Chapter 10

 

 

THE BOYS slept over, which made for interesting sleeping arrangements on the couch and floor, but they all wanted to stay to watch a movie with Ian, especially Marcello, who must have thanked him a million times for sticking up for him.

“Just don’t be a stranger anymore, and come with Josue when we all do stuff.”

“I will,” he said, beaming at Ian. “I so will.”

The hero worship was cute.

When our alarm went off at six the following morning, I was surprised to find Cabot up already, having made coffee and smiling at me blearily.

“Why’re you up?”

“I just wanted to say that I appreciate all you and Ian have done for me and Drake since you got stuck watching over us.”

“Never been stuck with anything or anyone in my life, kid,” I told him, tousling his hair. “I kinda like you.”

His smile got even brighter before he took a sip of his coffee. “What’s Custodial?”

I enjoyed talking to him. He was the introspective one, the artist, and when I was done explaining, he was certain I’d do great there. “You take such good care of all of us.”

“Stop sucking up, kid,” Ian grumbled as he walked into the kitchen, yawning, leaning in to kiss me before staggering toward the coffee maker.

At work an hour later, having rousted the boys and dropped Chickie off with Aruna, I was really not surprised to find Bodhi Callahan, Redeker’s partner from Vegas, standing in the hall that led to the locker and breakroom.

“Callahan,” I called.

He moved quickly, gracefully, smiling as he came, hand out for me to take.

I grasped tight, grinning at him. “I knew you’d be right behind him.”

Instant frown. “Did he tell you this was my idea?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Of course not.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I have a friend who just moved back to California a couple weeks ago, so he’s letting me sublet his place,” he told me. “It’s a loft over on Michigan Avenue.”

“Whereabouts?”

“In the Prairie District?” he said, grimacing. “I dunno what that even means yet.”

“It means it’s nice,” I assured him. “They made a lot of those old industrial buildings into lofts. I looked at those, but I wanted a private gated area and the whole sanctuary when I got home, you know? No neighbors right on top of me.”

“Gotcha.”

“But you’re happy with it?”

“Only been there a day, but yeah.”

I had to ask. “And Redeker?”

“What about him?”

“Come on.”

He shook his head, and the sun-streaked dirty-blond mop that fell to his shoulders caught the light, the wheat and copper, chestnut and gold. Between the hair and golden tan that was now, I realized, his natural coloring, he was stunning. He was twenty-seven when we met a year ago—with Redeker eleven years his senior—but I could tell he was one of those guys who would never age. I was betting people stopped and stared at him wherever he went, which was not great for a federal marshal, as we preferred to go unnoticed until the very last second before a bust went down. He and Redeker together, as striking as they both were, had to be a challenge.

“So?”

He squinted at me. “So what?”

“You transferred here too.”

“Obviously.”

“Are you supposed to see Kage?”

“Yeah, and then Doyle?”

I nodded. “Ian Doyle’s the new deputy director.”

“And your guy, right?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling it in the pit of my stomach, the warmth of saying that yes, Ian Doyle was with me.

“I wanted to ask—”

“I thought you were fucking with me on the phone last night.”

We both turned to find Redeker there, glowering a few feet away.

Callahan snarled back. “If I fuck with you, you’ll damn well know it.”

“Okay, that’s my cue,” I said, coughing into my closed fist before taking a step back and retreating around the corner to the entrance of the breakroom before popping my head back out to eavesdrop on them. No way was I bailing to be left in the dark. If I was going to help them work their shit out, I had to know how deep the crap was.

“Well, that was fuckin’ great,” Redeker groused.

“Like Miro cares, he’s not like that.”

“It was still rude.”

“The only one who’s rude and an asshole is you.”

Redeker shook his head, and I saw the glower and the clenching of his jaw. “I told you not to—you can’t be here.”

“It was my idea to come. I reminded you of that last night on the phone, so why wouldn’t I be here?” he asked indignantly. “I told you I’d be here this morning. I spent all day yesterday moving into my new place because, unlike you, I built in time for that.”

“This is a mistake.”

“Yeah, yours, for not just waiting and coming up here with me,” Callahan said imperiously, somewhere between condescending and furious.

“I thought—” Redeker swallowed hard and took a shaky breath. “—you’d be good there if I left.”

“If you ran, you mean.”

Redeker tugged on his hair again—obviously a nervous habit, self-soothing that I did myself. Light glinted off the ring, and I watched Callahan’s attention catch on it. He ghosted his fingers across the silver before he took a step forward and put his hands on Redeker’s sides, holding him still exactly as Ian had held me the night before. It looked as possessive and claiming as it felt.

“Don’t—I’m trying not to fuck up your life,” Redeker whispered, shifting on his feet, ready to ease free.

Callahan moved closer, very clearly not about to let him go, and slipped his hands under the parka Redeker had on. I watched Redeker close his eyes as though it took every drop of concentration to remain standing. He lifted his own hands to Callahan’s face but then dropped them back to his sides.

“Where are you staying?” Callahan asked, his tone changing to gentle, coaxing, even as his lips hovered over the side of Redeker’s neck, debating, I suspected, whether to press his mouth to the freckled skin, or his teeth. The desire was rolling off him, the need to stake his claim, and I so understood. Back when Ian and I were just friends, not touching him whenever I wanted, not making him mine, had been almost physically painful. “You should stay with me.”

It was a good offer. I really hoped Redeker would take him up on it.

Redeker’s eyes drifted open slowly, languorously, like he was drugged. “I can’t—I shouldn’t—I don’t want it to be just like—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Callahan said, easing back, letting him go but remaining in Redeker’s space. “It won’t be like Vegas at all, I can promise you that.”

“And what the hell does that mean?” Redeker muttered, back to scowling but still not pulling away, allowing the touching.

“Everything will be exactly how you want it.”

“Why does that not sound good?”

“I have no earthly idea,” Callahan said innocently.

“Explain to me what you mean by—”

“What’re you doing?”

Redeker’s words faded out as I turned to see Ian behind me. “Where did you come from?”

“Over there,” he said, grinning, pointing at the ever-present enormous fruit basket in the breakroom. “Sometimes your body just craves citrus,” he explained, showing me the Valencia orange in his hand.

I grunted.

He tried to look around me, but I stepped sideways into the hall so he couldn’t. “I wanna see who you’re spying on.”

“No one,” I insisted as I turned and saw Redeker and Callahan walking toward us.

“Oh, I see,” Ian teased, waggling his eyebrows.

