Chapter 13

 

I WAS careful when I slid free, moving cautiously and then shifting him sideways so he wouldn’t drop into his own cum pooled on the sheets. I rolled off the bed, went to the bathroom, and found a washcloth and towel. I cleaned myself off, and then made sure the cloth was the perfect balance of not-too-wet and not-too-wrung-out, and moved quickly back to where Ian lay collapsed.

Gently, I parted his cheeks and wiped him up, kissed the small of his back before I returned to the bathroom and hung both towels up. When I walked out, I was caught in his deep cobalt eyes and stopped where I was.

He didn’t say anything, his gaze simply moved over me, up and down and back, then locked with mine.

I cleared my throat. “Did I hurt you?”

Slight shake of his head.

“Okay.”

His eyes were so dark at the moment. I had never noticed his thick and long lashes before. The flush all over him was beautiful, but even more so were the marks I had put on him standing out starkly against his olive skin.

“Can I come over there?” I asked.

“Please.”

I hurried but diverted at the last moment to get to the thermostat. I cranked the heat up to 72 and then dived onto the bed. He turned his head to look up at me, and when he did, I saw the wicked, easy smile. It was enough.

Dumping him on his back, I sank over him, taking his mouth in a long, slow deep kiss, tasting him all over again, not letting him go until I felt his cock thicken between us.

“Damn, Doyle, your recovery time is amazing.”

“Not usually,” he murmured as I slid an arm down between us, taking hold of him, smearing the leaking precum over his crown.

“You want to put this inside of me?”

He squinted. “Is that what you want? Because you keep asking.”

I never second-guessed him. It was not something that occurred in our relationship. I never checked once he said something, but here, I was doing just that. My questions were killing him, instilling doubt, and I had to remember how he was out of bed and not mess up. Normally, I asked once. I got a yes or no and never revisited whatever topic had been discussed. I needed to treat this situation just the same, as we lay there skin to skin.

“If you want something, you tell me.”

“I always do.”

“Okay.”

“And you? What do you want?”

“I wanna be back inside you, but I think I need to slow down. How ’bout we talk some?”

He nodded, rolling sideways, propping himself up on his elbow, looking at me.

“I went to one of those clubs, you know.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know,” he said pointedly.

I scooted closer, and he put a hand on my hip. “No, I really don’t.”

“A sex club.”

“What?”

“A BDSM club, to be exact.”

Shock tore through me, but I swallowed it down to keep it out of my voice. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Maneuvering closer, he took hold of my thigh and lifted it over his hip so that my hardening shaft slid along his. Having the sudden urge to hold him, I didn’t second-guess it and took him into my arms, tucked his face into the crook of my neck, and hugged him tight. His mouth opened against my throat; I was not proud of the mewling noise I made.

“How come you never did that before?” he asked quietly.

“Because I never thought you’d let me.”

He eased free of my arms. “You should’ve known better.”

And he was right. I should have, and would have, if I had been paying attention at all. As it was, I had been so wrapped up in my feelings that I had completely missed his.

Small things, like the way he gave everyone else space but me, how proprietary he was about all my things—from coffee cups in the office to books I loaned out—and how he never, ever, missed a chance to go anywhere with me if he could help it. Ian was my shadow, and I’d never seen it for what it really was.

“I’ve wanted to touch you,” he said hoarsely.

“You have no idea about wanting,” I replied, my voice rough.

His lip curled into a slight smile as he looked down the length of my body and watched his hand move over my chest, my abdomen, and finally lower to my swollen cock. “It felt different.”

“What?”

“You.”

“How do you mean?”

“Your skin, your hands… no one ever held me down before.”

Big question. “And was it okay?”

“Yeah, it was okay,” he groaned brokenly, shifting and settling over me, laying his head on my chest, and wrapping his arms under me.

God.

I was so done. If my life ended right then, I was good.

“You make the best noises.”

“Pardon me?” I hadn’t been listening.

“You do. Maybe you don’t think you do, but you do.”

“Not following.”

“I can tell you’re content right now ’cause of the noise you made.”

“Which was what?”

“Like purring.”

I scoffed, but he tightened his hold and I liked that. “Tell me about this club you went to. I wanna hear the story.”

“Well, there was a woman at the first one I went to, a dominatrix, yeah?”

“And?”

“I let her chain me up, and she had all these paddles and whips and stuff.”

