Fit to Be Tied [Marshals: 2] (19 page)

All at once new lights, new sirens, and a stream of big black SUVs invaded each end of the alley.

Ian’s glower was dark. “What the hell is the FBI doing here?”

You could always recognize Feds. While marshals tended to swagger a bit, the FBI always walked into any situation like God himself had arrived, so now things could be handled correctly. And while normally the pompous act grated on me, with the local cops there and the federal representatives outnumbered, I felt myself warming to their presence.

The suits were endless, and after only moments in the cluster of police along with Segundo and Hewitt—who had clearly done his job and called for backup—they were directed to Ian and me and so headed over.

Ian stepped in front of me, protectively, as he always did.

“Marshals,” the first man said as he closed in on us, pulling a badge that clearly identified him as being with the State Department. “Do we have Sofia and Oscar Guzman?”

“We do,” Ian informed him, moving sideways, no longer barring the path between him and me and the kids.

The State Department guy turned and signaled to one of the cars, and all four doors opened. A man and a woman, an older boy, and three other people climbed out and came running. All were dressed immaculately. The woman was in what I knew was Chanel from all the times I’d bought suits with one of my girlfriends; the man I guessed was Sofia’s father appeared polished and crisp in Dolce & Gabbana; and the teenager was in slacks and a dress shirt with a sport coat on over that. I knew I was making assumptions about who they were, but once Oscar looked up and screamed, “Mama!”, there was no question.

She was not a big person, Oscar’s mother, but everyone got out of her way as she tore over to the ambulance. I would have moved, but Sofia still had a death grip on me. Oscar leaped at his mother and she grabbed him so tight, so hard, it looked painful.

“Sofia!” the older man yelled, and when she heard his call, she lifted her head off my chest and looked around for him.

There was no missing the bruises or the bloodied lip, or the haunted look in her eyes as tears welled up in them. But the relief on her little face when he was finally right there in front of her, at the rear of the ambulance, was the most heartbreaking of all.

“Papa,” she whispered as she climbed into her father’s arms.

When he grabbed her, the shirt rode up a bit, and I leaned over and patted Mr. Guzman’s arm to direct his attention to the fact.

Instantly he turned to the other boy, who had to be her older brother, and I watched as he pulled off his sport coat, wrapped it around his sister’s waist, and tied the sleeves together tight, making sure it couldn’t come loose.

Sofia was telling her father everything; I heard the rush of words and my name—and Ian’s, which she had asked for—and then more words that cut off when she started to cry.

After a few moments, Mr. Guzman handed Sofia off to her mother, who wrapped her daughter up in her arms and rocked her and hugged her and kissed her over and over. Mr. Guzman then scooped up Oscar and crushed him to his chest, whispering to his son, crooning his name as he kissed him.

It was a very sweet reunion, and eventually the older boy took his sister and brother in his arms, and then both parents wrapped up all their kids. Not wanting to intrude, I hopped down out of the back of the ambulance and put my hand on Ian’s shoulder.

“Good job, marshal,” I sighed, moving my hand to squeeze the back of his neck.

“Can we go back to the condo after this?”

I chuckled. “Why marshal,” I teased. “Are you tired?”

“Fuck yeah,” he grouched. “And I’d like to point out that it’s still like eighty degrees or some shit out here. I hate this crap.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he growled. “Where you go, I go.”

“And vice versa,” I agreed, so wanting to kiss him, needing to. “You should be more careful when you’re the first one through the door.”

“I was,” he assured me. “I didn’t run into the room as soon as I kicked the door down.”

It was as good as I was going to get.

“Miro!”

I turned and Sofia was there, banging into me, arms around my waist, Oscar following, same action on the other side. Bending, I curled over both of them and rubbed their backs.

“Marshal.”

Lifting my head, I was faced with Mr. and Mrs. Guzman.

“My son says that you were the only one who stopped to help him,” Mr. Guzman said.

I had no idea what I was supposed to say to that. It was a real concern, the fact that lots of people didn’t stop to help kids anymore because they were afraid of being accused of child molestation. And as it happened, Oscar
had
needed help, because pedophiles were already preying on his sister.

“You have my enduring gratitude, marshal,” he said gravely, glancing over at Ian. “Both you and your partner.”

“I only wish we’d gotten there sooner,” Ian told him.

“You responded as soon as you were apprised of the situation by my son,” he said, inhaling quickly. “I could not ask for more.”

Mrs. Guzman flung herself at Ian, hugged him tight, and though surprised, he gave her a quick squeeze back before she turned and grabbed me.

Mr. Guzman offered me his hand, enfolding mine in both of his, giving me a truly heartfelt thank you before doing the same with Ian.

“Your son was very brave,” I told them. “He had to go a long way for such a little boy, had to remember where Sofia was and be out alone until he found help. He was amazing.”

“Yes,” Mr. Guzman agreed, pulling his phone from the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Please, I would like both your full names and who I should contact on your behalf.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” I assured him.

His eyes lifted from the screen of his phone to my face. “Oh, but it is, marshal.”

Ian coughed. “You should include Marshals Segundo and Hewitt as well,” Ian suggested. “They were our backup.”

Mr. Guzman cleared his throat. “Though my son does not yet speak English, only French in addition to Spanish and a few others thus far—”

“Thus far?” I chuckled. “Christ, what is he seven?”

“He’s six,” Mr. Guzman replied, smiling at me. “I was most recently assigned to Paris, and of course my family was with me, so my son, who has already mastered Portuguese and Italian, as well, was just beginning his English studies.”

“Holy crap, he speaks four languages already?” I was in awe. “I can barely speak English!”

