All Kinds of Tied Down (14 page)

I saw the ring, and as I’d turned and looked over my shoulder, he’d rushed forward and pulled the knife from the block beside the sink. His arm went around my neck and I couldn’t pull my gun from that angle. My yell brought Norris, weapon drawn, screaming for Hartley to get his hands off me. Two things came out of that day: I saved a killer and lost a partner. Norris didn’t want to ride with a man who had no concern for his own life, and I decided that there were better ways for me to serve and protect other than being a homicide detective.

“Miro?”

I looked up at Hartley, brought from my memories by his use of my name, which I allowed, much to the chagrin of almost everyone. “Sorry.”

He was charmed, and it was evident by his smile. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I should be paying better attention.”

“I almost killed you and you saved my life anyway. I won’t ever be able to make things right between us until I get out.”

I nodded and grinned at him. “So never, then.”

He took a breath.

“Yes?”

“Never is such a long time,” he said softly, his gaze moving from me to Rohl. What was frightening was how quickly the warmth leeched out of his eyes once they were off me. “Would you mind getting up so I can speak to Marshal Jones?”

She rose quickly, and I moved forward, taking the seat in front of him. Immediately he sat and leaned close, looking me over, finally meeting my gaze.

“You look tired, Miro. Not sleeping well?”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, fiddling with the manila folder Rohl had left in front of me. “Can we talk about the situation in Northbrook?”

“Whatever you want to talk about is fine with me.”

“But it’s your thoughts that we’re interested in.”

He coughed softly. “Did you get the Christmas card I sent?”

“I did, thank you.”

He seemed pleased, his eyes softening, his smile widening. “Go ahead and ask me anything.”

I loosened my tie, which had him riveted. “So we both know you’re way too smart to have an accomplice.”

“It doesn’t seem likely, does it?”

“No,” I said with a smirk. “And the copycat thing?”

He snorted. “Tell me, did he have my clean lines?”

“No, not at all.” I rolled my shoulders, trying to dislodge the familiar tension there. Visiting a man who had shoved a knife into me carried with it a certain amount of stress. “But that brings me to our final question, Doctor.”

“Of course, but first may I ask after Detective Cochran? How is he?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I haven’t spoken to him in a very long time.”

“Because of me,” he almost purred.

I tipped my head back and forth. “Sort of.”

“You chose me over him, that’s why.”

“That’s a bit simplistic, Doctor.”

“Is it?”

“I think so,” I said, tired all of a sudden. “But tell me, do you have an admirer on the outside?”

He studied me a moment. “I would very much like to see you more than only when you need an answer about something.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Are we negotiating?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

“Marshal,” Rohl warned from behind me.

“He’s talking to
me
right now,” Hartley reminded her icily before his gaze returned to mine. “So?”

“What do you want?”

“What are you offering?” he asked softly, seductively.

I thought of what I could actually do and not need to give myself the Silkwood shower when I got home and added to that. “Once a year.”

“Every six months,” he countered.

“Done,” I said, because
that
was, in fact, my limit. The most time the prison allowed was thirty minutes in maximum security. I could go there twice a year, for a total of an hour. I could. “Now tell me about your admirer.”

“I’ll say who, but not how.”

“Okay.”

“And you should relocate my sister and her family, Miro.”

I met his stare. “Why’s that?”

He shrugged. “I have more than one follower, and many of them blame her for my arrest.”

“She’s your sister,” I reminded him.

“She left the ring for you to find, Miro.”

“It was an accident; we both know it was.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he sighed, mapping my face, the study almost unnerving.

I turned in my seat, but Thompson was already on his phone.

“We’re on it,” he snapped.

I pivoted back to Hartley. “The name?”

“What will people think?”

“That I came here with these people and saw you and then we found this guy.”

“And I’ll be a snitch?”

“I caught you; it follows that I would catch him. Don’t you think?”

“But then you’ll have a bull’s-eye on your back,” he said sharply. “I can’t have that.”

