by Mary Calmes
It was overkill, and I was humbled. While I knew it wasn’t just me who Kage had done it for, I was the one he looked at every day, so at the moment, it was feeling damn personal.
The only way Dr. Craig Hartley was getting out of that supermax prison was in a body bag. I’d been there once, invited to tour the facility, and the utter isolation once you were inside the soundproof cells, how easy it would be to lose all track of time, the immovable concrete furnishings, timers on the lights and the sink and shower, an automated existence that stripped away all your humanity… I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It had been hard to breathe. I couldn’t think of a worse fate for the egomaniac Hartley was. There would be no one to worship him; in fact, there would be no one at all. It was exactly what he deserved. To not be studied or asked for help, instead put in a box and forgotten.
I was mute, so struck by the level of endgame that Kage, without putting a needle in Hartley’s arm, had achieved. He’d killed my bogeyman. Hartley could never again haunt my dreams. It was completely, and utterly, done.
“I wasn’t saying he should be remanded back to Elgin,” Oliver shouted, done in by my boss’s smirk and seeming boredom, “but another prison where we would still have access to him for purposes of—”
“I wanted him stuffed in a hole twenty-three hours a day, and guess what? Now he is.”
“You’re being completely shortsighted! Hartley has never been the kind of prisoner who needs that!” Oliver choked, clearly incensed even as he took a quick breath.
“Oh no? I have a marshal who would disagree with you. I have people who lost their parents who would also. I have nineteen women who lost their lives, and lastly, I have a little girl who was kidnapped, and her parents had to live through that.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ve had someone I love kidnapped. It’s a nightmare I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”
I was struck by Kage’s voice when he said that last part, how it rose slightly, got louder, and I wanted to ask what had happened even as I knew it was not my place to ever even broach the topic. It was clear that remembering the incident still hurt, and for a moment, I wished we were closer so I could offer him some word of comfort.
“You’re putting emotion into a situation that—”
“No,” Kage said flatly. “I asked my boss for ADX Florence for Craig Hartley and it’s done. His paperwork was signed four hours ago, and tomorrow he’ll be transferred. If you want to see him from now on, you’ll have to put in a request six months prior.”
“Amazing how quickly things can work when we want something, isn’t it, Chief Deputy?” Oliver said, his tone sharp and accusatory, the perspiration on his forehead and upper lip pronounced.
Kage could not have appeared any more unimpressed if he tried.
“What about the people Hartley’s saved by helping us with our investigations over the years since his incarceration? It seems to me you’ve conveniently forgotten all that.”
“The risk doesn’t outweigh the reward,” Kage answered mildly, nothing Oliver was saying doing anything to change his mind. “And my boss—and yours, I might add—agree with me.”
I was the one they had sent to talk to Hartley whenever they wanted his insight, so I actually understood what Oliver was saying. The doctor had saved lives by steering law enforcement in the right direction at times, and the fact that a lot of the people perpetrating the crimes were from his legion of fans who contacted him, who he could name, didn’t hurt either. So I got where Oliver was coming from, that one marshal’s life wasn’t worth what could be gained by continual access to Hartley. But I didn’t get to decide. My boss did, and apparently, to him, the scale tipped in my favor.
Oliver moved quickly then, apparently pushed to the breaking point, and I could tell when he drilled two fingers into Kage’s collarbone that he was far more upset than I was even giving him credit for since he took his life in his hands by putting his on my boss.
“You’ve always been a self-righteous asshole, even when you were a police detective!”
It was interesting to watch Kage simply stand there and wait until Oliver realized what he’d done and let his hand drop. I knew Kage wouldn’t report Oliver; it wasn’t his way. But Oliver would know for the rest of his life that he’d lost his shit in front of witnesses.
“Will that be all?” Kage asked like he could give a fuck.
Oliver muttered something under his breath and the FBI agents filed out of the room. None of us said a word, and when they were gone, Kage closed the door behind them and turned his steely slate blue stare on me.
“You won’t have to worry about Hartley again. Now that we have him, we’re not going to let him go. His following, such as it is, will no longer have any access to him. Everything will settle down now, Jones.”
“Yes sir,” I answered, still shaken by what he’d done, and at the finite end I was suddenly facing. The surge of overwhelming emotion made it hard to speak.
I was safe.
Ian was safe.
We were all safe because of Sam Kage.
I exhaled all of it, the prickling disquiet of life balanced on the edge of a razor, the burden of uncertainty and dread.
I inhaled relief and calm and most of all, gratitude for my life, because it belonged to me again. It took great concentration not to throw myself into Ian’s arms.
“Jones.”
“Sir?”
“Take your laptop home with you and file the reports from there. Since you missed having today off, take Monday, and you and Kohn, too, Doyle. All three of you take Monday. I won’t call unless I need you.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, standing up. “For all of it, for everything.”
“Yessir, thank you,” Ian said roughly, rising beside me.
All five of us were on our feet as he walked out the door without saying another word.
Dorsey nodded before turning to me. “Damn, Jones, boss man dropped Hartley in hell for you. ADX, that’s some serious shit.”
