room. My plan was to follow him, but my phone rang, and seeing it was Liam, I answered.

“Hey,” I greeted him. “Is it okay if—”

“Miro,” Liam said.

“Yeah. Who else would it be?”

“Did Aruna call you?”

“No,” I said, and then a jolt of fear ran through me. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, we both are, but we’re here talking to the police.”

“What? Why?”

“Dude, we got carjacked.”

One of my dearest friends had her life threatened? “Holy shit,” I choked, bolting from the room, on the way to the elevator. “Where are you guys? I can be there in—”

“No, it’s—”

“Is Aruna all right?” I demanded, rushing down the hall. “Are you all right? Did you—”

“No, listen. Shut the fuck up and stop moving. Don’t do anything but listen.”

I froze where I was.

“I meant to say, we were almost carjacked.”

And that made all the difference in the world. “Maybe start with that next time, dickhead.”

He grunted instead of apologizing and then gave me the rundown. The way he explained it, he and Aruna had stopped at a light on their way home. Liam rolled down the driver’s-side window to give money to a homeless guy on the street, and when that guy stepped away from the car, another thrust a gun in Liam’s face.

Aruna screamed, and before a demand could be made, Chickie shoved between their seats, scrambled over Liam’s lap, and launched himself at the window in a fury of ferocious snarling and snapping jaws.

“Miro, he scared the fuck outta that guy. He dropped his gun and ran.”

I took a breath. “You’re both okay.”

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly. “We called the police and they came to get the gun. They’re hoping that the prints or serial number or something will lead them to the guy.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“So do you need me there or no?”

“No, we’re good.”

“So then what’s going on, ’cause you sound all weird. Are you freaking out?”

“The cops are here taking our statement, and they’re all treating Chickie like he’s the second coming, ya know?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to figure out why he sounded so odd. “What’s wrong?”’

He cleared his throat. “Aruna… she—she really doesn’t wanna give Chickie back.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Liam coughed. “Aruna. She wants to keep Chickie, and I gotta tell you, how protective he is of her, how much he loved all the little kids this weekend, and my uncle, who’s a vet, he says that Chickie is actually not a wolf at all. He thinks he’s malamute and Caucasian Ovcharka.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“Well, he thinks that’s why he’s so big, plus he’s got a really even temperament.”

I laughed into the phone. “Liam, Ian’s not gonna give you guys his dog.”

“Who better than a family to have him?”

“Liam—”

“Gotta go, talk to you later,” he said and then hung up.

I called Aruna, but all I got was her voice mail. Switching to text, I let her know that she couldn’t keep something that didn’t belong to her.

She sent back one word. Hah.

I tried her again.

“What?” she said irritably, finally picking up.

“You can’t keep Ian’s dog, but I will let him stay until I get off tomorrow night,” I told her.

“I might move.”

“I’m a US marshal, I’ll find you.”

“But Miro,” she whined.

“No.”

“He loves me.”

“You’re gonna have a baby. You’re gonna be too busy to take care of a werewolf.”

Another whimper.

I laughed. “I’ll see ya tomorrow night.”

“Fine,” she said and hung up.

I stood there a second and then walked back to the office and into the room to listen to more of the intake paperwork. Cabot was nodding off; Drake had his chin in his hand, staring blearily at Ryan, who was reading in a monotone voice as Dorsey and Ian had their arms crossed, heads back, resting their eyes.

“You look weird,” Ian interrupted, which woke everyone up.

“Well, that’s because Liam and Aruna are trying to keep your dog.”

His smile was fast. “Yeah, I figured that was coming.”

“What? You did?”

“Yeah, I mean, who volunteers to take somebody else’s dog with them to the mountains? Come on.”

“You’re not gonna give them Chickie, are you?”

“I dunno,” he said thoughtfully. “I have to think about what’s best for him.”

“Really?”

“Sure. For instance, where would he go every day?”

I didn’t even have to think, I knew already. “He’d stay home with Aruna or go to the fire station with Liam.”