“Ian, you’ve been hit enough in your life—tortured when you’ve been on missions—and you shouldn’t—”

“Who’s telling this story?”

I shut up but ran my hand over the raised scars on his back.

“I told her I changed my mind, and she was cool about it when I left.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Because I knew she couldn’t actually keep me there if I wanted out, and it’s not pain that does it for me,” he said, edging out of my embrace and rising as I shifted a bit, staring down into my face. “I mean I never got off when someone was torturing me or beating the shit outta me.”

I nodded quickly, swallowing my sympathy.

“I don’t like to be hurt—don’t wanna be.”

“Sure.”

He licked his lips nervously. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

It was all I had ever wanted, so yes, he could touch me, lick me, kiss me, bite me, hold me down, snuggle up into my shoulder—anything. Anything at all. I was simply desperately ready to accept all he offered. But the excitement and longing that roared through me would scare him to death if voiced. So I whispered instead. “You can do whatever you want.”

He traced a finger down the side of my cock before leaning close to examine me. “This is impressive, Miro. Not only long, but thick. No wonder you made sure I was ready, huh?”

“I made you ready because I would never treat you any other way,” I chided.

“And you liked doing it,” he said, his gaze snapping to mine, daring me to lie.

As if there was any question. “Yes.”

“Did I taste good when you blew me?”

“Yeah.”

“I wanna try,” he rumbled, bending over me, his tongue flicking over my cockhead.

“Wait,” I rasped, my breath stuttering.

“Why?”

“Put your hand around me so you don’t choke.”

He took the direction and licked and sucked, laving me with his tongue, swallowing the precum that dribbled from the head.

“It’s thick and salty, but it doesn’t taste bad.”

“All guys taste different,” I managed to get out.

He made a face. “Like I would know.”

“Do you want to?”

The half grin flipped my stomach over as he sat up, straddled my thighs. “I went to a gay club because I figured maybe that’s what I needed.”

Breathing was overrated, and I could hold out until I heard what he had to say.

“And I realized when I was in there that it turned me on.”

“What? The men?”

He shook his head.

“The submission,” I concluded.

“Yeah.”

“But not to a woman.”

“No.”

“Because a woman wouldn’t actually ever be strong enough to make you do anything.”

“Not without a weapon or something.”

“But that’s not what we’re talking about.”

“No.”

“The illusion of power won’t work for you.”

“No. It has to be real.”

“Okay, go on.”

“So this guy, he starts manhandling me and shoving me forward like he’s gonna belt me onto this St. Andrews’s Cross, and I’m thinking—yeah, he’ll have to have all those buckles and shit to keep me from moving. And there’s probably real ones that I couldn’t get out of. But I can see that it’s not riveted, so I can pull out the carpenter nails easy, flip it, do something. That wouldn’t hold me.”

That’s what Ian did, he analyzed everything.

“But I started thinking: it would take time for me to get out once he has me in it, and he can do whatever he wants in the meantime.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s the part I can’t have. No stranger puts their hands on me, that’s ingrained too deep.”

“You take women home from bars, Ian. They’re strangers and you fuck them.”

“Yeah, but I know names, and none of them could hurt me,” he explained. “Plus, I never sleep with any of them. I drive them home right after.”

“Emma slept over.”

“Because that lasted more than one night. And she hated sleeping over because she was afraid of Chickie.”

I smiled and he grinned back.

“Tell me about the Dom.”

“Well, so I gave him the go ahead to hurt me if he needed to, whatever he has to do to incapacitate me, right? He’s supposed to make me submit.”

Oh God. I was terrified to imagine what Ian had done. He wasn’t known for his patience. “You didn’t kill him accidentally, did you?”

He leaned over, hands on either side of my head on the mattress. “I put him in a sleeper hold and he passed out.”

I reached up and put my hands on each side of his neck. “You’re not supposed to hurt your Dom, Ian.”

“I didn’t hurt him,” he said hoarsely, swallowing fast as I smoothed my hands down his chest to his stomach, stroking gently until I reached his hard arching shaft. “And I paid him for his time.”

“I thought there was a safeword.”

“Yeah, I know, but I forgot it.”

“How do you forget the safeword?”

He shrugged.

“You didn’t think you’d need it, that’s why.”

“Probably.”

Only Ian.

“So,” I said, toppling him over, shoving him onto his back, grabbing the lube beside me. “Tell me what you learned from all that?” I notched against him, my dick sliding over his crease. “Ian?” I asked as I flipped the cap and squeezed lube over his cock.

