Chapter 4

 

 

ABOUT FIVE months ago, the Thursday a week after Thanksgiving, Ian and I went to the court building over on Randolph Street, down to the lower level where the marriages and civil unions were performed, and sat outside the door in the row of chairs with Carl Embrey, who was wanted for money laundering and bribery in Las Vegas. We had gotten the marriage license and paid the ten-dollar administrative fee on Tuesday and planned to get married the day after, but weren’t able to get away from a fugitive pickup gone sideways. I wasn’t waiting even one more day, so when Ian insisted we take Embrey back, I put my foot down.

“Fuck that,” I said, turning in the passenger seat of the 1987 Buick GNX we were driving around in. I loved it and even asked Asset Forfeiture if there was any way I could go to the auction when it was put up. The marshal in charge was condescending, but worse, his boss called Kage, who asked if I was high.

“This is a nice car,” Embrey commented, leaning back and wiggling on the leather seats.

I ignored him. “I want to go now,” I told Ian, checking the Hermès Cape Cod watch Catherine had sent me.

Normally her gifts were not so extravagant, but I’d scared her due to my most recent run-in with Hartley, and so she bought something that conveyed the depth of her love. She later told me I should consider it both my Christmas and birthday presents, but since I got pajamas soon after, I was thinking she forgot how much she spent. Not that a neurosurgeon noticed, and with her husband being a composer—he did film and TV scores—it wasn’t like even an Hermès watch would put a dent in their budget.

“It’s three fifteen already, babe,” he told me, turning the wheel like he was going to head back to the office with Embrey. “We can do it tomorrow early. We’ll come before lunch.”

I took a breath.

“Okay?” He sounded nonchalant, like if it didn’t happen today, tomorrow was just as good.

“Ian.”

He turned to look at me and did a double take when he saw my face.

“My honeymoon is already tabled because Dorsey and Ryan got pulled for transport. I will not put off being married to you even one… more… day.”

He fixed his eyes on me, flicked them back to Embrey, who had smartly gone quiet, and then returned his gaze to mine.

“Unless the when of it really doesn’t matter to—”

“No,” he said hoarsely. He whipped us out of the parking spot on the street, directly into oncoming traffic on Harlem Avenue, before flipping a U-turn and flooring the gas pedal. That got us moving pretty damn fast considering the car could hit sixty in about five seconds.

“Jesus Christ!” Embrey gasped from the back seat.

I called Kage.

“Jones,” he said like he always did, like I made him tired.

“We’re gonna be about an hour late getting back, boss. We’re stopping to get married.”

A beat passed. “I’m sorry?”

“Married,” I repeated. “We’re doing that now.”

It took him a moment to respond. “Okay.”

When I got off the phone, I was smiling.

“Happy?” Ian teased as he wove in and out of lanes of traffic.

“I am,” I sighed deeply, putting my hand on his thigh.

“No, no, don’t do that,” he cautioned. “I need every brain cell and all my reaction time for this drive.”

“Yeah, leave him alone,” Embrey muttered from behind me.

I could not wipe the huge grin off my face.

We made it across town in fifteen minutes—which was an Ian Doyle personal best, helped quite a bit by the Buick—and he parked while I went to sign us in. Ian got back to me fast, jogging down the long hall, and I noticed that because we’d been out of the office the whole day, we were both dressed in cargo pants, boots, T-shirts, and heavy hoodies, him wearing a shoulder and thigh holster, me with just the shoulder one, both of us with our badges on chains in the middle of our chests. It was not how I imagined it; us in suits was how it went in my head, with boutonnieres and rings. As it was, none of those things would happen, because I wanted us married right the hell now. I had a terrible habit of insisting on things, only to realize it wasn’t the right choice after the horse left the barn.

Ian sat down beside me and took hold of my hand.

I lifted my head to tell him we could wait, but the smile he directed my way rendered me mute before he passed me a small box. Opening the lid, I found two thick gold comfort bands.

