Fit to Be Tied [Marshals: 2] (13 page)

“Have you watched the news?” Kage asked before we even had a chance to find seats.

I glanced around the table before answering him. “No, sir.”

He indicated where he wanted Ian and me, and we dropped into the chairs at the end of the long table.

“This is Special Agent Oliver and his partner, Wojno, as well as Rohl and Thompson.”

I knew everyone but Oliver, who seemed to be in charge, judging by the way he leaned forward and stared at me. It would have been better if Wojno wasn’t there, because now I’d have to tell Ian that I’d slept with the man before my last boyfriend, Brent Ivers. It was always uncomfortable to reveal past hookups to your significant other.

I nodded, and Oliver clasped his hands in front of him as he studied me before turning to Ian. “We’re allowing you to be in on this briefing, Marshal Doyle, but it’s a courtesy, as you’re Marshal Jones’s partner and therefore would be asking questions. We expect total confidentiality and your compliance in this matter must be absolute.”

“Yessir.”

Oliver nodded and then returned his attention to me. “So, Jones, it was reported that Craig Hartley escaped from prison today, but it was actually three days ago.”

I was really proud of myself for not letting anyone see the jolt of fear that lanced through me, and for not throwing up right there on the table. Only Ian heard my sharp intake of breath, and I was thankful for his warm hand on my thigh under the table because it was the only thing real and grounding. My body flushed with a chill, and the heat from his palm coupled with the possessive hold was so much more than comforting.

“We were able to keep a lid on the information, as we wanted to run down leads before alerting the media, but now that all trails have gone cold, we need all the help we can get,” Oliver continued.

Three days the man who wanted to kill me had been running around free. The idea that he’d been on the loose and I’d had no idea was staggering. I could have opened the front door and there he would have been. It was absolutely terrifying.

“Keep in mind, Jones, that the moment we learned of his escape, you were under constant surveillance.”

Which would do absolutely nothing if Dr. Craig Hartley wanted me dead.

No amount of any kind of protection would be enough. I could never be kept safe, it wasn’t possible. He’d get to me if he wanted, simple as that. He obviously didn’t, which was why I was still drawing breath. I had no doubt that if he changed his mind, I was bound for the morgue. “Okay.”

Years ago when I was a police detective, the last investigation I worked with my partner Norris Cochran was the Prince Charming case. Some guy was killing women and turning them into pieces of art. For a while they called him The Master, after all the great artists he mimicked, but it didn’t stick. When we really dug in and found out the guy was like a walking, talking wet dream come to life up to the point that he killed you in your sleep… his name became Prince Charming. That had stuck.

Lots of detectives worked the case, and there were many viable suspects, but Cochran and I had a hunch about Hartley and neither of us could let it go. He was too squeaky clean, too calm under pressure, too nice—he used to send us doughnuts and lunch on occasion—but more than anything, he liked to talk. He especially liked to talk to me. At the beginning of the investigation, I thought maybe he was gay. But it wasn’t even that. He just liked being around me, near me, close in my personal space, and he liked it when we had tea late at night together and I told him about the case.

The night I discovered a ring belonging to one of the murder victims in his house, accidentally left behind by his sister—he’d given her the expensive bauble—he put a chef’s knife in my abdomen. I still carried the scar. But I’d pleaded with my partner for Hartley’s life and, in so doing, sealed us together until one of us died. He owed me his life, it was true, but I knew that if I ever found myself helpless in his hands, he’d do vile, unspeakable things to me and make me pray for death.

The FBI telling me that I was safe was ridiculous.

“We’ve had eyes on you since Hartley escaped.”

Uh-huh.

“Even your run-in with a mugger earlier today was witnessed.”

I was quiet. So nice of them to step in and make me feel safe. What were they going to do, watch as the madman put a bullet in my back? Chickie was better backup than the Feds.

“We followed his trail as far as Maine, but he crossed into Canada and his track went cold in Quebec. We have agents coordinating with the RCMP there, but as of right now, we don’t know where he is.”

I nodded.

“Jones.”

Turning, I gave Rohl my attention.

“Do you remember me from our trip out to Elgin?”