“What’re you—”

“Tell me,” I insisted, coating his cock and my fingers at the same time before snapping the tube shut and tossing it out of our way. “What conclusion did you come to?”

He drove himself into my slippery fist, mouth open, eyes closed, letting his head tip sideways. He pressed his temple against my forehead when I leaned down.

“Ian,” I coaxed gently, sucking his earlobe into my mouth.

“Isn’t it…. Miro,” he pleaded, “I know you know.”

“But you can’t skimp on the words this time, you gotta say it.”

He inhaled sharply. “I want to be held down by someone who could actually hurt me—”

“And?” I pried, needing more from him because it was important, because it would ground both of us.

“—but never would.”

It was me, only me, and we both knew it. The only person in the world he was completely himself with, whom he trusted implicitly, was the one in bed with him. “I would never hurt you,” I promised, placing his hand on his cock before I pulled away just enough so I could smear the excess lube on mine. “And you know that.”

“I do.”

He was safe with me, and no one else could make him feel that way because I had nurtured this relationship for the past three years, as had he. “You have to be honest.”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said, pressing two slick fingers to his entrance. “Tell me if you’re sore.”

“I’m good.”

Entering slowly, I twisted and pushed, rubbing circles until his muscles softened and gave, kissing down the side of his neck.

“You’re not giving your dick any attention,” I reminded him.

“What’re you gonna do?”

“If it won’t hurt you, I wanna fuck you like this.”

Deep sigh from him. “Yeah, do that.”

Slipping my fingers free, I notched against his entrance and then slid steadily forward.

“Miro.” My name in his throaty whisper sent stinging heat through me, and I forgot the careful and the slow and shoved in in one long smooth glide.

The noise he made was a moan and a cry wrapped up together. It terrified me. “Ian?”

“It feels like that every time?”

The awe in his voice restarted my heart. “Yes,” I answered, slipping out only to ram back in, making sure he felt every motion of my cock grinding over his gland.

“Fuck!”

I pumped in and out, lifting his leg and holding his quivering thigh in my hand.

“Kiss me.” I snapped out the command, and he strained to sit up enough that I could devour his mouth.

He broke the kiss for breath, and when he did, I pulled out. His yell surprised me, and when I moved to the edge of the bed, he tackled me, crossing my wrists over my head and holding me down with one hand, the other on my chest.

“Why would you stop?”

“Put one foot on the floor,” I directed, “and then lower yourself down on top of me. You’re strong enough, you can do that.”

He nodded, doing as I said, braced himself over me, one hand buried in my hair, the other at my side as he held me there before I shoved up inside him.

“God, Miro, I’m so full.”

“It’s different with this angle,” I said, hands on his thighs, holding him tight as I slid out and then pistoned up into him.

His mouth fell open and there was no sound, only him obviously feeling, panting, the sensations overwhelming as I did it again and again, not stopping, wanting only to be inside him. I was lost in the action—nothing else mattered.

“Miro!”

He spurted over my chest and abdomen, and I pulled him down, impaling him on my cock as I came deep inside his body seconds later.

I checked out for long minutes, the white that exploded behind my eyes not easy to simply climb out of. Like always, though, once I became aware of where I was, I felt the weight of his stare. The deep, dark blue was really something to see.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said as I realized that unless he moved, I couldn’t.

“I need to clean you up.”

“Let’s take a shower, change, and go get our witness.”

“No nap?” I whined without meaning to.

“No nap,” he said, curling over me. “But I’ll feed ya.” Again he lifted my arms above my head, this time each wrist pinned to the mattress as he hovered close. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said, unable to control my grin.

“We’re gonna have to talk at some point.”

“About?” I asked, almost gasping as the muscles in his ass flexed, sending a twinge of pain along my oversensitized nerve endings. Softening inside of him sounded hot, but it was actually uncomfortable.

“This, obviously.”

I stared up at him and noticed his red, swollen lips, hooded eyes, and the marks all over him. No way to miss that he’d been ravaged. “Like what?”

“Like,” he replied, tightening his hands on my wrists, his thighs around my hips. “Will we do this when we get home?”

He posed the question, at the same time testing if I’d let him hold me down. In answer, I yanked my right arm out of his grip, and before he could grab me again, I dropped my left foot onto the floor and kicked off, giving me enough momentum and leverage to roll him to his back and pin him beneath me. The entire maneuver was fast, jarring, and most of all, forceful. I didn’t miss his sharp inhale.