“You had these?” I ground out, lifting my head.

“Been carrying them around for a week,” he said, leaning in to kiss me. “You’re not the only one who wants to get married.”

And that fast, what I wanted, and when I wanted it, was no longer a bad thing. “No?”

He chuckled. “No.”

Fifteen minutes later, after couples went in and out—some looking like they were facing a firing squad, others bursting with happiness, some with family and friends trailing in after them, others alone—I was not surprised to turn and see people making a hole for Sam Kage.

He looked like he always did, polished, strong, like the rock you built on. It made sense he was there, and when he got close, we both stood up.

He offered me his hand when he reached us.

“Thank you for coming, sir.”

“Of course,” he said like it was expected, and then I realized he was in the lead of a surprising parade of massive proportion.

Behind him were Aruna and Liam, Kohn and Kowalski, and the three boys—men—Ian and I watched over: Josue, Cabot, and Drake.

“How did you do this?” I asked as Kage shook Ian’s hand at the same time Aruna fluttered into my arms and her husband squeezed my shoulder.

“I called the judge’s clerk and asked him to make sure you two were called last, and then I had Kowalski and Kohn pick up your boys, and I sent Sharpe and White to get Aruna and Liam.”

“You weren’t actually going to get married without me, were you?” Aruna, one of my oldest, dearest friends, asked me.

“Course not,” I lied as she pulled her iPad Mini out of her bag. I was suddenly looking at the faces of three other women.

Besides Ian, I defined four other people in my life as family: Min Kwon, Catherine Benton, Aruna Duffy, and Janet Powell. Aruna was in Chicago with me, but Min was in her office in LA, Catherine was in scrubs at Mount Sinai Beth Israel, and Janet was in her office in Washington DC. They were all beaming at me and waving before Aruna turned it so they could see the others.

Kowalski glowered, but Eli gave them his patented flashing grin, and then on cue, I saw Sharpe and White coming toward us, followed by Ching and Becker with a guy in handcuffs between them. The man was bleeding, and Ching was wrapping the knuckles of his right hand with what looked like gauze. Everyone moved out of the way as Becker shoved their prisoner down beside Embrey. Two uniformed CPD officers came last, and they took up position, one on each side of the two men in handcuffs. Kage thanked them for being there, and they nodded, glancing over to us and, I was certain, wondering what the hell was going on. They didn’t dare question it, however. That was the chief deputy US marshal standing there.

I hugged everyone, and when we were called in, I made the walk with one hand in Ian’s and the other in Aruna’s.

We didn’t need witnesses, I knew that, but it made my heart swell and my eyes fill with everyone being there, even Dorsey and Ryan on FaceTime on Eli’s phone.

It was fast, all of ten minutes. The important part was not the words but that it was official, and when it was over, Ian belonged to me. Sliding the ring onto Ian’s finger settled my heart in my chest, grounded me, and fused him into my life forever. He was what I somehow thought he would never be: my husband. Even when he asked me to marry him, even when I said yes, I never thought we’d make it before the judge and have things legal and binding between us. But now I could see my whole life with him in it with such absolute certainty that I was, for a moment, overwhelmed. He was mine, and it was done, and as my vision blurred, he kissed me to a round of clapping and cheering. I put my face against his shoulder as I shuddered, and he held me tight enough to keep me from flying apart with happiness. It was, without a doubt, the greatest day of my life. I could not ever remember being happier.

Now, some months later, following Ian out of the club, seeing the resized ring back on his hand sent a tremor through me, and I had to clutch at him for balance.

“You all right?” he asked. I could hear the concern in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m great,” I assured him, lacing my fingers with his.

He took me out the back so we wouldn’t have to walk through the crowd, and on the street, bouncing along beside him, I asked how he’d known where I was.

“Kohn sent me pictures of you all night.”

I turned to walk backward to face him. “What?”