“Just be nice to them. They’re working things out.”

“I’m always nice,” Ian claimed, smirking before tipping his head at the two approaching men. “Are you Callahan?”

“I am,” he said, offering Ian his hand. “Are you Doyle?”

“Yeah,” Ian replied, shaking hands before tipping his head at Redeker. “You guys were partners in Vegas, right?”

“We were.”

“And you both transferred up, so—you good to keep being partners?”

“We are,” Callahan answered before Redeker could say a word.

“Great,” Ian sighed. “That makes things much easier. Come with me, and we’ll get your paperwork done. And you should go down and get a car before all the good ones are gone. There’s a Gremlin down there, so you might wanna hurry.”

Redeker looked at me, horrified, releasing his breath in a rush. “I thought you were kidding about that.”

“Nope.”

“Did you say a Gremlin,” Callahan asked, the concern flooding his face, looking a bit stunned. “Is that even safe?”

Ian shrugged. “I dunno, but I wouldn’t wanna test it.”

Redeker bolted for the elevator as Callahan followed Ian like he was in a fog. The horror of the truly frightening automobile—been there.

 

 

I SPENT some time that morning doing follow-up calls and checking on the placements made the day before. Eli called right about noon and asked if I wanted to get lunch, and when I asked where Ian was, he said he was stuck in his office with DEA agent Corbin Stafford. Apparently they were working out things to do with Lorcan and a joint task force, so maybe a better working relationship was on the horizon. Maybe. I wasn’t going to hold my breath. Perhaps, though, with Ian at the helm, there could be new inroads made with the DEA. But it wasn’t anything I would ever be working with him on, and acknowledging that was bittersweet because, yes, Ian and I were still together, still both marshals, but we were separated. I’d decided I was content to be in Custodial—it was the better fit for me—but not having Ian at work was new, and I felt the pang of being without him. It wasn’t logical; it simply was. It would take some time to get used to.

I was about to make the turn from the bullpen to head to my office when Becker stopped me. When I turned to him, he pointed at the elevators, which dinged almost as if on cue.

“Oh, what the hell,” I said under my breath as I saw a woman getting off the car with six other men in trench coats.

The woman stopped in front of me as Eli sidled up on my right. She opened her credentials so I could see the FBI badge, and her expression was grim and resigned at the same time.

“What happened?” I groaned, terrified of what the answer would be and knowing instinctively her being there had something to do with Hartley.

The agents with her came in close, circling us so it was only me and Eli and Becker together, no one else allowed.

“I’m Christina Stigler from the Office of Partner Engagement, and I flew out here from Langley to speak to you, Marshal Doyle, on Monday, as I’ll be working with you going forward to coordinate—and I have no idea why I’m giving you this background, because none of that matters right now.” She sighed, and I saw how tired she looked. “What’s important at the moment is that Kol Kelson just explained two hours ago that he has a bomb inside of him that could go off at any time.”

I shook my head. “So they called the bomb squad and had him checked for radiation, and let me guess: he beeped.”

“He did.”

“So they transported him where?”

“They were on their way to—”

“And they were forced off the road.”

“Yes,” she said, sounding like she was a hundred instead of in her midforties like she looked.

“You realize that by now you guys should have Hartley’s MO down, right?”

“Agreed.” The pained tone did not recede.

“How many times has he done this?”

“It’s easy to see in hindsight, not when he’s doing it.”

I nodded. “And there’s more.”

“Yes.”

Eli’s hand on my shoulder was more than comforting. It kept me grounded in the here and now instead of letting me go tripping into scary, dark places where nightmares lived.

“My boss, Director Ryerson, was informed today that though his wife was saved and taken into protective custody yesterday, his son, going to school here at Northwestern, was not.”

I took a breath, willing myself to stay calm.

“No,” Becker said sharply.

Her eyes scrunched up, and I saw the pain etched on her face. “It’s not your call, Marshal. That belongs to Marshal Jones.”

“The hell it does,” he assured her. “Marshal Jones is—”

“Stop,” I ordered. “Where is Hartley?”

“We have no idea,” she said, and I heard the tremble in her voice. People got that way where Hartley was concerned. Everyone had to stay constantly vigilant, and being on guard all the time was hard to maintain. “You’re just supposed to go out the front door of this building and run as fast as you can straight down the sidewalk, and apparently it will become clear.”

“But you don’t know if this is Hartley or Kelson.”

“What?”

“None of this is how Hartley normally operates. I could be running to Kelson and not Hartley,” I clarified.

“Well, yes, I—yes.”

“And someone, either Hartley or Kelson, has Ryerson’s son?”

“Someone does,” she agreed. “We have proof of life.”

“None of this sounds like Hartley,” I told her. “He doesn’t do this.”

“Or hasn’t before,” she cautioned. “Perhaps you don’t know him as well as you think you do, Marshal.”

“Or I’m absolutely correct, and Kelson’s gonna try and kill me.”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said and started taking off my blazer.

“No,” Eli croaked, his voice rough and brittle. “And definitely not before Ian gets to come out here and talk to you.”

“Agreed,” Becker said gruffly. “You stay here, I’ll get him.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Stigler rasped, worn thin.

“We’re making time,” Becker insisted before pushing through the press of men.

It took only moments for Ian to join us, and when he did, the stricken look on his face told me exactly how terrified he was.

“It’ll be all right,” I assured him, wanting to touch him but afraid if I did, I wouldn’t go. Leaving him to go to Hartley went against everything in me.

“No,” he protested. “I refuse to let you risk your life for—”

“Stop,” I whispered, handing him my jacket so I could be unarmed when I met Hartley.

“Miro,” he husked, taking the Glock from me, and the new holster he’d bought me for Christmas that was just like his, handmade leather with brass buckles.

“You’d do the same,” I ground out. “Just—I’ll be right back. He probably wants to have a chat, and it’s not like he can call.”

He took a quivering breath. “I don’t—I can’t—”

“I know,” I whispered as Kage joined us.

“The hell do you have my guy doing?” Kage thundered at Stigler.

She took a breath and retold the story quickly as I put back on my jacket.

“Everyone goes downstairs right now,” Kage demanded, turning on Becker. “I want SOG on standby now.”

He said “now” about eight more times before I was allowed on the elevator. Ian came with me, standing directly behind me, hands on my shoulders.

On the way down in the elevator, Stigler passed me a dime.

“What is—”

“You feel the weight?” I nodded as she took a deep breath. “It’s a tracker. He won’t be able to tell unless he holds it in his hand.”