“Yes.”

She smiled faintly. “Well, it’s no secret that Hartley still has quite a following and many people willing to hide him and house him and do whatever’s necessary to aid him in his flight from justice.”

“Of course,” I replied woodenly, focusing on my breathing, in and out, trying to keep it regular so I didn’t hyperventilate.

“But even with those resources, we don’t think he’s stupid enough to return to the country. We can say with quite a bit of certainty that he’ll leave Canada and go abroad, probably to France, as he has many friends there and speaks the language fluently.”

I would have laughed if I could have made the sound. Jesus, how stupid were they? The man was an egomaniac. There was no way in hell he’d ever leave Chicago. It was
his
city, he’d terrorized it, he’d been news, people still brought up his name in fear if a friend started dating a guy who seemed too good to be true.

“Maybe he’s Prince Charming?”

People still whispered it and scared themselves and then checked Google to make sure Hartley was still incarcerated.

It was scary, I knew Hartley so well. He’d never leave his people, and he would never, ever leave without dealing with me.

“Marshal?”

My gaze met Agent Rohl’s. “Yeah, he won’t do that.”

She frowned at me. “He won’t do what?”

“Leave.”

“You don’t—”

“He’s going to do whatever in Canada, clean up, get his money situation straightened out, and then he’ll send people after his sister and me or come himself,” I choked out. “He’s not gonna let it go, let us go. He’s much too thorough.”

Everyone was silent.

“How did he get out?” Ian asked.

Oliver sighed. “He had a ruptured appendix and was transported to the hospital to have the surgery, but—”

“He didn’t actually have an appendix since he’d had that out years ago,” I finished for him, chuckling under my breath. “Damn, that’s impressive.”

“How did you know he had his appendix out?” Wojno asked, his tone sharper than it needed to be.

“We talked about it,” I told him, meeting his gaze only briefly. “We talked about a lot of things when I went to see him. He had it out when he was twelve, and he was pleased that his father had insisted that a plastic surgeon be on call so that there was no scar. He’d always been sympathetic that there wasn’t one on call for me the night he put that chef knife into me, more sorry about the scar than his actions.”

“Well, it was missed in his records,” Rohl informed me. “When they were prepping him for surgery, apparently the guard stepped out, thinking Hartley was already under, but the anesthesiologist was an old college friend of Hartley’s, and she helped him subdue a nurse, get out of the handcuffs, and then kill the officer guarding him.”

“Is she still alive? His friend?”

“No,” Rohl answered. “They found her in the parking lot at the hospital. The official cause of death was an overdose of morphine.”

“At least she didn’t suffer,” I said sadly. “Damn nice of him.”

Ian took a breath and turned to Kage. “What’s the plan?”

Kage moved over to the edge of the table, close to Ian and me. “You two are going on loan to a task force out in Phoenix until the Marshals Service and the FBI deem it safe for you to return here to Chicago.”

Of course. Because there was a madman on the loose, I had to suffer. Again.

“Both?” Oliver asked. “Why would you send—”

“Because Doyle is his partner,” Kage explained curtly, and I watched as Oliver recoiled from the hard, brittle tone of my boss’s voice. I was always surprised when anyone talked back to him. He was so big, so imposing, and whether it was his sheer size or how cold his stare got, I couldn’t say, but people knew on some primal level that tangling with Kage would be bad. I had told the others on my team that I was sure it had been a factor in all his promotions: he just looked like how you’d imagine a chief deputy would—plain old mean.

“I in no way mean to imply that I would question your decision, Chief Deputy Kage, but—”

“They’re both going,” Kage retorted before turning back to us, eyes on Ian. “Unless you’d rather not, Doyle.”

Ian cleared his throat. “No, sir, I want to go.”

Kage nodded. “Okay, so then you’re in Phoenix until Hartley is recovered, shot, or his precise whereabouts can be confirmed.”

I nodded even as I thought about what I could say to Kage to make him keep Ian at home. The very idea of Hartley coming through the man I loved to get at me made me nauseous. The only safe place for Ian was far away from me. I had to figure out how to get a moment alone with my boss.