“And when Liam’s home, he’d take him with him wherever he went, right? Plus when Aruna has the baby, when she goes out, who better to protect her and the baby than demon dog?”

“But he’s yours.”

“What are we talking about?” Ryan wanted to know.

“Doyle’s wolf,” Dorsey informed him.

“Oh, okay.”

“You have a wolf?” Cabot asked.

“He’s a dog,” I said, clearing it up.

Ian’s phone rang, and after checking the caller ID, he got up and left, taking the call outside the room. I wanted to know who called, but more than that, I wanted to be done.

“Have them start signing,” I told Ryan. “Let’s give them their document packets and get this show on the road already. We’re all wiped out. Please.”

“We need food,” Cabot begged.

“Just gimme a pen,” Drake pleaded as well. “I’ll sign whatever you want.”

“I bet this is a form of torture in some countries,” Cabot insisted.

“But you guys need to be apprised of—”

“Miro and Ian are gonna take care of us,” Drake explained to them. “We’ll be fine.”

Ryan and Dorsey looked up at me.

“Let it go,” I groused.

“Awww, you and Doyle are parents,” Dorsey said snidely.

Ryan grinned. “Mazel tov.”

“You guys are such assholes,” I grumbled.

But large plastic document pouches slid across the table, as well as two binders.

“Make with the signing,” Dorsey directed.

By the time Ian came back an hour later, we were done.

There was so much to do in the first days and weeks of new witness relocation. Social Security cards were already in the packets along with birth certificates, but Drake and Cabot had to get driver’s licenses, enroll in school, and be placed in jobs. All the things that fell under setting up a new life, Ian and I would make certain were done. We would be with them the whole way, from finding a furnished apartment to buying supplies for their new abode to purchasing clothes and school books and all other essentials. We’d set them up and then keep tabs. Ian and I had done intake many times. It was the part of the job I loved the best, helping people pick up the pieces of their lives to start anew. I was looking forward to watching over Cabot and Drake.

As the four of us walked to the elevator, I asked Ian who was on the phone.

“My father,” he said, hitting the Down button.

“And?”

He coughed. “He was upset I hadn’t gotten a hold of him.”

“And?” I prodded. It was like pulling teeth.

“He wants us to come to dinner next Sunday,” he said, leading us all to the car. “I said I’d check with you and get back to him.”

Inside, he punched the Lobby button before I took hold of his arm.

“Look at me.”

He complied instantly. “You told your father what?”

“That you would be there too.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “He said that was good, since I’m better when you’re around.”

“He did?”

“He knows I don’t care what he thinks anyway, but he’s fine with us.”

“Us?”

“He said he always figured we were a thing.”

I was at a loss.

“I guess it’s what people think when they see us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We seem like we’re married.”

I had to lean on the wall for support.

 

 

WE PUT the newly made Drake Palmer and Cabot Kincaid in one of the federal safe houses in a secure high rise downtown. There was a doorman who let us in and a guard at the front desk, a key fob had to be swiped to push the button for the elevator and then again inside to enable the buttons. On each floor you punched in a code to get into the condo and disabled an alarm inside with another code. It was a whole process that had to be followed, because to get out, all the same steps had to be repeated.

“I’m already confused,” Drake whined.

“I got this,” Cabot said, taking the direction sheet Dorsey had given them with the numbers he’d filled in that were entered specifically for our two newest guests.

Ian thought he could make a break for it without being hugged, but he couldn’t. They were crazy about him.

We left them with their money allotment for the evening, told them they were free to go wherever they wanted but that sticking around downtown might be best. I suggested Navy Pier, and they were excited to go and check it out.

“You’ll both be back in the morning?” Cabot asked as he hugged me.

“We will,” I promised and passed him his new phone with numbers for me and Ian programmed in.

He was very pleased.

 

 

AS WE drove to Ian’s place, he mentioned again how much he was not loving the Nissan Xterra. He had said it earlier when I led him to the car parked in the garage at work.