“Okay.”

“He will not take you out of this area. We won’t let him. We have all the streets in a two-mile radius sealed off. Just get the boy and get out any way you can,” she stressed, grabbing hold of my shoulder. “We don’t want Hartley. We just want you and Max both in one piece.”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she barely got out, forcing a smile.

I stepped away from Ian and watched him clench his jaw. “I’ll be right back.”

His eyes filled, but he did not shed a tear. “Hurry.”

The sidewalk was full of federal agents and CPD, and into that crowd came Kage and everyone from upstairs. When I saw Ching arrive, I turned to Kage, who gave me a nod. Turning fast, I bolted down the sidewalk.

It was a long, busy street—all the driveways that opened out onto the road, with the endless purge of cars, thick crowds, homeless people, stragglers from groups—a continual tide I had to dodge or, in a few cases, leap, even veer into the street to avoid, only to almost get hit before careening back onto the sidewalk and running on. I was in good shape—I ran with Ian every other day, did my cardio, lifted weights—but still, after twenty minutes of running all-out, I was tiring. Ian was the distance runner, his muscles compact, tight, lean, and sleek like a big cat. I was more bull, with what Ian called my massive shoulders and hard, heavy muscle. When I saw the van out of the corner of my eye, I was thankful. When it stopped ahead, double-parking beside another car so two others couldn’t pull out, I ran to catch up, certain that was where I was going.

It rolled forward half a car length into the crosswalk, and upon reaching it, I dived inside the open door as a young man with his hands tied behind his back and duct tape over his mouth was shoved out onto the hood of a parked Honda Civic.

I scrambled to sit up as the van lurched forward and saw—

Craig Hartley.

Immaculately put together as always. As usual he looked like he was styled for a magazine shoot, from the three-hundred-dollar haircut to the Carlos Santos brown wingtip boots. The Soho-fit herringbone navy wool suit was stunning on him, setting off his thick blond hair, styled in a side part that looked particularly good. Funny, his boots were the exact ones I’d been shopping for just weeks before. We had always shared a similar taste in footwear.

Even after how many times our paths had crossed over the years, it was still a surprise to see him. I always expected each time to be the last.

“Nice gun,” I commented, swallowing hard, tipping my head at the automatic rifle.

“Oh, thank you,” he said, smiling fondly. “I found that I needed more bullets than the Desert Eagle afforded me, and I’m not a terribly good shot, but with this,” he said, lifting the Heckler & Koch MP7A1 I’d taken off more than one would-be gangster, “I don’t have to be.”

“It probably scares people too.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And you know how much I hate raising my voice.”

“I do.”

“Speaking of ‘I do,’ I understand you got married.”

A chill ran down my back, almost jolting as sharp and sudden as it was. It was strange. I wasn’t scared of him in regards to me, but I didn’t want him knowing anything personal about Ian. That made no sense because Ian and I were entwined—we were one entity—but having Hartley “see” Ian in relation to me was unsettling. “Yes.”

“Well, congratulations.”

“Thank you.” I sighed, leaning back against the wall of the van and staring at him. “Nice shoes,” I said, as was our usual.

“Thank you. You’re the only one in law enforcement who appreciates these things.”

I doubted that. But no one else got the opportunity to give him compliments before he killed them.

A topcoat, scarf, and hat lay on the seat beside him, and it occurred to me I was looking at traveling clothes.

“Are you going somewhere?”

He smiled, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled. I wouldn’t have thought serial killers would have those, but Hartley did. “I am, and I wanted to say goodbye.”

I glanced around and saw Kelson in the passenger seat and another man driving. “You could just call next time.”

He nodded. “I would have, but I wanted to see you before I left.”

I jumped at a kernel of hope. “Not planning to come back?”

“Perhaps not,” he sighed, yawning but never taking the gun off me. “I haven’t decided yet. I’m planning to travel through Europe for the foreseeable future.”

I nodded.

“You wouldn’t want to come along, would you?”

“No,” I said gently. “Just got married, as you said, but I do appreciate the offer.”

“I know you do.” He sighed and leaned forward, surveying, taking my measure. “I could insist you accompany me.”

“Yeah, but you won’t,” I said with certainty.

He grunted as he sat back. “You’re right, I won’t.”

It hit me then, how much the two of us had changed.

Over the years I’d been told by several reporters, members of law enforcement, and even prison staff that intensity simmered between Hartley and me. We had a thing, a way of talking, communicating, that people found riveting, even flirty, probably because they didn’t understand that to have a personal relationship with Craig Hartley meant giving up a piece of yourself—in my case, literally—to him. A brilliant man, he could peel layers away so expertly even as he answered benign questions about himself that before you knew it, you were naked in front of him, turned inside out.

I’d seen so many people—from followers, worshippers really, to badass FBI agents—crumble under his scrutiny. I’d always stood apart, even from the beginning, because we started out in a place where he owed me. I’d saved his life. I’d put my body between him and death, and as I’d sprawled there on top of him, bleeding to death, he pressed his hand to the wound he himself had made and whispered soft words of comfort into my ear. We were connected from then on.

But now, after our last collision… confrontation… communion… it was different. We were different. We no longer circled each other, trying to pick apart the other’s weaknesses, looking for a chinks in the armor. We simply sat there, not quite like friends—we could never be that—but something close.

“Miro.”

“Sorry,” I said absently, again astounded that I let my mind wander in his presence. Not many others could, and live.

“No, it’s fine, nice, actually,” he said with a trace of a smile. “But I have something to ask.”

“What’s that?” I exhaled sharply. I really was calm, sitting there comfortably with my wrists resting on my knees as I rode in a van with him holding a gun on me. When had this become… normal?

“Did Kelson try to shoot you yesterday?”

“No,” I lied. “Why would he?”

“Because like everyone else I know, he’s jealous of you.”

All of them just as insane as he was, because no one in their right mind wanted to be Hartley’s favorite. “It’s how I knew he was a fake.”

“Oh?”

I realized I’d said too much and almost choked. I spoke without thought because somewhere in all the time spent in his presence, I’d lost my natural fear of him. It was how a fly forgot about the spiderweb, or the mongoose got a bit too cocky, or a pigeon thought the hawk wouldn’t even see it from way over there.

I watched a documentary once about orcas and how they would play with young seals for weeks close to the shore to get them all good and lulled into a false sense of security before one day they just ate them. It was diabolical. The whales never saw the seals as friends, and I thought that, beyond surprise, the seals must have had their feelings hurt as they were being eaten alive.