“Well, however you talk to them all—make sure I’m okay.”

“As long as you keep your word.”

“I thought you were in my debt.”

He looked like I’d hit him.

“Aren’t you?”

Quick nod.

I inhaled quickly. “I’ll show. I promise.” He was a serial killer, and normally they didn’t do well in captivity. Someone always had a question for him—they needed insight, answers—and I was the carrot they dangled to get him to play ball. Someone would always be there to remind me of my commitment to the law, and therefore, to seeing Hartley.

He swallowed hard. “Clark Viana has a home in Highland Park.”

“What does he do?” Rohl asked.

“He’s a stockbroker.”

“And how will we know he’s our man, Doctor?”

“He keeps trophies in his wine cellar.”

“Okay,” Rohl huffed, and suddenly the whole room was on a phone, no longer caring about me or the good doctor.

Since they were all busy talking, no one noticed when Hartley reached out and took hold of my tie. The guard, from where he was standing behind Hartley, couldn’t see what was going on, but that was okay. I wasn’t scared. I had, in fact, never been frightened of him, and that had become the basis for our ongoing relationship. That and the fact that he’d tried to kill me and failed.

“I’ll find out how you’re getting messages out,” I promised.

His grip on my pale blue tie with the red circles was light; if I leaned back it would have slid over his curled fingers. “Someday, Miro Jones, I will possess you, and you will be my greatest work.”

I nodded.

“You might not believe me now, but you will.”

“I’m sure,” I said as he slowly opened his hand.

“There will come a morning when you’ll open your eyes and I’ll be there with you,” Hartley whispered, the middle finger of his right hand inches from my face.

“Not fuckin’ likely,” I grunted, leaning back, the tie running through his hand like water before I stood up. “We’ll save your sister and her family.”

His smile made his eyes glimmer. “The things you think I care about, Miro.”

I moved through the crowd of agents to the door.

“Do take care of yourself,” Hartley added.

I knocked on the heavy steel door.

“I’ll see you in July when it’s hot.”

“Yes, you will,” I agreed as the door opened and I slipped out.

Looking back in at the room, I watched Hartley as more questions were fired at him, but he went silent, facing them with dead eyes until finally the guard announced it was time for him to be returned to his cell.

I was suddenly ridiculously thankful that I’d driven and didn’t have to wait on the FBI agents so I could leave. I thought about the last time I had made the trip out to Elgin.

That day I had felt the bile rise in my throat and bolted down the hallway as I pulled my phone from the breast pocket of my suit jacket. There was only one person I wanted to talk to.

“Hey,” came the gravelly voice over the line. “You almost done in there?”

“Why? Where are you?”

“Outside.”

He was there. All I had to do was reach him.

“You drove out?” I asked as I was buzzed through the inner door and then the outer one, leading down the corridor that separated solitary from general population.

“Yeah. I figured you needed backup.”

“I do,” I agreed, speeding up, wanting out, needing out. “I’ll be hungry after, I always am.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I barf.”

“I would too.”

“Okay,” I said, my voice cracking as I was allowed through another three doors. Each one had to open and close before the next could. And while the security measures were impressive, I could barely breathe. “I’m almost there.”

“Miro?”

I dragged in a breath. “Yeah. I’m here.”

The line was silent as I passed through another two doors. I didn’t see the warden, which was fine. He was probably waiting to say good-bye to the feds. I was just a marshal; he saw us all the time.

Ending the call, I collected my gun, badge, and keys on the other side of the metal detector and jogged to the front door. Hitting the panic bar, I was outside on the steps moments later. Not stopping, I rushed down the stairs and vomited into the trash can. Moments later I was passed a bottle of water and napkins and a hand pressed between my shoulder blades.

“You okay?”

I nodded, still bent over, shivering.

Ian rubbed gentle circles on my back and then, because I was sweating, pushed my hair out of my face as I straightened up. “You’re gonna be okay. Rinse out your mouth and I’ll get you some pancakes. Breakfast cures everything.”

