All Kinds of Tied Down Read Online Free PDF Page B

attention. “And you gave the detectives watching you the slip.”
    “Yes.” He inhaled, rubbing his cheek in my palm like a cat. “But I wouldn’t run away from you, marshal. Absolutely not.”
    I let my hand drop away. “You’ve been on the run for six months. Are you ready to stop?”
    “I’m still not going to testify.”
    “The man wants you dead,” I informed him.
    “So you say.”
    “So everybody says,” Ian promised. “We’ll take you to our office so you can hear the wiretaps. Now get down and turn around.”
    “Oh honey, whatever you say.”
    Ian scoffed as Kemen slid off the counter, every movement graceful and fluid, pivoted like a dancer, and put his hands behind his back. Long, lean muscles covered his compact frame, and really, pretty didn’t do him justice. But where I differed from others was that I saw a kid, and they saw a piece of meat.
    “Man, you look like shit,” Ian said abruptly.
    I glanced at him and he gestured at the mirror. I looked.
    It was a surprise: my left cheek scratched, bruises darkening along my jaw, and my lip split. But the worst part was my brand-new distressed leather shearling-lined bomber jacket was shredded under the now-tattered raid slicker.
    “Aww shit,” I muttered.
    “You’re more upset about the jacket than your face, aren’t you, baby?” Kemen sympathized, looking at me like I was pitiful. “I know. It was pretty this morning, huh?”
    “It was,” I sighed.
    “Are you serious?” Ian asked, his gaze darting between me and our wayward witness.
    “Are you?” Kemen demanded. “That jacket is hot.”
    “ Was hot, apparently,” Ian snickered.
    “Heathen,” Kemen pronounced.
    “Let’s go,” I grumbled. Ian cuffed him, and I opened the door.
    Gunfire in the hall stopped me, and several state troopers rushed forward, weapons drawn. They were prepared to go out, but to me, the balcony I’d glimpsed when we came in was the better option.
    “What?” Ian asked.
    I tipped my head toward the glass door.
    “No.”
    “Yes.” I nodded. “Come on.”
    “Fuck, okay. I’m right behind you.”
    Moving fast, we were at the sliding glass door when the gunfire spattered again and I heard yelling behind us.
    “That’s not—” Kemen gasped. “—for me, is it?”
    “It is,” Ian and I said at the same time.
    “Pimps don’t normally come after their meal tickets with semiautomatic machine guns,” I continued, sliding the door open and peering over the side.
    “And?” Ian asked.
    “We can hang down and drop; from this floor to the third, there’s a lot of room sticking out. We can’t miss it.”
    “Okay,” he agreed, tipping his head at me. “You go and I’ll lower him down.”
    I knew him better than that. I’d get there, he’d drop Kemen, and then he’d run off into the firefight without me. “No, you first, I’ll cover you.”
    He tensed for a fight. “Listen, Miroslav, you should go first because of your wrist.”
    “No, it should be you because of my wrist,” I corrected him. “You’re stronger right now. I don’t wanna drop him.”
    The gunfire got louder and screaming joined the shouting.
    “Now,” I barked, cutting off any further protest.
    Shoving Kemen at me, Ian walked to the edge of the balcony, checked the distance, climbed the railing, scowled at me, and then lowered himself down. Only his hands were visible for a moment, and then I heard him hit the balcony below us.
    “You okay?”
    “Yeah, it’s only like maybe six feet when you’re hanging. Just a quick drop.”
    “Easy,” I said to Kemen. “You next.”
    “No-no-no,” he said, panicking suddenly. “I can’t go off a balcony.”
    “Please, this is not a big deal,” I said, picking the smaller man up and slinging him over my left shoulder like he weighed nothing.
    “You’re not even uncuffing me?” he squeaked.
    “Nope.” I chuckled, walking to the edge, leaning over, and letting him slip.
    He screamed for the second and a half before he