It felt like that.

As Hartley sat there like a circling orca waiting to eat me, I thought, how stupid am I? Letting my guard down was idiotic. How had I ever been soothed into trusting Hartley?

It all went back to the last time I’d seen him and had everything to do with my dog.

All of my fear had been expelled because of Chickie.

He’d saved my dog.

How were you supposed to be scared of someone who saved your dog?

“Miro?” he prodded gently.

“I— When his boss said he knew you best… I was suspicious.”

“Suspicious or jealous?”

“Jealous?” Had I heard him right?

“That someone was claiming to be closer to me than you.”

“But there are lots of people, I’m sure.”

“I’ve outgrown so many.”

“Well, he was talkin’ out of his ass,” I said, looking past him at Kelson when I said it.

“I was not!” he roared, which got a slow pan from Hartley.

Instant silence as Kelson swung around to look out the front window.

“How he was trying to blame that mess on you was ridiculous,” I continued.

“He told me you’d believe it, but I knew better.”

I shrugged. “You know I pay attention.”

“Yes, I do,” he practically purred.

I took a breath. “So what’s the plan now?”

“I have no idea,” he answered, his smile serene, almost bored. No, really bored.

“Holy shit,” I blurted. What I thought I was hearing, seeing, was actually God’s honest truth. He all but sighed like an angsty teen with nothing to do on a Saturday night. I had seen hundreds of emotions cross the man’s face over the years, but this was brand-new, and I was stunned. How in the world did a serial killer wake up in the morning and find themselves filled with ennui? How was that even possible?

He startled. “What?”

“You’re bored,” I announced, matter-of-fact. “Jesus Christ.”

He gave me a dismissive wave.

“You are. That’s why you’re leaving. That’s why you haven’t killed anybody in—how long’s it been?”

He had to think. “Since whatshisname in your house, the one who was passed out.”

“When you killed him, that was more to prove a point than anything else.”

“It was.” He yawned. “True.”

“You know, for fun, you might let the FBI catch you. Then you can fuck with the profilers, play mind games with them.”

He sighed. “I actually thought about that, but when you’re captured, there’s always so much manhandling, and people are so rough. I just want to be spoken to nicely, treated like a gentleman, not like a common criminal.”

He really was ten kinds of crazy.

“And the supermax was so boring, you really have no idea.”

“You realize they’re made like that on purpose.”

He made a noise of agreement.

“What if I stayed with you the whole time until you were incarcerated, and what if the supermax was off the table?”

“Well, for one, you would have to go home eventually, and for two, you can’t say for certain where I’ll go, and now this Ryerson thinks I’ve done something to him personally, and that’s going to be—”

“I can fix that,” I asserted, studying him. “I told him that wasn’t you, and I can let him know that it was Kelson who took his son.”

He grimaced, unconvinced.

“Your track record speaks for itself. It’s not like you to target anyone in law enforcement.”

“Except you.”

“Not because I was a cop and now a marshal, but because I saved your life.”

“That’s true.”

“Believe me, I can explain what happened.”

“And you’d do that for me?”

“It’s the truth,” I said, avoiding that trap.

He pointed over his shoulder at Kelson. “Well, all I ever wanted was access to the FBI, which I had first with Wojno and then with Kelson.”

“Right.”

“But my interests have changed,” he said deliberately, flicking his pale blue eyes to mine, holding for a moment, and then dropping them. The action told me all I needed to know about Kelson’s life expectancy. He was one step from the grave.

But Hartley would never kill him in the van. He wouldn’t want any splatter.

“So you’re flying to Europe?” I asked for clarification.

“Yes,” he said with an indulgent smile, and we both heard my question as I intended it, that he, no one else, was traveling. I couldn’t see the driver’s face, but he was good, whoever he was, because the van had not slowed once since I got in. Of course Stigler was wrong; they had taken me rather quickly past the safe zone she’d set up.

“You know,” he said after only moments, “I do believe you’re the only person I’ve ever truly cared for.”

“Such as that is,” I teased, but gently. Poking a viper was never a wise decision.

“True,” he said, smiling fondly before turning to look over his shoulder out the front window.

I could have rushed him, done something, but we’d developed a strange trust between us that I didn’t want to mess with. The idea of returning to a time when I feared what he would do to me was exhausting even to consider. In my life now, he was not one of my day-to-day concerns. I didn’t want to change that. I didn’t need the arrow back on me. I did need to check something, though.

“I don’t want us to be on bad terms, but I also can’t have you hurting people, because then that’s on my head too.”

“How?” he asked, turning back to me.

“I’m responsible for what you do.”

“Why? Because you won’t trade your life to stop me?”

“You won’t kill me.”

“If it’s me or you, you know I would. I only do not because you allow the charade of power.”

“The whole ‘you holding a gun on me that I know you won’t fire’ thing.”

“Unless, of course, you come at me with some kind of murderous intent.”

“I have confinement intent,” I admitted and couldn’t help chuckling.

“Yes,” he agreed, unable to keep from smiling in return. “But you know the rules, and we both play by them.”

We did, it was true. I didn’t push; he offered me no real peril.

“But see, I can’t have you out there killing people again.”

He thought about that before saying, “I have no intention of killing anyone at the moment. I think it was a phase that ran its course, but I’ll make you a deal.”

“G’head.”

“If I get any new homicidal urges, I’ll call first and tell you where I am, and you can hop on a plane and try to stop me.”

“From halfway around the world?”

“This is your issue, not mine; don’t make it an annoyance simply because you don’t have a valid passport.”

“I’m a federal marshal. Of course I have a passport.”

“Well, then,” he contended like it was a done deal. “I’ll alert you, and you can come try to stop me. It will be just like old times.”

“I’m going to put out a red notice on you, you know.”

“Do what you feel you must.”

“You don’t sweat Interpol, huh?”

“Not ever, no.”

“All right, so I have your word? No one dies unless you call me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.”

He held out his hand. “Let’s shake on it.”

I rolled forward to my knees and stretched for his hand, not about to crawl over to him.

His hand was warm and dry, and he wrapped his long, elegant fingers around my hand as he stared into my eyes. Unlike Kelson, Hartley’s eyes were clear, intent, and showed his happiness at having made a pact with me.

I squeezed tight and would have let go, but he held on.

“Whyever did you squeeze my hand?” he asked, lashes fluttering as he smiled, bemused.

“I have no idea,” I sighed, shaking my head.

