All Kinds of Tied Down (35 page)

“But he’s yours.”

“What are we talking about?” Ryan wanted to know.

“Doyle’s wolf,” Dorsey informed him.

“Oh, okay.”

“You have a wolf?” Cabot asked.

“He’s a dog,” I said, clearing it up.

Ian’s phone rang, and after checking the caller ID, he got up and left, taking the call outside the room. I wanted to know who called, but more than that, I wanted to be done.

“Have them start signing,” I told Ryan. “Let’s give them their document packets and get this show on the road already. We’re all wiped out. Please.”

“We need food,” Cabot begged.

“Just gimme a pen,” Drake pleaded as well. “I’ll sign whatever you want.”

“I bet this is a form of torture in some countries,” Cabot insisted.

“But you guys need to be apprised of—”

“Miro and Ian are gonna take care of us,” Drake explained to them. “We’ll be fine.”

Ryan and Dorsey looked up at me.

“Let it go,” I groused.

“Awww, you and Doyle are parents,” Dorsey said snidely.

Ryan grinned. “Mazel tov.”

“You guys are such assholes,” I grumbled.

But large plastic document pouches slid across the table, as well as two binders.

“Make with the signing,” Dorsey directed.

By the time Ian came back an hour later, we were done.

There was so much to do in the first days and weeks of new witness relocation. Social Security cards were already in the packets along with birth certificates, but Drake and Cabot had to get driver’s licenses, enroll in school, and be placed in jobs. All the things that fell under setting up a new life, Ian and I would make certain were done. We would be with them the whole way, from finding a furnished apartment to buying supplies for their new abode to purchasing clothes and school books and all other essentials. We’d set them up and then keep tabs. Ian and I had done intake many times. It was the part of the job I loved the best, helping people pick up the pieces of their lives to start anew. I was looking forward to watching over Cabot and Drake.

As the four of us walked to the elevator, I asked Ian who was on the phone.

“My father,” he said, hitting the Down button.

“And?”

He coughed. “He was upset I hadn’t gotten a hold of him.”

“And?” I prodded. It was like pulling teeth.

“He wants us to come to dinner next Sunday,” he said, leading us all to the car. “I said I’d check with you and get back to him.”

Inside, he punched the Lobby button before I took hold of his
arm.

“Look at me.”

He complied instantly. “You told your father what?”

“That you would be there too.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “He said that was good, since I’m better when you’re around.”

“He did?”

“He knows I don’t care what he thinks anyway, but he’s fine with
us.”

“Us?”

“He said he always figured we were a thing.”

I was at a loss.

“I guess it’s what people think when they see us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We seem like we’re married.”

I had to lean on the wall for support.

W
E
PUT
the newly made Drake Palmer and Cabot Kincaid in one of the federal safe houses in a secure high rise downtown. There was a doorman who let us in and a guard at the front desk, a key fob had to be swiped to push the button for the elevator and then again inside to enable the buttons. On each floor you punched in a code to get into the condo and disabled an alarm inside with another code. It was a whole process that had to be followed, because to get out, all the same steps had to be repeated.

“I’m already confused,” Drake whined.

“I got this,” Cabot said, taking the direction sheet Dorsey had given them with the numbers he’d filled in that were entered specifically for our two newest guests.

Ian thought he could make a break for it without being hugged, but he couldn’t. They were crazy about him.

We left them with their money allotment for the evening, told them they were free to go wherever they wanted but that sticking around downtown might be best. I suggested Navy Pier, and they were excited to go and check it out.

“You’ll both be back in the morning?” Cabot asked as he hugged
me.

“We will,” I promised and passed him his new phone with numbers for me and Ian programmed in.

He was very pleased.

A
S
WE
drove to Ian’s place, he mentioned again how much he was not loving the Nissan Xterra. He had said it earlier when I led him to the car parked in the garage at work.

“This is such a comedown after the Jungle Boogie car.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

“Hey.”