Mr. Guzman chortled over that, squeezing my arm as Sofia drew away from me and went to Ian. She’d watched him throw one of the men who’d hurt her down the flight of stairs when he tried to bolt after Ian told him to walk with his fingers laced behind his head. On the ground, Ian had put his foot on the guy’s throat and asked him if he would and could follow directions from that point on. The man peed his pants when Ian pulled his gun and asked a second time. Sofia had watched the man cower before Ian, and so, in his arms, I knew, she felt safe. I was of the same mind when it was me there.

“My son,” Mr. Guzman continued, “understood that the other two marshals were not as inclined to help him as were the two of you.”

“There’s protocol we violated,” I disclosed. “And come tomorrow—we’re gonna be made to understand the scope of that, sir.”

“No,” he said quickly, squinting to try and keep his eyes from filling, the battle quickly lost. “You will not.”

I got a second handshake from him as I rubbed his son’s head.

“What is your supervisor’s name?”

I cleared my throat. “We’re actually not from Phoenix, sir. We’re from Chicago.”

“Oh,” he said, exhaling quickly. “I love Chicago. My kids particularly enjoy the Lincoln Park Zoo.”

My smile was huge. “Me and my partner live maybe two blocks from there.”

His sudden squint caught my eye and I instantly knew what I’d said. But he’d been talking about his family, so I talked about mine, and that included a werewolf currently eating my friends out of house and home and the man standing beside me.

“It’s beautiful there,” he commented and that was all.

“Yes,” I agreed. “We hope to be home before it starts snowing.”

He grinned at me. “You like the snow, marshal?”

“I didn’t use to, but a month here has me rethinking my entire opinion on snow, sir.”

“Really?”

I threw up my hands. “It’s 85 degrees right now. Are you kidding?”

“It’s hot,” Ian chimed in irritably.

Mr. Guzman laughed at us, and that was good, better than standing there slowly coming apart because he had not been there when his kids had been assaulted by monsters.

“Spell your name and your partner’s,” he instructed.

I exchanged glances with Ian, but he just shrugged. There was only so much we could do.

“It’s Miro, sir,” I said, and I spelled both my first and last, giving him Jones and Doyle instead of the fake ones, because for starters, he deserved the truth, and secondly, Segundo and Hewitt were too far away to overhear.

“And what is your supervisor’s name in Chicago?”

I cleared my throat. “His name is Chief Deputy Sam Kage, sir.”

“With a K,” Ian chimed in.

“Excellent,” Mr. Guzman said.

“How did your son get away, sir?” I asked, because from the bits and pieces I could decipher, I knew Oscar had told him the whole story.

He took a breath. “His sister shoved him out of the car as soon as it stopped and she ordered him to run.”

“Smart.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “She was brilliant for keeping him safe, he was good for listening to her. For once.”

“It’s fortunate they didn’t go after him.”

“They would have never caught him unless….”

No one wanted to consider what
unless
could have meant.

“I need to make sure that every cell phone is accounted for,” Ian said into the sudden silence. “We can’t have any pictures of your daughter leaked.”

Mr. Guzman nodded.

“I’m going to follow up on that now, make sure the FBI is made aware.”

“Please,” he murmured.

Ian gave Sofia a last hug, turned her over to her father, made quick eye contact with me, and then jogged back to the gathered suits, all the FBI and police still talking.

“We’re ready to go to the hospital,” Bryson announced.

Sofia and Oscar did not want to leave me, and when it became apparent that it really would not happen without tears, I agreed to go with them and their mother to the hospital, Banner Good Samaritan Medical Center, which was not far away.

I went to find Ian first. I took hold of his bicep as I excused us both for a moment from the discussion with the LEOs.

“What?” he asked, his gorgeous blue eyes softening the moment his gaze met mine.

“Listen. I have to go to the hospital with the kids, but I’ll be—”

“No,” he directed in his
I know everything and it’s all decided
voice that he pulled out upon occasion. “Just stay there, and I’ll meet you as soon as I can.”

“So stay put until you come get me?”

“Yeah.”

I was exhausted, my adrenaline had bottomed out, I was responsible for killing people, and I had to turn over my gun to the Phoenix PD for processing, so now I was without a weapon until I got back to the apartment. Ian was not because he hadn’t shot anyone with his Glock, but I felt vulnerable and that was not helping.

“Because I’m what, five?”

He stepped into me, close, crowding me, in my space, and while it could be mistaken for him trying to impart privileged information, it was also, very clearly, a display of dominance and possessiveness. “Just fuckin’ wait for me,” he growled.

My hands itched to touch him, to slide up under his shirt and caress his skin. I breathed out slowly in an effort to calm my racing heart as I watched his pulse beat in his throat. I wanted to lean in and kiss that spot, the need nearly overwhelming.

“Don’t stand here and make me beg, simply do what I ask.”

“Okay,” I agreed, voice weak, realizing that being the entire focus of his attention was making it hard for me to breathe.

“I’ll see you,” Ian said before gently squeezing my elbow.

Watching him leave me was harder than I thought it would be. The only upside was that I got to ride in the back of the ambulance going to a hospital and for once I wouldn’t be on the verge of death on the way. It was really sort of novel.

G
RUELING
WAS
the word of the night, very early morning, and then late morning. Ian never got away to collect me because he was stuck there, recounting what had occurred to the FBI and Phoenix PD, and I was at the hospital with Greg Hollister from the State Department and Efrem Lahm from Homeland Security.

“You understand how sensitive this is, marshal,” Hollister said patronizingly, giving me a serious look with furrowed brows, narrowed eyes, and the knowing nod. “We needed to determine what kind of attack the Guzmans suffered because as a cultural attaché who works at the Spanish consulate, what the FBI first thought was a kidnapping and ransom ended up being a run of the mill abduction for the purpose of filming child pornography.”