“You know, I suspect this will be the last time we’ll talk, maybe ever.”

“I would agree,” I said softly.

The van stopped then, and he rose to slide open the door.

I moved quickly, hopping out, and when I was standing on the side of the road, I looked up at him.

He breathed in deeply. “Leaving Chicago is so odd. I never thought I would.”

I nodded.

“I’m glad I was able to see you.”

“So am I,” I whispered, and I realized a part of me was happy because this, right here, was finally closure.

“That’s it?” Kelson gasped, scrambling out of the van, charging up on me, his Glock 20 leveled at the center of my chest. “You’re just going to let him go?”

“Of course,” Hartley replied smoothly but snidely, the disgust on his tongue and all over his face as he stared down Kelson. “I’m not a barbarian.”

“But he’s an idiot, and he thinks he—”

“He doesn’t think anything…. He knows,” Hartley corrected, turning to smile at me. “He’s my oldest friend.”

“Friend.” Kelson heaved out the breath, and I saw in that instant, with those last four words, that Hartley had broken him.

Completely, utterly, annihilated him.

Kelson had been so clever. He’d planned, done everything to impress the man he so desperately wanted to be. The problem was, though, I’d gotten there first.

It was simply a matter of timing.

I was the one who saved him.

I was the one who visited him when he was locked up in Elgin.

I was the one who sat and listened for hours on end to his thoughts, to the why of what he’d done and became his witness—the voice in his head, he’d told me once—and eventually, after he saved my werewolf, a man I didn’t break out in cold sweats over anymore.

We weren’t friends, it wasn’t that, but we were… something. I’d have to figure out what at some point.

But Kelson didn’t have the benefit of knowing our history and was instead hampered by his own jealousy and hatred and bitterness. What he thought would never matter more than what I did, and it was killing him. His face said everything. Where I couldn’t read him at all the day before, now I saw his intent clear as day as he squinted at me and pulled the trigger.

I didn’t have time to yell. I didn’t think about Ian and how much he’d miss me. I didn’t see Aruna or Catherine, Janet or Min. I didn’t regret all the kids I wouldn’t be around to help, or even think if Redeker would pull his head out of his ass and tell Callahan that, fuck yeah, he wanted him too.

Nothing went through my head except for the fact I was going to die with Hartley looking down at me after all. And somehow that wasn’t as bad as it once was.

Something hit me hard and hurled me into the grass and mud on the side of the road. It had snowed the day before, and because it hadn’t been warm enough to melt, when I went down under what I abruptly recognized as a hundred and eighty pounds of Craig Hartley, my back hit the ice over snow, and it took every puff of air from my lungs.

Stunned, shaken, I saw the pale sky, heard a high-pitched shrieking wail before the weight on my chest lifted and the sound of machine-gun fire filled the air in quick staccato bursts.

Kelson screamed, and when I lifted only my head, I saw him lying on the same cold, hard, ice-covered ground I was splayed out on.

Already my back was damp. The chill was seeping into my skin, sending a quick tremor through my frame as I gulped air and sat up. When I turned my head to the left… only then did I see Hartley.

His mouth was open, and he was breathing, but it was labored, and in the next second I saw the reason. Blood staining his jacket over his heart.

Scrambling sideways, I pressed both hands to his chest, pushing hard, which made him wince in pain.

“Useless,” he husked as a tear rolled from his left eye down toward his ear.

“The hell were you thinking?” I rasped, my voice, fractured, stilted, sounding odd, frightened and hollow.

“Well,” he huffed, each syllable a labor. “I was thinking that no one is allowed to kill Miro Jones… but me.”

“Smooth talker,” I murmured, hearing my heart pound in my ears.

He tried to smile.

Lifting one hand, I struggled to get my jacket off. I needed to slow the bleeding and warm him up so he didn’t go into shock.

“Do not ruin a perfectly good Tom Ford jacket,” he scolded. “It’s no use. Just sit here for a moment and take the gun.”

I looked at the automatic rifle and then back at his rapidly graying face. “What?”

“Honestly,” he sighed, “how you’ve stayed alive this long… the driver is still—”

The sound of an engine revving caught our attention before the van drove off with a squeal of tires.

“Well, that’s heartening,” he deadpanned before he coughed up some blood.

“Shit,” I choked out, rummaging through his jacket for his phone, having left mine with Ian. “Where the hell is your—”

“In the van,” he whispered, letting go of the gun and lifting his left hand toward me.

I grabbed it fast with my right, felt how cold it was, and held tighter even as blood pooled between the fingers of my left. “Goddammit, where the fuck is everyone?!”

“Oh,” he said so softly I had to lean down, my ear close to his mouth. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?”

It was so useless now. He wasn’t a threat anymore, and yes, he was a horror, but somehow… not. It made no sense and revolved as much around the life of a mixed-breed dog as it did me and him and how he’d been in my life longer than even Ian. A very big part of me was defined by my interactions with him. I could feel it in my heart, in my stomach, the rising ache.

“I don’t—this isn’t how I wanted—we’re supposed to be even,” I said, turning to look at him, into his eyes, so close, our noses almost bumping. “I saved you, you saved me—how am I gonna pay you back?” I asked, my eyes filling.

“Next time,” he whispered, lifting his chin. “Come here.”

Without thought, I turned my head so his lips pressed to my cheek as he squeezed my hand, so tight for just a moment.

“Always knew you were mine,” he said, exhaling.

I stayed there, frozen for a second, and then turned to meet his gaze as his grip slowly lessened, and his hand would have slipped from mine if I wasn’t the one holding on.

The last tear slipped down the side of his face, and I brushed it away before closing his eyes.

It made no sense to cry. He was not a good man. He was, in fact, a monster. But somewhere between him shoving a kitchen knife into my side and taking a rib from me, and telling me that, no, my dog was not dead… he had become my monster. We were not what we once were, and in the end, he took a pair of bullets meant for me and saved my life. People would be writing about him for years.

I had no idea how to feel, what to think, but sitting there, holding his hand, seemed like the only right thing to do.

 

 

IT WAS quiet and still, like the whole world had stopped, but in another few minutes, I caught the faint sound of sirens.

I slowly let Hartley’s hand go and placed both, together, on his chest. He looked like he was resting, peaceful, and when he blurred, I realized my eyes were filling, and I put my face in my hands and let myself cry, in private, and mourn a man no one, even Ian, would understand the why of.