“Yeah,” I agreed after a moment, glancing around the room, “but he would’ve done it for any of us.”
Kage was built strong and solid, a little scary, and a lot protective, which was why we’d all take a bullet for him, no questions asked.
“It’s what he does.”
No one could argue that fact with me.
ONCE WE were home, I wanted to talk to Ian, but he made me go upstairs and take a shower while he made us something to eat. Since he was finally talking to me, even though all he was doing was issuing orders, I didn’t stand there and debate but instead simply did as I was told.
It was difficult—no water on my cast, no water on either of the new wounds where the bullets grazed me—but I managed to wash all the important parts and even get my hair back to looking like I had a messy top cut and not like I’d just rolled out of bed in the morning. I hadn’t been using any product lately. I hadn’t cared about anything, but now I felt like me again because it was all finally over. I had kicked Hartley’s ass and the experience fixed what was broken. I’d been off balance, and I’d been knocked back into alignment. I felt like dancing. Or at least having dessert before dinner.
Everything had survived the chaos of the day, even the cupcakes, so I was surprised when I came back downstairs in flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt to see them shoved on top of the toaster while he fried the steaks.
“Why are the cupcakes ostracized?”
He glanced over at me, scowled, and then returned to his dinner prep.
“Hello?” I said, walking over to the counter and getting the container. The four cupcakes were all beautifully frosted, and I couldn’t wait to eat one.
“Aruna, as usual, is thrilled to have Chickie spend the night,” he muttered.
I shrugged, peeling the wrapper away from the sides of the confection. “She loves him, they all do. It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, so I was thinking that I really need to decide what’s best for him.”
“Uh-huh,” I said distractedly, the cupcake being the important thing. I deserved it after the day I’d had.
“I mean, it’s gotta be fair to him, not just what I want.”
“Sure,” I said as licked some of the frosting off.
“I don’t wanna be selfish.”
“Yeah, no, you… wait, what?” I asked, lost as to why we were talking about the dog.
“For Chickie.”
“Yeah, no, I got that we’re talking about Chickie. I just don’t know why we’re talking about Chickie.”
“Because I have to think about what’s best for him. Weren’t you listening?” he asked, turning his head for only a moment to glare at me before going back to cooking.
“I wasn’t really, no, but Ian, come on. You’re best for him,” I said, putting the cupcake down on the counter, realizing he was actually making a decision about his pet.
“How can you say that?” he asked, not pivoting to address me, instead keeping a visual on the steaks. I liked mine rare, so at least one of them wouldn’t be in the pan much longer. And while it was nice that he was being attentive to my food, I would rather have had his entire focus on me. “They take him camping, hiking; he has a huge backyard to run around in; he watches over the baby, he loves Liam and Aruna and—”
“Ian.” Why he was rambling I had no idea.
“—I know they’ll make him part of their family and—”
“Ian.”
“—he deserves to have the best person love him and maybe that’s not me and I should—”
“Please stop.”
He went silent.
It hit me then that my boy was having a panic attack and I hadn’t realized it. Of course, I had a really good excuse and all, but still. He needed all my attention now. “Ian, honey, is it at all possible that you’re talking about something other than the dog?”
“Oh, come on, Miro, gimme a break,” he snapped.
God, could he be any more obvious?
In the current scenario, I was the dog and Ian was deciding on the best home for me. It was ridiculously transparent, and what was funny was the timing. I’d gotten my life back, Ian too, and so now was the best time for him to rethink what was in my best interests. If I was stronger, I would have slammed him down onto the couch. As it was, I had to settle for being logical and nonchalant, which included eating the cupcake.
“I think it’s you,” I pronounced, picking the dessert back up.
“What?”
“I think you’re the very best thing for Chickie.”
“How?” he almost yelled, and I heard it then, the fear in his catch of breath, saw how tight and bunched his shoulders were, and how hard he was clutching the spatula.
“Because,” I began, taking a bite and getting frosting on my nose, “Chickie enjoys doing all those things with Aruna and her family because he knows he’ll get to come home to you.”
“No, I—”
“Think about it,” I insisted, licking off more icing. “You run with him every single night that you’re home. You take him with you everywhere, he sleeps at the foot of the bed, and he would protect you with his life. He can be a sweet ole dog to Aruna and her family because he knows he doesn’t live there. He lives here.”
“But is that fair to him?”
“You ever notice how happy he is when you pick him up?”
“Sure, he’s a dog. Dogs get happy when they see you.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t make a total ass of himself for anyone but you,” I concluded. “He likes a lot of people a whole lot—me, Aruna, Liam—but you’re the only one he’s stupid in love with.”
He snorted out a laugh before turning to look at me. “You think my dog is—what are you doing?”
I couldn’t answer; I had a mouthful of cupcake. I was really glad I’d sprung for the jumbo size.
“Why’re you eating that right now?”
I swallowed enough to speak. “I was eating this before.”
“You were?” Which told me everything I needed to know: he’d been completely lost in his thoughts and hadn’t noticed me even when he was looking right at me.