“This is such a comedown after the Jungle Boogie car.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

“Hey.”

I glanced over.

“Are you gonna tell the girls about us?”

“Of course.” I sighed. “And they’ll be ridiculous about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was recovering at home, they wanted to know what I was doing about getting what I wanted.”

“And you wanted what?”

“That should be fairly obvious.”

“Tell me.”

“You, idiot. I wanted you.”

His smirk was ridiculously sexy every single time. “Yeah?”

I was not going to feed his ego anymore and instead checked my e-mail as he parked outside his apartment building. When I was done, I grabbed his phone, which he had left in one of the cup holders, and checked his e-mail. I was surprised to find a letter from a lawyer on which Brent Ivers, my ex, was the subject line.

The trunk opened before I finished, and Ian threw in a garment bag and a large duffel. I held his phone up so he couldn’t miss what I’d been up to.

“Why are you getting threats from a lawyer?”

He slammed the trunk shut, and came around the side of the SUV and got in. He took hold of the steering wheel and squeezed tight.

“You threatened Brent?”

“No.”

“It says you did.”

“All I conveyed to the man,” he said, smiling evilly, “was that if he came within five hundred feet of you, I’d fuckin’ shoot him.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. “Are you kidding?”

“Don’t look so fuckin’ pained,” he groused, starting the car, shotgunning out into the street, as usual. “I told him not to call or text or send e-mail, either.”

“Or the same punishment would befall him? Gunfire?”

He narrowed one eye like he was thinking.

“You can’t do that. The lawyer filed a TRO against you. That doesn’t look good.”

“I give a shit.”

“Ian—”

“I’ll end him if he comes near you again,” he said flatly. “Make no mistake.”

“I can take care of myself, yeah?”

He pointed at my arm where the bullet had grazed me. “I beg to differ.”

“That’s different and you know it.”

“Do I?”

I reached over and slid my hand around the back of his neck.

“It’s nice that you care.”

“It’s more than that.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

“Can we stop and get burgers at Shorty’s? They’re still open; it’s only eleven.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat.

“Are you salivating?”

“Yeah, I think I just swallowed my own spit.”

Why that was so hysterical I had no idea, but I lost it, and listening to me laugh, tears rolling down my cheeks, made him smile like he hardly ever did, his whole face cracking wide open, dimples popping, laugh lines crinkling, and deep sigh of contentment emerging.

“Fuck, I love it when you’re happy.”

Which was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.

At Shorty’s, a dive off of Harlem Avenue that was only a shack with a stove in it, the cashier being the same person who passed you your food, I ordered while Ian stood behind me. Two picnic tables were the extent of their seating, but it hardly mattered, as most people took their food to go. Everyone grabbed their burger there after being at a club all night, and on Friday and Saturday it was fun to see the cross-section of cars, fashion, and people all standing in line. As it was a Sunday night, it was us and a few hookers, some college kids, and four women.

After we ordered, we waited, leaning against the side of the building.

“You know what I can’t get outta my head,” Ian asked, leaning close to me, his voice in my ear.

“What’s that?”

“You with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

Instantly my body flushed with heat, but my words stayed cool. “Liked that, did you?”

“Yeah,” he said huskily, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the side of my neck.

I covered it with my hand, feeling oddly like I’d been branded, and watched him swagger over to the window to collect our food. He smiled at the women at the table, and I saw them all check him out, following every fluid movement until he reached me.

“You know each and every one of those girls wants to take you home, Marshal,” I informed him.

“Yeah, well, I only go home with you.”

I coughed. “What’s with you being all sweet all of a sudden?”

He shrugged, grabbed my hand, and tugged me after him. The looks we got, first surprise, then smiles, were nice. But as he led me to the car, I understood. I had said where he would be—I’d laid claim—and because of that, he felt safe. He needed me to say what he could and couldn’t do; it was how he knew he was loved.