But it wasn’t eggs or toast or hash browns I needed, it was Ian.

I needed Ian.

That was almost two years ago. And today, as I crashed through the last door to the outside and ran down the same stairs and heaved up my spleen, he wasn’t there.

No grounding touch, no rough caress.

No rumbling voice.

No cocky grin that said he could make it better by sheer force of will.

I missed him, and some days it felt like my chest was full of pins every time I took a breath. And on even worse days, I had to talk to a serial killer because I was the only one he liked well enough to converse with.

My breakfast and lunch were all gone in one shot, my stomach left clenching as I made sure I was done before I moved.

“What the fuck, man,” a guy who passed me moaned. “That’s fuckin’ gross.”

“Shut the hell up,” a woman snapped at him, closing in on me with a tub of baby wipes in one hand and a toddler on her hip. “Here you go, shug, clean yourself up.”

It was nice. I thanked her profusely, and when I reached my car, I smelled lavender fresh. I’d left a bottle of water in the front seat, which was good, because I needed to rinse my mouth out. Gargle. I toyed with the idea of either running home or to the office to get into my locker. In either place there was a toothbrush and toothpaste.

As I contemplated where I was going, my phone beeped, and I saw Kohn’s name appear on the display.

“Hey, I—”

“Where the fuck are you?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m out at Elgin.”

“That was this morning?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re with me today and we’re on transport. Hurry up and report to the office so we can get our assignment.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Good,” he said and hung up.

I
T
HAD
been a roulette wheel of partners since Ian was away, and today I had self-proclaimed metrosexual Eli Kohn sitting at Ian’s desk when I got to the office.

“Hey, Jonesy,” he greeted me cheerfully.

I flipped him off.

“So grouchy first thing this morning. You must need coffee?”

I needed my partner back. That’s what was missing and making me foul. “You’re with me?”

“Always, baby.”

I shook my head as he cackled.

Kage filled the doorway of his office and notified us that we were on transport this morning and retrieval in the afternoon. Kohn walked over and took the piece of paper Kage held out.

“Remember, gentlemen, not getting updates makes me cranky.”

I knew that firsthand. Kage liked to know where we all were. Not checking in got you sent home without pay. “Yessir.”

“Jones.”

I stopped moving and gave him my undivided attention.

“The feds said that you were invaluable to their investigation, though they felt that your methods bordered on misconduct.”

I coughed.

“They said that you flirted with Dr. Hartley and that he extracted a promise for you to see him twice a year.”

“I think that whatever they heard, or didn’t, has no bearing on their case.”

“Agreed.” He clipped the word. “You did good work today.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“How does it feel to have the cast off?”

I flexed my hand for him. “You have no idea.”

He nodded quickly, retreating back into his office but leaving the door open like always. I caught up with Kohn in the hall.

“You know, you and Doyle make the rest of us look good.”

I missed Ian too much to take any crap about him. I was in defense mode. “What’re you talking about?”

“You guys jump off balconies.”

“That was just the once,” I said snidely, stuffing my scarf into my quilted black jacket, hoping it didn’t get much colder.

He grabbed my right bicep, stopping me so he could step in front of me. “I was there for the first one, but I heard that the second time, you flew.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“Tell me how you remember it, then.”

Easing my arm free, I explained about jumping off Emma’s balcony after the drug dealer as we walked. By the time we got to the elevator, he was staring at me like I was insane. “What?”

“Are you kidding?” he said dryly. “You don’t follow people off balconies, Jones.”

I scoffed, pulling my phone out of my coat pocket as it started buzzing.

“You’re not the Green Beret, ya know. Your partner is.”

“Yeah, okay,” I placated him, grabbing his wool and cashmere toggle coat and holding out my phone so he could see the text from the Chicago PD homicide detective our office was working with. “Rybin says that he and Cassel will meet us at the safe house in Brookfield so we can take custody of our witness to transport her to court for her deposition.”