He’d done horrific things to me, but they were mine to forgive, and so I would. Not because he’d saved me. Nothing so cut-and-dry. If he’d left me on the side of the road like he wanted with a “Have a nice life, Miro,” my feelings would be the same. God help me, but he was my friend in some freaky way that made no logical sense.

So I sat there, bawling, chest tight, tears running down my face because Craig Hartley was the first person I’d ever lost who meant something to me, who was close to me and who had altered the course of my life. I had no parents, no birth family, no one besides Ian and the girls and a few other friends who loved me, and none of them had ever died. This serial killer was the first, and so I broke down there beside him in the mud and felt what it was to lose one of the people who’d helped shape the man I’d become.

I was glad the cavalry wasn’t there yet because it was allowing me time to grieve, to pour my tears into the ground and come completely apart. It was fortunate no one was there to see me purge the vault of my heart.

Then a wall of police cars raced by.

“Miro!”

Wiping at my eyes roughly, I took a breath, lifted my head, and saw the row of SUVs stopping beside me and Hartley and Kelson.

“Holy shit,” Ian gasped as he climbed out of the passenger-side door and charged over to me, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around me.

I couldn’t breathe, and I was pretty sure he crushed my ribs. But that was okay because he was there, solid and warm, and as long as I was in his arms at the end of things, I called that a win.

“Oh, baby, what happened?”

But I couldn’t, not quite yet. All of it too much to vocalize at the moment.

He held me to his heart, kissed my eyes, my cheeks, the line of my jaw, and then brushed his mouth over mine. I wanted more, and he murmured a promise of showing me how much I was loved when we got home.

When the Feds arrived along with CPD, Ian helped me to my feet because no way could I walk alone. I couldn’t watch them touch Hartley, didn’t want to see whatever they were going to do with him, so I didn’t look back when Ian put me in the back behind the passenger seat. Eli was driving, and even as Stigler walked toward the SUV, he pulled out and whipped the SUV around, doing a U-turn in the middle of the road leading to the Chicago Executive Airport in Wheeling where Hartley had been headed.

“He saved me,” I said to Ian and Eli—and Ryan and Dorsey, who were also in the SUV—new tears coming fast. “I—Kelson tried to kill me, and Hartley…. He saved me.”

No one said a word.

“He took the bullets that Kelson fired at me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ian croaked, turning in his seat to give me his hand.

“Only you, Jones,” Ryan sighed, and when I glanced over at him, he was smiling ruefully. “I don’t know anyone but you who gets saved by a serial killer.”

We rode the rest of the way back to the office in silence.

Once there, Ian went with me to one of the smaller meeting rooms, where a forensic team met us.

He left to get me a set of sweats while the supervisor and two others stripped me down to my underwear, combed mud from my hair, scraped blood from under my nails, and shot an endless amount of pictures of me from every imaginable angle. It didn’t take long, but I was shivering by the time they were done. Ian came in once they finished, pulled the sweatshirt down over my head, and helped me into the pants before he lunged and wrapped me up tight.

I hugged him back so hard I pulled a groan from deep in his chest.

“You’re alive and you’re here with me,” he whispered into my hair. “As soon as you’re done talking to the Feds, I’m gonna take you home, and we’re gonna wreck the bed, all right?”

I nodded into his shoulder. Not that I didn’t always want him, but now I needed him. I needed his warmth over me, around me, in me…. I was cold to my core, and only Ian could make me me again.

Outside in the hall, Eli was there waiting to lead Ian and me to the large meeting room. Kage was there, along with Stigler and Ryerson and Adair and many others, all of them taking up one side of the enormous table and fanned out around the room.

Once I was sitting between Ian and Eli, I looked up at Ryerson, who was leaning forward, hands clasped in front of him on the table.

“How is your son, sir?”

“Scared but fine, thanks to you, Marshal.”

I nodded. “I hope that you checked on Kelson before your men got close.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He did maybe have a bomb in him after all.”

All eyes lifted to Kage, who was standing somewhere behind me. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him there.

“I told you when I got there to call the bomb squad first, as you will recall.”

Ryerson turned first to Stigler and then swiveled in his seat to Adair. “Did someone do as the chief deputy suggested and call them?”

Stigler leaped from her chair and bolted from the room.

“You people run the biggest clusterfuck I’ve ever seen,” Kage informed Ryerson. “From how many times Hartley got away to this latest debacle. I swear to God, if I ran my office like this, there would be bodies stacked up to the sky.”

“Chief Deputy, we—”

“Oh dear God,” Stigler yelled as she rushed back into the room. “No one was hurt, but because the bomb squad wasn’t on-site to check and defuse the device inside Kelson, his body exploded and destroyed two of the SUVs parked on-site.”

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” Eli snorted, and I did a slow pan to him.

“What?” he said, gesturing with both hands at Ryerson. “Are you kidding?”

“And Hartley’s body?” Ryerson asked.

“Destroyed,” she whispered.

And suddenly everyone was talking at once.

I couldn’t even deal. It was too ridiculous. Who didn’t listen to the goddamn chief deputy of Northern Illinois? What kind of idiots just blew him off? How did they not call the bomb squad first fucking thing? It was… insane.

Leaning my head in my hand, the tears came again even as I started laughing.

“Marshal?” Ryerson asked.

How much would Hartley have loved this? His legend was growing already.

“He’s done,” Ian informed him.

“But we have questions.”

“Put it in a memo,” Kage said flatly, patting my shoulder at the same time. “You get up, go home. I don’t want to see you until Monday.”

“Yessir,” I said, getting to my feet.

“You too, Doyle. You’re relieved.”

“Thank you, sir.”

We were out in the hall, where I could breathe, when Eli joined us. Even through walls that were supposed to be pretty damn well-insulated, I could hear Kage yelling.

“He’s going to eat them,” I told Ian.

“I certainly fuckin’ hope so.”

As we walked by the break room on the way out of the office, Eli ducked in and grabbed a couple of kiwis from the enormous basket Mrs. Guzman still sent monthly for Ian and me.

“I sent her an email again,” I told Ian as Eli caught back up with us. “But I don’t think she’s ever gonna stop sending us fruit.”

“No,” he agreed, slipping his hand into mine, “I don’t think so either, but that’s okay, right? She can send the fruit if she wants to.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“We think we were just doing our jobs, but that’s not what she thinks. She’s allowed to feel how she wants. We all are.”

And I got, then, that when I thought before Ian wouldn’t understand how I felt, I was wrong about him. He could read me like a book.