“I want to,” I answered before dropping down beside him and drawing him to me, sliding his leg over my hip so we were plastered together, joined everywhere. “But we don’t need to say it right this second.”

“I think we do.”

Oh. “Do you? Want to?”

“Where would we be?” he casually asked instead of answering, even though his eyes betrayed him, flickering with concern, searching mine.

I knew him, his tells. He was waiting for any hesitation from me. I barreled forward instead. “You could hang with me at my place whenever you want, and bring Chickie. You already have a key.”

“Yeah,” he agreed thoughtfully.

“And I could sleep over at your place once I get my hazmat suit back from the dry cleaner.”

His brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I grinned slowly. I had successfully restored normalcy and balance.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Janet and Catherine went over there to check your mail, and Cat said she wasn’t going back without making sure her shots were up to date.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Janet said that if I’d let her take my gun, she’d go back.”

“Knock it off.” He chuckled, letting his head fall back when I bumped his chin with my nose. Ian was more relaxed than I’d ever seen him, vulnerable as he lay in my arms.

I pressed a kiss to his throat.

“You’d stay there, right?”

I would sleep wherever he liked for as long as he let me. “Yeah.” I just wanted to be in his bed.

He traced over the two newest scars on my body. “Don’t do this again.”

“I’ll try.”

“Try harder.”

“Yessir.”

 

 

WE STOPPED for a late lunch at a pancake place, badges out and strapped for the duration of the trip. I ate like it was my last meal. I was so hungry and between the coffee, orange juice, and water, the waitress wasn’t sure what other liquid I could possibly need.

Ian had coffee and water and watched me hoover up pancakes and sausage, eggs, hash browns, and grits as he wolfed down steak and eggs. I paid like I always did on Fridays, as we had every day of the week accounted for and it was the only way for meals to not devolve into arguments. It used to be both of us trying to treat the other, which got old fast. Our system worked better.

After hitting the bathroom, I met Ian in the lobby, and as I yawned, shoving my coat at him while I put on my hat, two state troopers stepped in front of us. A third was hanging back.

“Help you?” Ian asked.

The trooper tipped his head at the gun holstered on my belt.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, smiling, lifting my sweater so he could see the star on the other side. “We’re marshals. My ID’s in my coat right there.”

He let out a breath, and his smile was instant as the two others joined us. “Your waitress saw the guns when you were getting up.”

“’Course,” I said with a shrug. “You gotta check.”

He gave me a friendly nod before Ian grabbed my bicep, grunted a good-bye, and tugged me after him.

“What’s wrong with you?” I teased once we were outside. I pulled on my coat. It was freezing. “You gotta be nice to local law enforcement.”

“Why?”

“In case we need them.”

The look on his face showed me exactly what he thought of that, and it wasn’t much. “This isn’t even where we need to be, M.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Just come on.”

Once at the car, I put my fist above my palm in the international sign for rock-paper-scissors.

“I always drive,” he informed me.

“Yeah, but,” I began, unable to keep from grinning, “it might be easier for you to get comfortable if—”

“Get in the car,” he barked.

I tried to stifle my laughter.

“Now,” he growled, getting in and slamming the door.

Once inside, I turned to him.

“Navigate already, will you?”

I pulled my phone from the breast pocket of my coat.

“Isn’t that the peacoat you made me buy?”

“Yeah.”

“So it’s mine, but you’re wearing it.”

“Yeah,” I grunted, checking the directions. “Okay, so you’re gonna go out here and head south. You’re looking for 394 to—what?”

He was waiting.

“Ian?”

Taking hold of the wool and cashmere coat, he tugged me close. “This is the weirdest blue, you know.”

“It looked good on you,” I said softly as he pulled the knit cap off my head. “You trying to let the cold get me?”

“In the car with the heater?” He snickered, easing me forward until his lips were a hairsbreadth from mine. “I think you’ll live.”

I sighed, so pleased that he couldn’t keep his hands or mouth off me. “You need to get us on the road.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, kissing me fast, biting my bottom lip, tugging it with his teeth a second, inhaling deep, before he let me go and turned all his attention to getting us out of the parking lot.

“That’s not fair,” I complained, my body thrumming with sudden need. And it wasn’t even sex anymore, though that was always welcome. It was more than that. I just wanted to be naked in bed with him.

“It’ll level off.”

“What’s that?”