I glanced over.

“Are you gonna tell the girls about us?”

“Of course.” I sighed. “And they’ll be ridiculous about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was recovering at home, they wanted to know what I was doing about getting what I wanted.”

“And you wanted what?”

“That should be fairly obvious.”

“Tell me.”

“You, idiot. I wanted you.”

His smirk was ridiculously sexy every single time. “Yeah?”

I was not going to feed his ego anymore and instead checked my e-mail as he parked outside his apartment building. When I was done, I grabbed his phone, which he had left in one of the cup holders, and checked his e-mail. I was surprised to find a letter from a lawyer on which Brent Ivers, my ex, was the subject line.

The trunk opened before I finished, and Ian threw in a garment bag and a large duffel. I held his phone up so he couldn’t miss what I’d been up to.

“Why are you getting threats from a lawyer?”

He slammed the trunk shut, and came around the side of the SUV and got in. He took hold of the steering wheel and squeezed tight.

“You threatened Brent?”

“No.”

“It says you did.”

“All I conveyed to the man,” he said, smiling evilly, “was that if he came within five hundred feet of you, I’d fuckin’ shoot him.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. “Are you kidding?”

“Don’t look so fuckin’ pained,” he groused, starting the car, shotgunning out into the street, as usual. “I told him not to call or text or send e-mail, either.”

“Or the same punishment would befall him? Gunfire?”

He narrowed one eye like he was thinking.

“You can’t do that. The lawyer filed a TRO against you. That doesn’t look good.”

“I give a shit.”

“Ian—”

“I’ll end him if he comes near you again,” he said flatly. “Make no mistake.”

“I can take care of myself, yeah?”

He pointed at my arm where the bullet had grazed me. “I beg to differ.”

“That’s different and you know it.”

“Do I?”

I reached over and slid my hand around the back of his neck.

“It’s nice that you care.”

“It’s more than that.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

“Can we stop and get burgers at Shorty’s? They’re still open; it’s only eleven.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat.

“Are you salivating?”

“Yeah, I think I just swallowed my own spit.”

Why that was so hysterical I had no idea, but I lost it, and listening to me laugh, tears rolling down my cheeks, made him smile like he hardly ever did, his whole face cracking wide open, dimples popping, laugh lines crinkling, and deep sigh of contentment emerging.

“Fuck, I love it when you’re happy.”

Which was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.

At Shorty’s, a dive off of Harlem Avenue that was only a shack with a stove in it, the cashier being the same person who passed you your food, I ordered while Ian stood behind me. Two picnic tables were the extent of their seating, but it hardly mattered, as most people took their food to go. Everyone grabbed their burger there after being at a club all night, and on Friday and Saturday it was fun to see the cross-section of cars, fashion, and people all standing in line. As it was a Sunday night, it was us and a few hookers, some college kids, and four women.

After we ordered, we waited, leaning against the side of the building.

“You know what I can’t get outta my head,” Ian asked, leaning close to me, his voice in my ear.

“What’s that?”

“You with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

Instantly my body flushed with heat, but my words stayed cool. “Liked that, did you?”

“Yeah,” he said huskily, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the side of my neck.

I covered it with my hand, feeling oddly like I’d been branded, and watched him swagger over to the window to collect our food. He smiled at the women at the table, and I saw them all check him out, following every fluid movement until he reached me.

“You know each and every one of those girls wants to take you home, Marshal,” I informed him.

“Yeah, well, I only go home with you.”

I coughed. “What’s with you being all sweet all of a sudden?”

He shrugged, grabbed my hand, and tugged me after him. The looks we got, first surprise, then smiles, were nice. But as he led me to the car, I understood. I had said where he would be—I’d laid claim—and because of that, he felt safe. He needed me to say what he could and couldn’t do; it was how he knew he was loved.