In the elevator I leaned into him, kissing the side of his neck, inhaling citrus and leather, gun oil, a trace of cedarwood, and just Ian. He smelled like home, and that fast my eyes were swimming again.

“I really need to take a shower,” I said gruffly, my voice breaking as I rubbed my eyes hard, trying to grind the tears away.

“Don’t do that,” he cautioned, turning so I could put my cheek down on his shoulder, wiping my whole face on his wool peacoat. “Just hold on, we’ll be home soon.”

But I was about to dissolve all over again. Everything felt unsteady, like there was nothing underneath me and I wasn’t tethered to anything. I could float away so easily.

“Can you drive us?” I heard Ian ask Eli.

“You bet.”

It was a fog I was walking through, and only Ian’s hands on me, guiding me, steering me forward, kept me moving.

He got on the phone with someone, but I couldn’t tell who, and honestly, I hardly cared. He was there with me, and that was all that mattered.

There was snow falling outside my window as I sat in the back seat, my face against the cold glass, wondering what would happen to all of Hartley’s shoes. He had so many.

And his suits.

And his art collection, and everything else. If a life came down to what was accumulated, where was it all?

“Do you think they’ll cremate what’s left of Hartley?” I asked Ian.

“I dunno,” he murmured gently, taking hold of my hand. “Jesus, you’re like ice,” he grumbled. “C’mon already, Eli.”

“This is Chicago in rush hour, are you kidding?”

I closed my eyes for a second, and then Ian was telling me to watch my head as he helped me out of the car.

Eli hugged me, for whatever reason, and I felt bad for not giving him my regular full-body one back—he was one of my best friends now too—but I just couldn’t summon the energy. And then I was at the front door, having somehow climbed the stoop with Ian.

“I fell asleep in the car, huh?”

“Yes, love,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. “C’mon.”

Inside, he dropped the keys, locked the door, got me out of my parka, and led me upstairs. He got the shower going, stripped me down, and then had me step in under the warm spray.

“I’m gonna hang everything up, stow the guns, make you some soup—”

“But I’m not—”

“You’re gonna eat,” he promised. “But just for now, shower. You’ll feel better after you do.”

I nodded, and he closed the door.

“I’ll be right back to check on you, all right?”

“Okay,” I said, putting my head under the water.

It was weird, but it was like I couldn’t feel the water, like it wasn’t touching me. I couldn’t feel the warmth, like I hadn’t felt anything when Eli hugged me. It was strange, off, and I wasn’t sure what would turn it back on.

I went through the motions of washing my hair and body and stood there until the water was turned off and Ian was there, easing me out, putting a towel over my head.

He was gentle, towel-drying my hair, kissing my cheek when he was done, then drying my face and smiling at me.

“You’re gorgeous,” I told him, sighing deeply. My beautiful man with his chiseled features and sculpted body was a work of art. “Holy fuck, did I win the lottery or what?”

“Man, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stoned,” he teased, drying the rest of me, but not slow like he did when he wanted to fool around, but fast, deliberate, like he wanted it done. “Come on. Aruna’s downstairs, and she brought Chickie and food so you have something better than just chicken noodle.”

“I like chicken noodle soup,” I said as he passed me my deodorant.

“Yeah, but Aruna’s food is always a step up, right?”

There was no argument to be made.

“Just come on,” he prodded, piloting me out of the bathroom to our bedroom. I got a kiss on the cheek, and then he was gone.

I could hear them downstairs, and a minute later, Chickie came up the stairs and padded over to the bed where I was sitting with only sweats on.

Seeing him made me think again of Hartley, and it was stupid, but there were fresh tears as I wrapped my arms around the dog and hugged him.

Chickie, who outweighed some people I knew, namely Aruna, always considered himself to be a lap dog, so he maneuvered his way up and into my lap, and that was where Ian found us, sitting on the bed together, Chickie rumbling happily as I sobbed into his fur.

“Oh, baby, you’re gonna hafta take another shower if you smell like wet dog,” he grumbled. “Chickie, get down—go see Aru—don’t you growl at me, you piece of crap, he doesn’t belong to you!” He sounded very affronted, and that, finally, made me smile.

“Oh, there he is,” Ian murmured before he took my face in his hands, leaned in, and laid a kiss on me that curled my toes. His mouth on mine was mauling, firm, parting my lips as I moaned deeply, needing more, wanting more, craving the heat of him because I was absolutely freezing inside.

He broke the kiss, and I gasped, clutching at him, wanting him back, my body more than ready for him, willing, able, shivering with something utterly primal. The connection was utterly necessary, and I had to have it.

Climbing off the bed, he leaned over the railing and yelled down to Aruna. “I need you to walk the dog for me, three times around the block’ll do it, all right?”

“Going now,” she called back up.

He was back on the bed in seconds, climbing over me, and I reached up as he bent and took my mouth again, tenderly but possessively, opening me up, rubbing his tongue over mine.

I wanted his clothes off, but he swatted my hands away, rolling me to my side and holding me there as I sank down into the bed.

I was a block of ice until Ian was there at my back, his sleek, warm skin sliding over mine as he spooned me, shucking down my sweats at the same time as I felt the head of his cock notch against my crease.

“Oh please,” I moaned as I heard the cap of the lube flicked open.

He nuzzled his face into my hair and kissed the back of my neck, taking hold of my shaft and stroking from balls to head as I arched back into him. His hard, muscular thighs were against mine, his ridged stomach and broad chest on my back as he fumbled for a moment, slicking his cock, and I could hear it and smell the mint flavoring of the lubricant he’d purchased by accident last time and ended up liking.

He used the tee he’d been wearing under his dress shirt and wiped his hand on it, throwing it off the bed as he positioned himself against my hole and pressed slowly inside.

I cried out his name.

“I’ll take care of you,” he growled into my hair before he kissed the side of my neck and my cheek. “Turn your head.”

I twisted for him, and he lifted to kiss me at the same time he pulled me back, pushing deeper, the long, hard, hot length of him so very welcome as he seated himself fully.

“Miro,” he gasped, releasing my mouth, stroking in and easing out over and over, rolling his hips in a seamless, searing rhythm I ached for. “You’re alive, love, and I’ve got you, I’ll always be here… I’ll always have you. I’m your safety net. You can count on me.”

I could, I knew that. He was mine, my husband, my partner in all things, and the job didn’t matter, only life did, and for my life, there was Ian.

“Jesus, Miro, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

So did he.

I wanted more, craved more, and so tried to close the distance between us so he could piston inside, faster, harder, the burn of his entry, the stretch and fill, forcing out the cold, only his heat remaining.