“The hunger.”

“We just ate,” I reminded him.

“I’m not talking about food and you know it.”

I did, but I wanted to hear him say it. “If you’re doing it right, it shouldn’t.”

He shook his head. “There’s no way to contain that level of desire for—” His breath hitched when I grabbed his thigh and squeezed tight.

“Listen,” I said seriously, meeting his gaze. “Don’t speak so authoritatively about things you know nothing about.”

His attention focused completely on me.

“Neither one of us has ever been in this exact place before.”

He gave me a quick nod.

“So knock it off.”

He didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue either, which I took as a win. Moments later he turned his attention from me to driving the car.

“Level of desire, huh?”

“Shut up.”

I smiled. “Hurry up and get us out of the parking lot, Doyle. I’m e-mailing the boss with status.”

He said nothing, just took a left out onto the street, merged too quickly, and headed for Bristol Highway by way of 394.

“How long on this?”

“Like five and a half miles,” I said absently.

I directed him onto other highways until we were finally on 19E heading for Elizabethton.

“There are a lot of Christmas-tree farms here,” Ian commented as we headed for the Carter County Sheriff’s office.

“Yep, trees and meth are both big business here.”

He laughed softly.

“Hey, do me a favor. When we get there, let me talk to them.”

“What?”

I grimaced. “You always end up pissing the local guys off.”

“I do not,” he argued.

“You do. And stop being so defensive.”

“That’s insane.”

But half an hour later when we had reached our destination and then gotten the run around, he was yelling.

“What the hell?” Ian barked at the deputy in front of us. “How do you release a goddamn federal witness?”

The sheriff was not in, but Chief Deputy Greg Walker was. It was the two of us and nine other men in the office. Ian was trying to get a story out of Walker while I was on the phone with Kage.

“What do you mean they don’t have your witness?”

“Apparently he was released to the Bowman Police Department yesterday afternoon,” I replied.

“Why?”

“He wasn’t coded to be released into federal custody, but police custody.”

“How?” Kage asked irritably. “Are there even local police departments there? I thought there was only one centrally located sheriff’s department and then the state police.”

“I have no idea, but the town’s in Virginia, not Tennessee.”

“Virginia?”

“Yeah, so he’s in Bowman, which is in Lee County, Virginia. So maybe there, there’s a police department.”

“How big can Bowman be?”

“Not sure,” I answered, searching it on my phone at the same time I talked to him once I put him on speaker. “But it’s along US 58 right after Ewing.”

“How far is that from where you are?”

“Almost two hours.”

“What time is it there now, like four something?”

“Four thirty, yeah.”

“All right, so get to Bowman, make contact and get a room for the night. I need status twice more today.”

“Yessir.”

“How’s Doyle?”

“Sir?”

“He just got back, and I understand this last op went bad.”

It had? That was news. I didn’t usually ask how Ian’s missions went, because he wasn’t supposed to talk about them. But I was surprised that he hadn’t said a word to me about it in this case. “Oh, I dunno.”

“But he’s good?”

“He is.”

“All right. Give me status when you reach Bowman.”

“Yessir.”

Kage ended the call, and I looked up in time to see Walker pick up a phone. “You’re out of line, Marshal, and I’m gonna have your badge!”

Of course. During my minute-and-a-half conversation with Kage, Ian managed to piss off everyone in the room.

“You’ll be lucky to make it out of this with yours,” Ian snapped.

“Your ass is mine!”

Technically, his ass was spoken for.

Ian tipped his head and gave him a smirk. “Give it your best shot.”

Everyone was tense, no one moved, and I stood and waited as Walker called the sheriff.

“Sir, I have Deputy Marshal Doyle in front of—” Walker stopped and listened. “Supervisory Deputy?”

Uh-oh.

“I don’t know what he—” Again Walker was interrupted. “He wasn’t listed as a federal—”

I moved up beside Ian. “It’s two hours.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, not taking his eyes off the deputy on the phone in front of him. “Which is nothing, but still, this is stupid.”

I coughed. “So our boss says that you had a rough op this last time out.”

“They’re all the same.”

“What did you do?” I asked softly.

“Extraction.”

“Did everybody come home?”

He coughed. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We saved our target; we accomplished our objective,” he said automatically, but the muscles in his right cheek were doing the ticking thing they did when he was tense, and his brows furrowed.

“What happened?” I gently pried.

“The intel was bad, and we got dropped into something bigger than we expected.”