“Here’s the thing,” Oliver began carefully, glancing at Kage, not frightened, but wary. “If we can get eyes on him in whatever nonextradition country he surfaces in, then we can have a team extract him. As it is now, without knowing where he’s landed, your safety cannot be guaranteed. Your continued presence could put other lives in jeopardy, as Hartley could become a threat to any witnesses in your care.”

Or to someone infinitely more dear.

“We know he could become volatile.”

Could? More like
would
. Hartley would murder anyone between him and me when he was finally ready to make his move.

“Listen up,” Kage directed. “I’ve made arrangements for you both to remain on active duty but in Phoenix, under aliases. Only those in this room will be aware of your new assignment and the duration.”

“So,” I exhaled sharply. “How did Hartley’s friend know that he was going to the hospital? How did she know that he was sick?”

“We’re looking into that,” Oliver answered curtly.

“Basically, you have no idea,” Ian surmised.

No answer.

“So is it safe to say that you have a leak?”

“We don’t know what we have, marshal.”

Ian nodded. “Is that why you made the number of people who know about our assignment to Phoenix so small?”

“We’re keeping it on a need-to-know basis,” Kage answered curtly.

That was a yes.

“Arrangements need to be made for our dog,” I told everyone.

“You do that,” Kage agreed. “And also, you need to pack for a month, keeping in mind that you’re going to Phoenix.”

He lost me.

“Check the weather; it’s a bit warm there.”

Ian’s derisive snort let me know that perhaps “warm” was an understatement.

I
TOLD
Ian I had to take a piss, and since we were in
our
building and it was like Fort Knox in there, he didn’t worry and sat in the office and yelled at the Feds. I ducked into the hall, doubled back, and texted Kage, asking him to meet me for a quick word at the water fountain.

“Yes?” he asked as he came striding toward me, looking even bigger than usual as he closed in on me. “What do you need, Jones?”

It was his height and his build, the way his clothes fit, which sort of outlined the breadth of his shoulders and chest, and how crisp and polished he was. He had the same perpetual squint Ian did, but whereas on the man I loved it was sexy, on my boss it was cold and hard and scary. I had a tough time reconciling his humanity a lot of the time.

“Jones?” Only my boss could sound
that
irritated
that
fast. I wondered if I was the only one who ever got to hear the long-suffering tone.

I cleared my throat. “Sorry, I—sir would you please keep Doyle here instead of sending him to Phoenix with me?”

Normally I would have built it up first, used different words, better ones, not gone right in and asked for what I wanted, instead feeling him out first to try to get a read on him. Talking to Kage usually required great tact, but I didn’t have time. Ian would come looking for me any second and I needed this fixed before then.

“I’m sorry?” he inquired, his tone sharp.

“I would prefer Marshal Doyle remain here in Chicago, sir. I don’t think he should be placed in harm’s way, and he most certainly would be.”

He nodded. “So, Doyle, you’re saying he doesn’t know anything at all about handling threats to his life?”

“No, sir,” I sighed. “The man’s a Green Beret, so clearly he—”

“And in circumstances like this one, he would be a liability?”

“No, sir, but—”

“So, then?”

I took a breath.

“This request is personal,” he laid out for me just in case I was confused.

“Yessir.”

“And you don’t want him to go because you’re worried he’ll be compromised due to his relationship with you.”

Oh. Yes. That was good. “Yessir,” I agreed eagerly.

“And because of that relationship, he could sustain injuries that someone who is not romantically involved with you would not be prone to.”

“Precisely.”

His eyes narrowed, and I felt like he was studying me under a microscope.

“Sir?”

“I’ll rescind his orders, Jones. Doyle stays here.”

I wanted to weep. My scary, logical, hard-as-nails boss was on my side. It was a Christmas miracle and it wasn’t even Halloween yet.

“Unless,” he amended quickly. “You change your mind.”

“I’m sorry?”

“
If
,” he began, his voice low, “you change your mind and want the guy who has your back every single day there with you… you let me know.”

I felt like he was talking about something else, making a point I was missing. “I won’t change my mind, sir.”