“Miro, honey—you’re killing me. I’m trying to be—fuck—gentle.”

“Don’t need gentle,” I mewled, the ache in my voice making it crack and strain. “Need you all over me.”

Without hesitation he rolled me to my stomach and then lifted me roughly to my knees, rutting inside, hands on my shoulders so I couldn’t move.

“Ian,” I moaned, the domination, his power, making my whole body shudder as I clutched at the sheets and held on.

“You don’t belong to Craig Hartley, you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I know you’re hurt, but I won’t allow you to be lost, you understand?”

“Ian,” I whined as he bent over me, one arm around my chest, and lifted me up, back, back until I was impaled on his cock and he was pushing up into me.

“You belong to me. You’re mine, and no one and nothing comes between us, not ever.”

“Yes.”

Ian stroking my shaft with his rough, callused hand, his cock finding the spot inside of me, driving me wild, pumping mercilessly up into me, had me chanting his name in an endless litany.

“Look at you coming apart,” he said, the low, seductive chuckle sending new ripples of electricity dancing over my skin. “I think I see my boy coming back to life.”

And I was. I was there in my head, in my body, feeling everything, wanting desperately to be able to have as much of him as I wanted.

“What do you need?” Ian rumbled.

“You under me.”

Carefully he lifted me off the end of his dick and then toppled over beside me, down onto the bed, rolling to his back. I pounced on him, straddling his thighs, and he took hold of his cock as I sank down over him, slowly but steadily until all of him was buried inside of me.

“Ride me.”

I wasn’t gentle, and he bowed up off the bed as I ground down onto him, over and over, taking what I needed until I pushed Ian to his limit and he manhandled me to my back, curled over me, lifted my legs over his shoulders, and stuffed me full, thrusting as hard as he could.

My muscles clenched around him as I came, and he was seconds behind, my name crawling out of his throat in a husky roar.

We were slick with sweat, panting, and Ian was still above me, still pushing in, still coming until he collapsed down into my arms, utterly spent.

I rubbed his damp hair, turned and kissed his cheek, and then lifted his head so I could see his face. Always, how dark his eyes got made me smile.

“I want you here with me.”

“I am,” I sighed.

“You have to talk to me all the time.”

I grinned. “You telling me that I hafta talk is kinda funny.”

“Just—do what you’re told, all right? Don’t be such a smartass.”

“Yes, dear,” I said playfully, easing him down for a kiss.

“You two better be done gettin’ your freak on up there because some people around here have husbands and daughters to feed!”

Ian ended the kiss and yelled down at her to keep her panties on.

“Chickie, your daddy wants you,” Aruna cooed. “Where’s Daddy?”

We both heard the dog galloping up the stairs.

“Goddamn, Chick, don’t—oh God, he broke my back!”

“Serves you right, asshat!” Aruna yelled.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

 

 

ONCE WE got up and dressed, Ian went down first, and then I followed, falling into Aruna’s arms when I reached her.

“Oh, baby,” she crooned, stroking my hair, petting me. “I’m not sorry the man’s dead, but I know that it had to be messy for you, not just one thing, so for that, you have my sympathy.”

I hugged her tight, and she squeezed me back.

“Let’s get some food in you, all right?”

Nodding, I sat down on a barstool, one of three that went on one side of our new kitchen island. The entire Greystone had improved quite a bit since Ian moved in.

I was eating, not really paying attention as Ian and Aruna talked, but when Aruna hauled off and smacked him, I was surprised.

“Why’re you hitting him?”

“Because he told Min about his promotion before me,” she snapped, scowling at him. “I’m right here, for heaven’s sake!”

I turned to look at Ian. “You talked to Min yesterday?”

“I talk to Min every week. You know that.”

I did, and it never ceased to amaze me because it was the weirdest thing. Of all my girlfriends, he’d bonded with Min. He really liked Aruna, but it was more sisterly, like he couldn’t say anything bad to her. He tolerated Catherine, and I got that. She could be a bit high-handed, conceited, and snooty, but I adored her. Janet, Ian wasn’t sure about. He liked her well enough, but she was definitely more my friend than anything else.

Min, however, he gelled with. She was low-key, blunt, prickly, did not suffer fools, and she had an affinity for all the same video games Ian did, from Call of Duty to Horizon to Borderlands. They played online with others, and it was uber-nerdy. They took it very seriously, and I’d been banned from playing or talking to either of them when they were on a “mission.” They even had headsets. Ian bought them at Christmas, and Min cried over FaceTime when she opened her present. Her new boyfriend, Jensen Drake, who owned a very well-respected custom car shop there in Burbank, had given her a ring—the ring—and she’d seriously been more excited about the headset. I apologized to Jensen, who just grinned and said that was why he loved her.

They made an interesting pair, the thousand-dollar-an-hour criminal attorney and the tatted-up car guy. They met at a fundraiser, and Min took one look and moved toward him, he said, like a shark in the water. He was entranced. She was beautiful and scary, and he told me he never knew what hit him. He wanted to marry her on their second date; she was worried he was too clingy. She finally agreed to move in with him because his house in Topanga Canyon was apparently just lovely. She could breathe there. That was a very good thing.

Jensen had impressed Ian, as he’d been a Navy SEAL who got out when he realized he wanted more for his life, and that included art and a family. With Min agreeing to marry him—even if the Harry Winston ring on her finger played second fiddle to a gaming headset—he had everything he wanted. Ian told me he knew the feeling.

“So you told Min all about your promotion?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I smiled.

“What? She gets me.”

I knew that. “Did she have any advice? I mean, she always does, right?”

“She did.”

“What was it?”

“To be my best self.”

I squinted at him. “The fuck does that mean?”

“I have no clue, but she was really pleased about my promotion—and yours—so that’s—”

“You got a promotion too?” Aruna yelled.

“God,” I groaned.

She swatted me, hard, and I rubbed my bicep as I told her all about Custodial, and then Ian explained what he was doing as well.

“Ohmygod, that’s perfect for you guys,” she sighed, beaming. “You were a ward of the state too; you’ll know exactly how to talk to those kids to make them feel cared for. My goodness, but your boss is a smart man. Moving Ian into a position where he can use his natural bossiness to cut through the red tape—”

“Hey!”

“—and you being a caretaker of kids since you suck at being a grown-up sometimes, especially in terms of your personal safety.”

“I… what?” I griped.

“That chief deputy, what a clever, clever man.”

I really couldn’t disagree.