I couldn’t put my finger on the exact moment when I fell in love with Ian Doyle, but at some point, having all his attention became what I had to have. And even if he decided tomorrow that he didn’t want me anymore, the short time when I was all he saw would be enough.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked as he made a U-turn in the middle of the street, nearly getting us killed before he got us in the correct lane.

“Nothing.”

“Something, you got all quiet.”

“I just hope this works for you for a long time.”

“What’s that?”

Was he kidding? “Us,” I said simply.

“You lost me.”

“I want this, you and me, to work out.”

“There’s no question about that,” he said, making a face like I was ridiculous. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Only Ian made my heart stop and start with such frequency.

“You made what I needed okay.”

I couldn’t have said a word if my life depended on it.

“So it’s for you to say if you ever want me to go away. I’m in.”

He was so matter-of-fact.

I’m in.

There would be no more questions for him, no second-guessing, no hesitancy.

“You know I love you. What else do you need?”

To him, it was obvious. He knew where he stood. I cleared my throat. “Nothing. I don’t need anything.”

“So we’re good?”

“Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “We’re good.”

He grunted and turned onto my street, then parked the car a block from my Greystone. He could have parked in my assigned space, but my truck was there.

I carried his duffel bag, he his garment bag, and I kept the burgers inside my jacket to try to keep them warm. Inside my apartment, we both hung up our coats in the entryway closet, and then Ian crossed quickly to the stairs and went up to my bedroom. I cranked up the thermostat to seventy and dropped the burgers on the coffee table and my bag and his on one end of the sofa before I went to the kitchen to get a couple of beers.

When he came back down, I had our burgers split as we always did so I got half of his hot-as-hell Four Horseman burger and he got half of my To Thai For burger. Fries and onion rings got divided up as well.

“Oh thank you.” He almost cried, and I laughed as he came around the couch and flopped down beside me, leaning sideways and kissing me.

It was quick, and then he had his hands full, tearing into his food.

I stared at him a moment, hit with a sudden wave of normalcy. Us eating together; the TV going on as we checked basketball scores; him shoving fries into his mouth, sucking down a beer, grabbing for a napkin, and bumping me with his knee.

This was how it would be every night. At work, nothing would change, but here in my house behind closed doors or out with friends, it would be like this. Ian Doyle would be in my space, with me, living, breathing, building a life.

“Eat,” he ordered with his mouth full.

I swallowed down my joy so I could.

I cleaned up afterward while he carried our bags upstairs, and threw things in the laundry, our stuff together, as he hung up his suit in my closet.

“Christ, I’m so happy to be home,” I said happily, taking a seat on my bed, unlacing my boots and letting them clunk down on the floor. “I swear I’m never—Ian?”

He was standing next to the railing, staring at me but not moving.

“Come here,” I suggested, patting the space beside me on the bed.

Rushing across the small room, he shoved me down, climbed on and straddled my hips, holding me still.

“Something you want, Marshal?”

“Miro,” he croaked. “This bed is—oh.”

I wriggled under him, gripping his thighs and pressing my quickly hardening cock up against his crease. “This bed is yours, too, from now on. You understand?”

“Yes,” he huffed, arching his back as his eyes closed and his mouth fell open.

“I’m yours too.”

His lashes fluttered open, and his gaze locked with mine. “Swear,” he said, his voice hoarse and full of gravel. “You and me.”

“I swear,” I promised, reaching up for his face.

He bent into my hands, letting me ease him down, his lips parting the moment they touched mine.

“Miro,” he breathed into my mouth.

He tasted like beer and salt and Ian, and when I rolled him to his back, I deepened the kiss, mauling his mouth as he wrapped his long legs around my hips and ground up against me.

God.

Ian, in my bed.

“Jesus,” I moaned, shoving away from him before I came in my jeans just from thinking about it.

He smiled as he panted under me. “You like having me here.”

I couldn’t speak, instead rolling off the bed and stripping fast. He sat up and did the same, as rough as I was, tugging off his clothes. Grabbing the lube from my nightstand, I turned and found him stretched out, waiting.