“Yeah, he’s an ass.”

“Are you kidding?” But I knew he wasn’t, and I understood Eli’s game. He’d been on my phone sending Ian pictures so he could see all the fun he was missing out on. The man was an evil genius, and I needed to thank him.

“No, I’m not kidding,” Ian snapped, puffed up and pissed off and utterly adorable.

“Did I look good?”

“Yes. Very.” He bit off each word, which was even cuter.

“Drunk?”

“What?”

“Did I look drunk?”

“Yeah. Your eyes get all glassy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“They get dark and wet.”

“Which you like.”

He grunted.

“Ian?” I fished, wanting to hear the words.

“Which I like. Yes.”

“So you were worried that I’d run off with some sailor out on leave or something?”

“Not a sailor,” he said, annoyed, petulant. “More like that guy—what’s his name?”

“Daley.”

“The fuck kind of name is that?”

“Irish, honey, just like yours.”

“Like mine my ass.”

I turned around and draped an arm around his neck, leaning on him, hanging, giving him some of my weight. “Don’t be jealous.”

“Me?”

I scoffed.

“The hell do I have to be jealous about?” His voice was low and a bit savage.

“Absolutely nothing,” I mollified him, kissing his cheek.

He chuckled. “Listen, tomorrow night we’re having dinner with the supervisory deputy.”

“For what?”

“He wants to talk to me formally about the command position in SOG.”

I stopped walking and let him go, and he rounded on me, hands on my hips.

“What?”

“So he really wants you to take it.”

He nodded.

“Which means what?”

“Which means that you’ll be suited up in Kevlar every day,” he said, grinning.

I thought of Aruna.

It was the weirdest thing. I was standing there talking to Ian and my brain went blank, except for her.

The Saturday before, while Ian and Liam went shopping for our now-regular dinner with our friends—Ian was going to make some scary-sounding casserole—Aruna and I took her daughter, Sajani, now three, and Chickie Baby, my dog, for a walk. She had decided she wanted donuts, so we were on our way to Firecakes when she asked me if Ian and I ever wanted kids.

“Kids?” I asked, a bit horrified, scoffing to cover my discomfort. “Me? You think I should be somebody’s father?”

She turned, looking hard at me, as though taking my measure. “I think if you wanted to be, you’d make a wonderful father, because you know what it’s like not to have one, and so because of that, you would be the best one you know how to be.”

“Or, because I have a few abandonment issues of my own, I might be really smothering and drive my kid away,” I advised honestly, feeling sorry for myself in that fleeting moment. It never stayed; I was too happy with my life, with the people I had in it. But still, I had missing pieces that came from not having a family when I was young and knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt there was no one in the world who cared. That all changed in college when I met Aruna and the rest of my coven, and then with Ian.

But I was already a bit too possessive of Ian and could only imagine what that would look like if focused on a child.

“It’s different than you think it is, and besides, you parent already.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the boys.” She meant Cabot and Drake and Josue. “You nurture them constantly.”

“That’s different,” I allowed with a shrug. “They’re all grown-up.”

She snorted. “They are so not grown-up.”

“Yeah, but—”

Her phone rang then, and as she pulled it from the back pocket of her jeans to check the caller ID, she scowled. “Okay, this is Catherine, but just think about it, all right? Either way you go—have a kid, don’t have a kid—it works.” She finished with a smile that told me I was adored before she answered quickly, hitting the speaker button. “Hey, Miro’s here too. What’s the word on our girl?”

“She seemed fine when I was there,” Catherine said from the other end. “I stayed three days, and she was mad at first that I showed up because he called, but then she let it go and was happy to have me visit.”

“I missed something,” I said. “What’re we talking about?”

“Janet,” Aruna said on a sharp exhale. “Ned thinks she’s got postpartum depression happening and he called Catherine, so she flew there to check her out.”

“As a doctor or her friend?” I asked.