I put a hand on his back. “Will the guy who delivered bad intel get in trouble?”

“That guy’s dead.”

Jesus.

“Ian?”

He shook his head slightly to shut me up as he took a step forward. Walker had hung up the phone.

“The sheriff says that we can put both you and your partner up here, on the department, while we retrieve Mr. Ford from the Bowman Police Department.”

“No thanks,” Ian said snidely. “We’ll retrieve him ourselves. God knows how long it would take if we wait on you.”

Walker’s jaw muscles clenched, as did those in his neck. He so wanted to run Ian over with his car. The animosity was transparent.

“We’ll be going,” I said gently.

“We’re at your disposal, should you need us,” Walker said, obviously having been charged with repeating the statement.

Ian scoffed, turning to leave. “Yeah, like that’ll happen. I’d be better off with mall cops and security guards.”

When I closed the door, I heard something shatter against the wall. “Your interpersonal skills are fantastic,” I mentioned for perhaps the hundredth time in our partnership. He could have turned Gandhi into an ax-wielding psychopath.

He grunted, and when we were in the car, he looked at me.

“What?”

“It was a bad op, but I’ve been on even more fucked-up ones that have ended way worse.”

“Okay.”

“But what I hate now is, at the end, when it’s done, I can’t immediately come home.”

“You have to be debriefed, right?”

“I mean after that.”

“You don’t just get on a plane?”

“No, we have to wait for orders to come through.”

“And you don’t like that, the waiting.”

“No. I don’t.”

“How come?”

“That should be obvious,” he said gruffly, starting the car.

“Tell me.”

“Why you think?”

“I’d rather not guess.”

“My home,” he said curtly, “the job, stuff like that.”

“Chickie,” I offered playfully.

“And others.”

“Others?”

“Yeah,” he said sarcastically, “other annoying people who know better than to fish but do it anyway.”

I was very pleased with him and chuckled while I checked my phone.

 

 

WE DROVE in silence except for the music on my phone. He never cared what I played which was lucky since my taste could nicely be called eclectic.

“US 23 North to Virginia,” I said, getting drowsy. It was warm in the car, the heat on since it was only 28 degrees outside. “We should stop and get some Mountain Dew or something.”

“Take off your coat.”

It was a good idea. After mine was off, I helped him with his.

“So tell me why Drake Ford is going into WITSEC,” Ian said abruptly.

“Because he saw Christopher Fisher try and burn up Safiro Olivera in an abandoned building in Gatlinburg six months ago.”

“Okay.”

“Apparently Ford and his boyfriend, Cabot Jenner, were running away from home at the time of the incident, and when Ford went out to get something for them to eat, he saw a man carrying what he thought was another man over his shoulder, into a building.”

He glanced over at me. “Are you serious?”

“I can’t make this shit up.”

“Okay, so Ford, he sees something weird, follows this guy Fisher, who happens to be in the middle of committing a murder.”

“Cleaning up,” I corrected. “Fisher is in disposal, not killing. But yeah, pretty much.”

“What an idiot.”

“Who? Fisher or Ford?”

“Both, but Ford more so.”

I chuckled.

“So what’d he see, exactly?”

“He saw Fisher spread out the body of Safiro Olivera, douse it with what he thought was lighter fluid, and then walk away.”

“Walk away?”

“Yeah, Fisher was setting up blasting caps throughout the house with trace amounts of C4.”

“How is that arson, then, and not an explosion?”

“That’s how they know this guy’s an arsonist, it’s his signature. First, there’s a small explosion inside the building, and that ends up triggering a four-alarm fire.”

“Okay. So he leaves, and our boy gets on the phone and calls the police.”

“Right.”

“And they arrive and catch this guy in the act before he actually gets a chance to start the fire?”

“You’re very good at this game.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled and then pointed at the side of the road. “And what the hell is with all the gigantic-ass crosses along the highway?”

“This is the South?” I offered, not sure what other reason there could be.

“Not really.”

“What part of Tennessee isn’t the South?”

“So… what? There’s crosses all over?”

“It’s roadside religious propaganda,” I informed him. “Repent now.”

“It’s creepy, is what it is.”

“Moving on.”

“Fine, whatever. So Ford calls the cops; cops pick up who, exactly?”

“Christopher Fisher, serial arsonist and clean-up guy for the Malloy crime family out of Richmond.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“They move meth and OxyContin, dabble in prostitution and gambling. Compared to what we’re used to, they’re not a huge deal, but they had Fisher on the payroll.”