“I wanna see your face when we do this.”

He nodded and reached for me.

I pounced on him, taking his mouth, parting his thighs so I could move between them, raising his knees so his feet were on the backs of my calves. His cock was pressed between us as I devoured him, missing nothing, giving him bruising kisses until he had to turn his head to gulp for air.

“Kiss me again,” he pleaded.

I sat back, flipped open the cap of the lube, and as I slicked my cock, his eyes narrowed to slits of feverish dark blue.

“Miro.”

“I need to make you ready.”

“No,” he insisted. “I can’t wait—don’t want to.”

Tossing the lube aside, pressing against his entrance, he bowed up off the bed, wanting me.

“Pass me a pillow.”

He handed me mine and I shoved it under him, changing the angle as I pushed gently forward, slipping inside. He grabbed hold of my biceps, slid his legs up my thighs and locked them around my hips.

“I’m gonna go slow and—”

“You know, sometimes I’ll notice you walking beside me, and I’m so proud.”

I dropped my head forward, needing to be buried in him but holding back, keeping my entry slow, steady, feeling his muscles ripple around me.

“And now… it’ll be more, ’cause I know you’re mine.”

“Ian,” I ground out.

“I need… Miro… c’mon, man, just take what you want.”

I thrust hard, as deep as I could, and he yelled my name before coiling his arms around me.

I was wrapped up in him.

“You have to move.”

“Then you have to let go.”

“No,” he rasped, lifting for my mouth.

Jesus.

He didn’t want to let go of me?

“Miro,” he said, thick and dark. “Show me—”

That I loved him? Wanted him? Needed him? What did he have to see? Feel? Taste? Hear?

“—your heart.”

But I had. For three years, every day, I had shown Ian Doyle the depth of my love.

Unwinding his arms from around my neck, I curled my fingers into his, marrying our palms, and pressed both hands down onto the mattress.

“I love you, Ian,” I rumbled, my voice gritty with feeling as I stared into his eyes. “Don’t ever doubt my heart.”

He squinted fast but it didn’t work: a stray tear leaked out and ran down his temple. I caught it with a kiss before I drove into him, desperate to make him feel my love.

“Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding broken, crackly. “Always.”

Our hands fused together, both of us holding as tight as we could, him lifting, meeting every rolling thrust, and me trying to anchor him, his knees spread wide, my mouth slanting over his, laying claim to every piece of Ian. Heart, mind, body, soul—all mine.

I ground into him, the motion slow and sensuous, and he took me, his muscles holding me tight as I pushed and pushed deeper, taking as he gave until he went stiff beneath me in his release, pumping hot and slick between us.

“Miro,” he panted, trying to free his hands, wanting them on me.

His orgasm twisted his muscles around my cock, and the heat between us, the rhythm and the slide, all of it tore my climax from me. He shivered as I filled him, and then harder when I kissed him, rubbing my tongue over his.

It took long minutes for us to be able to speak, much less move.

“You okay?” I asked when I finally unsealed our lips.

“Oh yes,” he murmured.

When I eased free, I was going to dart to the bathroom and grab a washcloth and a towel, but he wrapped me in his arms, hugging me tight.

“We should take a shower.” I chuckled into his sweaty hair, nuzzling, kissing his temple, his cheek, tightening my hold on him instead of letting go.

“Yeah,” he agreed, not moving, sliding his leg between mine. “You know, I think I might be ready to tie you down.”

I smiled, loving the feel of all his skin all over mine. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he growled, and God it was sexy.

“Anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“I belong to you, right?”

“Yes, you do,” he said, and the confidence in his voice sent a warm buzz through me.

“Okay, then.”

“How do you feel about rope?”

The laughter bubbled out of me. I could not ever remember being happier.

“I promise to untie you,” he swore, kissing my throat, his hands starting to roam. “Maybe.”

Like I cared. Between us was trust, friendship, the whole shebang. And now, most importantly, love.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into my ear.

It went both ways.