I couldn’t put my finger on the exact moment when I fell in love with Ian Doyle, but at some point, having all his attention became what I
had
to have. And even if he decided tomorrow that he didn’t want me anymore, the short time when I was all he saw would be enough.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked as he made a U-turn in the middle of the street, nearly getting us killed before he got us in the correct lane.

“Nothing.”

“Something, you got all quiet.”

“I just hope this works for you for a long time.”

“What’s that?”

Was he kidding? “Us,” I said simply.

“You lost me.”

“I want this, you and me, to work out.”

“There’s no question about that,” he said, making a face like I was ridiculous. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Only Ian made my heart stop and start with such frequency.

“You made what I needed okay.”

I couldn’t have said a word if my life depended on it.

“So it’s for you to say if you ever want me to go away. I’m in.”

He was so matter-of-fact.

I’m in.

There would be no more questions for him, no second-guessing, no hesitancy.

“You know I love you. What else do you need?”

To him, it was obvious. He knew where he stood. I cleared my throat. “Nothing. I don’t need anything.”

“So we’re good?”

“Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “We’re good.”

He grunted and turned onto my street, then parked the car a block from my Greystone. He could have parked in my assigned space, but my truck was there.

I carried his duffel bag, he his garment bag, and I kept the burgers inside my jacket to try to keep them warm. Inside my apartment, we both hung up our coats in the entryway closet, and then Ian crossed quickly to the stairs and went up to my bedroom. I cranked up the thermostat to seventy and dropped the burgers on the coffee table and my bag and his on one end of the sofa before I went to the kitchen to get a couple of beers.

When he came back down, I had our burgers split as we always did so I got half of his hot-as-hell Four Horseman burger and he got half of my To Thai For burger. Fries and onion rings got divided up as well.

“Oh thank you.” He almost cried, and I laughed as he came around the couch and flopped down beside me, leaning sideways and kissing me.

It was quick, and then he had his hands full, tearing into his food.

I stared at him a moment, hit with a sudden wave of normalcy. Us eating together; the TV going on as we checked basketball scores; him shoving fries into his mouth, sucking down a beer, grabbing for a napkin, and bumping me with his knee.

This was how it would be every night. At work, nothing would change, but here in my house behind closed doors or out with friends, it would be like this. Ian Doyle would be in my space, with me, living, breathing, building a life.

“Eat,” he ordered with his mouth full.

I swallowed down my joy so I could.

I cleaned up afterward while he carried our bags upstairs, and threw things in the laundry, our stuff together, as he hung up his suit in my closet.

“Christ, I’m so happy to be home,” I said happily, taking a seat on my bed, unlacing my boots and letting them clunk down on the floor. “I swear I’m never—Ian?”

He was standing next to the railing, staring at me but not moving.

“Come here,” I suggested, patting the space beside me on the bed.

Rushing across the small room, he shoved me down, climbed on and straddled my hips, holding me still.

“Something you want, Marshal?”

“Miro,” he croaked. “This bed is—oh.”

I wriggled under him, gripping his thighs and pressing my quickly hardening cock up against his crease. “This bed is yours, too, from now on. You understand?”

“Yes,” he huffed, arching his back as his eyes closed and his mouth fell open.

“I’m yours too.”

His lashes fluttered open, and his gaze locked with mine. “Swear,” he said, his voice hoarse and full of gravel. “You and me.”

“I swear,” I promised, reaching up for his face.

He bent into my hands, letting me ease him down, his lips parting the moment they touched mine.

“Miro,” he breathed into my mouth.

He tasted like beer and salt and Ian, and when I rolled him to his back, I deepened the kiss, mauling his mouth as he wrapped his long legs around my hips and ground up against me.

God.

Ian, in my bed.

“Jesus,” I moaned, shoving away from him before I came in my jeans just from thinking about it.

He smiled as he panted under me. “You like having me here.”

I couldn’t speak, instead rolling off the bed and stripping fast. He sat up and did the same, as rough as I was, tugging off his clothes. Grabbing the lube from my nightstand, I turned and found him stretched out, waiting.