“Who will now be rolling on them?”

“Yes.”

“Which is why Drake Ford is going into WITSEC.”

“Yep.”

“But not the boyfriend.”

“No.”

“But Ford just got transferred back to Bowman, where his boyfriend is?”

“Yes.”

“That sound fishy to you?”

“It does, yeah.”

“Could young Jenner arrange for his boyfriend to be brought back to town?”

“Doubtful.”

“But someone else could.”

“Yes.”

“But for what reason?”

“I dunno. How old is Ford?”

“Eighteen.”

“And the boyfriend?”

“Same, just turned.”

“Have they even graduated from high school?”

“Not until May.”

Ian was working it out in his head. “Okay, so what do we know about Ford and Jenner? Were both sets of folks okay with it?”

“No, actually. Jenner’s father has had Ford charged with everything from trespassing to car theft to kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping?”

“Yep.”

“How does one minor kidnap another minor?”

“Well, Ford just turned eighteen—like I told you—and there was a two-month period in there where Cabot Jenner was still seventeen.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m not arguing with you.”

“Okay, so it’s safe to say that Jenner Sr. wants Ford gone.”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit,” Ian barked. “You know what happened.”

“I do now,” I sighed. “The Bowman Police Department sent someone to take Ford back.”

“And they have no idea who’s actually coming for him—no clue who they’re dealing with.”

“Nope.”

“Ford’s in danger when the Malloy family finds him, but so is everyone else.”

“Because the sooner Ford’s dead….”

“The sooner Fisher is released from federal custody and no one’s worried about him spilling everything he knows.”

“Yep.”

“Did you already let our boss know that?”

I waggled my eyebrows.

“So, you’re what, catching me up?”

“Yep.”

“Ass.”

I laughed as his focus returned to the road.

“Where am I going now?”

“You have forty more miles on here, so sit tight. The next thing you’ll be doing is looking for US 58, also known as Wilderness Road, and you won’t get off that. It goes right through the center of the town.”

“The town is divided by a highway?”

“Yeah.”

“So what does our boss want us to do about the Bowman Police Department? Alert them that we’re coming, or no?”

“He says no since we’re not sure what’s going on. He has the state police on alert to give us whatever backup if and when we require it, and he warned me that we’re on a two-hour window of check-in.”

“Like I can’t handle myself.”

“It’s me he’s worried about, Captain America,” I said snidely.

“I have your back.”

“I know.”

He was quiet for a few minutes. “So we’ll need a place to stay tonight.”

“I’ll find one,” I said, looking up from my phone and the e-mail conversation I was having with Kage to Ian’s profile. “Once we figure out what the deal is with Ford.”

“Okay.”

We were both quiet for a bit.

“Who’s Safiro Olivera?”

I cackled.

“I’m tired, I have an excuse. But I got to it after a few minutes.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Tell me.”

“Safiro Olivera is Leandro Olivera’s little brother.”

It took a moment, but then it hit him.

“Are you kidding?” he asked dryly.

“Nope. Christopher Fisher was trying to dispose of the body of the nephew of Lior Cardoso, who’s the number three man in the Nava Cartel, one of the most violent drug cartels in Mexico, that just so happens to be based out of Tijuana.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s what the FBI said.”

“Why is Ford even important anymore? Fisher’s dead without protective custody.”

“But he doesn’t know that. He has no idea who Safiro Olivera was, and neither does Orson Malloy.”

“Who?”

“Malloy crime family.” I snickered. “Are you listening to me?”

“Not really.”

At least he was honest.

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“Fine.”

“New topic.”

“We are a go for new topic,” I said, yawning.

“How come you haven’t slept with anyone since Brent?”

“What?” I asked, flustered. Christ, the places Ian’s mind went.

“You heard me. Why no fucking since Brent?”

It was a tricky thing to confess, and more importantly, was that the right thing to do? Was it smart to tell him? Would I freak him out? “I haven’t been interested.”

“In anyone.” He made it a statement.

“Yeah.”

“No one at the gym.”

“No.”

“No one at the soccer league you play in?”

“I was shot, in case I forgot to tell you. I was pretty busy convalescing.”

“I see.”

“What are you trying to ask?”

“I’m not asking. I just think you’re full of shit.”

“Oh yeah?”

He didn’t push. He went quiet instead as he drove.