Smiling so he could see how full my mouth was, I went back to chewing, glad that me acting like a dork was jogging him out of his crappy mood. I wanted the hot, sexy Ian from earlier in the day, not the introspective brooding guy worried that he wasn’t good enough for me.
“Your lips are blue, do you know that?”
I laughed. And when I did, some of the crumbs sprayed out.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Stop it,” I tried to get out, because he was making me laugh, but it was muffled, and his expression—total revulsion—cracked me up more.
“Put that—gimme that,” he grumbled, reaching for what was left of the cupcake, only to see me pivot so I had my back to him. “What the hell, M?”
I cackled and he reached over my shoulder for the cupcake, but I danced away, cast thumping on the floor as I moved awkwardly, slipping by him to lean on the other side of the counter by the refrigerator.
“You’re gonna ruin your appetite and you’re getting too skinny.”
I straightened up and lifted my shirt, showing off the hard abdomen I knew he was a fan of so he could see that “skinny” was not the appropriate word. He needed to grasp that I was strong and healthy, and though I didn’t have the defined six-pack he did—there was no washboard there—I was by no means underweight.
“What’re you—”
“Can you see me?” I asked, releasing my shirt, arching an eyebrow, and waiting.
“Of course, that’s a stupid question.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think you’re stuck in a time loop.”
“What?” He made annoyed-Ian face that was part scowl, part squint, with a little bit of judgment that I was a dumbass thrown in for good measure.
“You need to stop remembering me in a hospital bed or focusing on the cast and bandages when you look at me, and just focus on me being the guy who sleeps with you.”
He nodded.
“Can you do it?”
Second nod.
“Are you sure?” I asked softly as I reached down and grabbed my already semierect cock. Just being anywhere near Ian turned me on a little, so the fact that I was hardening was not a surprise.
In response, I saw the muscles in his neck cord as his gaze zeroed in on my hand.
“Ian?”
“Yeah,” he rasped, head snapping up. “You, not your injuries, I got it.”
It was excellent news.
“You need to eat your dinner,” he said automatically, even though I watched his pupils dilate and saw him swallow hard, like maybe his throat was dry.
“I will,” I promised, licking some frosting off my lip.
“Is it good?”
“Yeah, come here.”
He closed the distance between us fast and leaned in and kissed me hard, tasting my mouth, sucking on my lips and then my tongue as I opened for him. I went boneless under the onslaught, and when he tipped my head back, I had to grab for the counter beside me so my knees wouldn’t buckle.
When he tore his mouth free, I yelled in protest. “How dare you stop!”
“Shut up,” he groused, moving the pan with the two steaks in it off the fire before plating each one.
“I don’t want to eat,” I growled.
He put both plates in the oven, didn’t even try to add the tossed green salad or the asparagus tips I’d bought earlier in the day at the farmers’ market. Instead he turned off the burner, wiped his hands, turned, and lunged at me.
“Oh thank God,” I moaned in delight, shivering with anticipation as he gently pulled my shirt off—I was wounded after all—and then took my face in his hands and ravished my mouth.
“Take me, have me, use me, whatever you want,” I said, trying to keep my lips on his even as I issued my desperate plea.
/> “God, I want you so bad,” he whispered, shoving a hand down the front of my pajamas and squeezing my already erect length.
Many of Ian’s exes had said he was inattentive in bed and a lousy lay, but I’d never believed it, even before we hit the sheets the first time. I’d been proven right, of course. Ian was everything I craved in a lover, demonstrative and possessive but also gentle and submissive. It was difficult to imagine how no one but me had ever been treated to the man who spent so much time making love to my mouth that I was whimpering and whining and begging him to do something else, anything else, as soon as possible.
“Where do you want me?”
“Let’s go upstairs and get in bed.”
“Oh no,” I husked, pulling free of his hands and yanking off my pajama bottoms. I left them on the kitchen floor before limping out to the living room. I pushed the coffee table back to make room, snatched the chunky cable-knit throw from the couch, and spread it out on the floor.
“What’re you—”
“Grab the lube, Doyle, and get over here,” I ordered, sinking slowly to the floor. “Or I’m starting without you.”
I heard him on the stairs, pounding up them, rattling around in our nightstand and then running back down, appearing over me, not even the least bit winded.
“You’re still wearing a lot of clothes.”
He was naked in moments, stripping quickly before he lay on top of me, pressing his mouth to mine, insistent. His movements were practiced, fluid, as he reached between us, captured our cocks in his long-fingered hand, and stroked us together from balls to head.
There was no hesitation in him. He was not looking to me to tell him what to do. At this moment he was the aggressor I normally was, and I found I was more than ready to let him have me. I could barely wait.
Twisting away from him, I rolled to my stomach and lifted myself to my hands and knees.
“Oh,” he murmured, his accompanying chuckle low and dirty. “I’ve got you now, huh? You want me bad.”
“Hurry,” I growled, my skin screaming out for his touch, trembling with the thought of him finally unleashing himself on me.
“No,” he whispered, pulling me sideways into his arms. His bare chest was warm on my back, his left arm wrapped under my chin, around my neck as his other hand stroked my cock.