“Yeah, see, that’s what she said,” Catherine sighed. “So you know her, she was annoyed that I would jump on a plane without talking to her first and finding out if Ned was full of shit or not, but once I was there, visiting, she was good.”

“And did she seem depressed to you?”

“I have to say that the only thing I saw her depressed about was how Ned’s mother was hovering,” Catherine explained, and I heard the sharp edge to her tone. “And admittedly, the woman is a bit intrusive. She was holding Cody and was worried that he was dehydrated, and I assured her that he was not.”

“Uh-oh, I can hear your claws coming out.”

“Well, she was all ‘And are you a doctor?’”

I chuckled, and Aruna nodded and smiled.

“And I said, ‘Why, yes, ma’am, as a matter of fact, I just so happen to be.’”

“Did you snarl or just speak?” I teased.

“I fuckin’ snarled, are you kidding?”

I knew she had. I didn’t have to be told.

“Fuckin’ cow, how dare she suggest that Janet, who we all know has wanted to be a mother probably since she herself was born, would not be totally on top of that kid’s every need. It’s insane. I mean, Janet’s already made arrangements to start telecommuting so she can work from home once her maternity leave is over, for fuck’s sake.”

I glanced at Aruna. “She swears a lot for a doctor.”

“No shit,” Aruna agreed.

“No shit,” Sajani repeated, which sent me into hysterics.

“Was that Sajani?” Catherine asked, which made the whole thing even better.

“Oh goddammit,” Aruna groaned, looking down at her toddler, who was clapping her hands, realizing she’d done something great.

“That’s it, add to her vocabulary,” I laughed, lifting Sajani out of the stroller and putting her down beside me so she could walk the rest of the short distance to the bakery with her little hand on Chickie’s head.

It was an adorable sight, the werewolf and the tiny little girl.

“Well, anyway, I think Janet’s all right, but we should go visit again soon. It was good we went when Cody was born, but I feel like she’s a bit alone there. She doesn’t have girlfriends or boyfriends around, and she has more trouble than Miro does making friends and trusting people.”

“Hey,” I groused.

“And next time when I say all, I mean you too, Miroslav,” Catherine scolded.

“What? Babies freak me out.”

“I don’t care. How’re you going to take care of your baby when the time comes if you don’t start practicing now?”

“Since when am I having a baby?”

“Ohmygod, that’s so funny, I was just telling him that he’d make a great father,” Aruna told her, wincing as she heard Sajani say “shit” again.

“It’s true, you would,” Catherine agreed. “You’re a natural caregiver. You’re way more maternal than me.”

And it was that, my two friends telling me how I would be with a kid, and the job change earlier in the day, as well as what Maureen Prescott had said, that prompted the response to Ian.

“Do you really think that’s the best use of me?”

“Use of you?” He was confused; it was there in his scowl and the instant crossing of arms. Ian wasn’t aware of it, but whenever anyone questioned him, he went instantly into his battle stance, bracing, feet apart, shoulders squared, chin up.

I shrugged. “I’m not a kick-the-door-down kinda guy, right? I’m more the ‘Can I come in so we can have coffee and talk?’ guy.”

“Yeah, but what does that matter? You go where I go.”

“Oh?”

“Is that not right?”

“Well, no, not necessarily.”

His eyes widened.

“No, not like that,” I said quickly, realizing with the amount of alcohol in my system, this was perhaps not the best time to talk about this. “I mean, we’ll always be together, just maybe not at work.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” he yelled. “I quit being a soldier for you!”

The accusation hurt, and I took a step back, but more than that, I was annoyed because I’d thought we were done with this. “No, you quit being a soldier for you.”

“No,” he argued, and I could feel the temperature of his voice drop by several degrees. “I quit because of our partnership at home and at work, so no, you don’t get to say now that you don’t want to be with me.”

“You quit to be home, and you quit because you knew you could still help people as a marshal, but those two things aren’t inseparable.”

