Fit to Be Tied [Marshals: 2] Read Free

harder and followed after him into the sky.
    The rooftop of the four-story building across the narrow alley was a welcome sight, and I landed easily, somersaulting over onto one knee, then pushing up into a dead sprint again. I guessed we were out of real estate when the man abruptly stopped, whirling to face me. Pulling a butterfly knife from his back pocket, he flipped it open and advanced on me.
    I pulled my Glock 20 and leveled it at him. “Drop the weapon, get on your knees, and lace your fingers on top of your head.”
    He was deciding—I could tell.
    “Now,” I ordered, my voice dipping an octave into a cold, dark place.
    He muttered under his breath but released the knife and went to his knees. I moved fast, reaching his side before he complied with the entirety of my request, kicked the knife away, and pulled a set of Plasticuffs from my TAC vest. Shoving him facedown, I waited for backup.
    My phone rang and I winced upon seeing the caller ID. “Hey.”
    “What the fuck was that?”
    “That was the Ian Doyle special,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
    “Oh, no, fuck you! I don’t jump off shit, Miro, only you do that!”
    I did have a bit more of a history with that than he did. “Yeah, okay.”
    “Are you hurt?”
    “No, I’m good,” I replied, smiling into the phone. “Promise. I’ll meet you downstairs as soon as I get some fucking help up here.”
    His inelegant snort made me smile.
    Moments later I was swarmed by police officers ready to take the fugitive off my hands. As I was following the men down four flights, I asked the sergeant in front of me if we were transporting the criminals to their station, whichever one that was, or if they were going in our holding cell downtown.
    “I think the DEA is taking custody of all three.”
    That meant all three men would be questioned and the one with the best information would be given a deal. The others would be turned over to the police. It was a waste of time for Ian and me to have even been there.
    “Did you hear this bullshit?” I groused at Ian as he came hurdling up to me. “We don’t even get—”
    “Shut up,” he growled, grabbing the armhole of my vest and yanking me forward. His gaze ran over me and I heard how rough his breathing was.
    “Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” I whispered, leaning close so he could hear me but not touching, the motion making it seem like I was relating privileged information and nothing more.
    “I have faith in you, don’t get me wrong,” he said quickly. “But you know as well as I do that you leaped without knowing what was there, and that’s plain stupid.”
    He was right.
    “Don’t fuckin’ do it again.”
    “No,” I agreed, leaning back to search his face. “So am I forgiven?”
    He nodded, and I finally got a trace of a smile.
    We were going to head back to file a report when we saw the people who were flushed from the apartment, three guys in all, now sitting outside on the sidewalk.
    “What’s goin’ on there?” I asked the closest officer, gesturing at the men.
    “We’re about to let ’em all go.”
    “Why?” Ian asked, clipping the word, clearly irritated.
    “Hey, man,” the cop responded tiredly, “we ran those guys through NCIC for outstanding warrants already, and they all came up clean. There’s no use keeping ’em.”
    “Mind if we check?” I replied, trying to make my tone soothing.
    “Only if you take custody,” he replied petulantly. “I don’t have time to stand around here with my thumb up my ass waiting on you.”
    “Sure,” Ian agreed, his tone silky and dangerous. “Transfer custody to us.”
    It was done in moments, and the freed officer jogged over to let his sergeant know. His superior gave us a head tilt, clearly thinking we were DEA since he couldn’t see the back of the vests. Had he known, he wouldn’t have given the go-ahead. No one ever turned people over to the marshals because with our warrant information network we could always find