“What?” he asked irritably.

“I’m your home, yes?”

“I already told—”

“And your job can be done with or without me as your partner.”

“That’s not what I signed on for,” he asserted, glaring at me, the muscles in his cheek working. “And I told you this would fuckin’ happen.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“You’re sick of me being around, and you wanna get rid of me. You miss your time alone, and you wish I was off in some desert somewhere.”

The gasp was involuntary, it was like he’d hit me.

He looked startled, like he just figured out what came out of his mouth. “Wait,” he began, moving forward, reaching for me.

I deflected, brushing his hands away, and when he moved again, I backed up several more steps, needing the space. “Make no mistake,” I said, hearing the freeze in my voice. “I do not want you anywhere but home with me every night. But you want to be involved in the high-profile cases. You like going in first, with SOG, like SWAT. And you like to lead. I know that. I’m not asking you to change that about yourself.”

“Then what the hell are you saying?”

“That we don’t have the same skill set, and you know it,” I replied, shivering in the cold March air now that I was out of the club.

“The fuck are you doing?” he said, releasing a frustrated gust of air.

“You’re being an ass,” I told him. “How dare you say something so stupid to me, and if you really believe that you quit being a soldier for anyone but you—”

“Miro—”

“And if you’re gonna blame me for not doing what you love, then you should go back to doing it, and we’ll figure something else—”

“No,” he barked, rushing forward, taking my face in his hands, holding tighter when I tried to lift my head free. “I’m sorry, all right?”

Only Ian made sorry sound like he was doing me a favor and why was I being such a dick at the same time. It was impatient and growly, and fuck me, but I found it utterly endearing. He was not, as a rule, in touch with his feelings. They wandered all over the place, and trying to get them all together so he could speak definitively about them was like herding cats.

“Are you?” I gave him the out because the way he was touching my face felt really good, and something about the hold was rough and tender at the same time. I had no doubt Ian loved me fiercely and truly and with just a trace of scary possessiveness that was very hot.

“You know I am,” he grumbled, letting me go, scowling. “I just want to be home with you, not off wherever.”

“Okay,” I said, grinning. “Then think before you speak, jackass, because you sound a bit muffled when you talk out of your ass.”

“I just—if I’m not your partner, who’s gonna watch out for you, and look what happened today just because I was across town!”

He was getting worked up again, so I reached out and cupped his cheek, feeling the rough stubble under my hand, seeing the laugh lines around his eyes and dragging my thumb across his bottom lip. “Baby, it’s the job. Even when you’re right there, I can still get hurt, yeah?”

His growl as I dropped my hand was adorable, and the urge to kiss him in the middle of the sidewalk became almost unbearable.

He closed his eyes a moment, raking his fingers through thick hair that had grown out quite a bit in the last few months. Normally for the Army he kept almost a buzz cut, but now it was longer, still high and tight on the sides, but longer on top so there was more texture and more to pull. My own hair never went back to its former pomp after I let it grow out during Ian’s last deployment. So now it fell below my ears in a tousled, layered mess I was honestly surprised Kage had not insisted I cut yet. Either he didn’t notice or didn’t care, but either was fine with me. Watching Ian tug at his, though, made me think about bed.

“Ian,” I began, sounding breathy, needy, my voice almost a rasp. “Can we talk about the rest of this tomorrow?”

“Miro—”

“In the morning,” I pleaded, looking him up and down, hearing my exhale, feeling the tremor run through me.

He glared at me. “I’m not going to—”

“I drank a lot.”

“So what? You can handle your liquor better than most people I know.”

“Aww, that’s nice,” I placated, stepping in close and kissing the side of his neck, ending with a bite before stepping back. “But I want to get in bed with you now, and my brain is pretty much completely occupied with that.”

He coughed softly. “So you’re asking me to table our discussion about life here so we can go home and have sex.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

He ran his eyes over me from head to toe. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

It was nice he had it just as bad as me.