Four

FOUR

T en minutes later, when I called my immediate supervisor, Doyle had me hold for a second until we were joined on the line by the chief deputy.

"Tell me precisely what happened to Ross's sister," Sam Kage demanded.

I wanted to be him when I grew up.

Hannah must have called him from her car, and I liked that as much as I liked his daughter. All that immediate communication between father and child was enough to make my heart hurt.

Since I was off duty, and Sharpe and White were the guys on call for the weekend, Kage directed Talia and me back to the federal building so we could hand over the glass to them.

I was not crazy about Talia meeting Ethan Sharpe, and my misgivings proved right when he took her hand and held it in both of his while she soaked him up with her eyes.

"Bad," I told her when we were walking away, and she glanced over her shoulder at him. "No, don't do that."

"What?" She sounded dazed.

"Bad," I repeated. "You are not allowed anywhere near that man."

"But he has kind eyes, and did you see all the pretty muscles and those shoulders?"

"You're gonna make me throw up if you don't stop."

"Why? He was so nice. I mean, his partner was too, but he's…wow."

"No," I protested. "Just…no."

"He's yummy."

"That man, even more so than your brother, should come with a warnin' label."

"Oh, I don't know about all that," she mused.

"That's it. We're callin' Lang and meetin' him out."

"He's on a date."

I scoffed. "You really think that date is still goin' on? It's after ten."

"Ten at night is not late for a—oh, never mind," she grumbled. "Even as it was coming out of my mouth, I knew it was stupid."

"We need to speak to your mom too."

"No," she whimpered. "I'll talk to her tomorrow. Call Lang and tell him to meet us at the diner with the really big cheeseburgers and the super-thick shakes."

"I'm sure he's eaten already."

"Malik likes French cuisine," she informed me. "I will bet you money that Lang picked at his food and could really use some fries right about now."

" French fries?" I asked, cackling.

"You have a small brain, did you know that?"

Lang picked up on the second ring, which did not bode well for the date.

"You need me?" he asked hopefully.

Always , I thought, but what came out of my mouth was, "Sort of."

"I have no idea what that means."

I had two concerns: First, I was worried about how he was going to take the news that not only had Talia made the choice to call me , but then I'd made the choice not to call him . And second, if the date was going well, I didn't want to take him away from the future Mrs. Langston Ross.

"Del?"

"How's the date goin'?" I asked, hoping I was coming off as excited.

"Try again."

He knew me too well, that was the problem.

"Listen, I need to know if she's about to invite you on home, because if she is, I don't wanna pull you away to have a late dinner with me and Talia."

"Actually," he began, and the husky, low sound of his voice rolled right through me, "the four of us ended up at a gallery opening until about twenty minutes ago. We're at Bayou Baby in the West Loop. Come meet us."

I looked at Talia. "He wants us to meet him at someplace called Bayou Baby."

"Oh, I've been there. The food is really good. It has a cool vibe, not too fancy. It's both a lounge and a restaurant, and it's open until, like, two in the morning."

"You see? She's down," he said, having heard his sister. "When can you be here?"

"How nice is it? Because Talia looks great, but I'm in shorts and a T-shirt." Her maroon cocktail dress looked gorgeous on her, showing off her curves and long legs. In the black platform sandals, she now came to my chin. "And I have white sneakers on."

"You'll be fine. It's a noisy-ass restaurant. We're getting a big table. Just hurry up."

"Do they have shakes?" I asked Talia. "Because we both wanted those."

"They do," she said, grinning. "And they have really good onion rings too."

"Okay," I told Lang. "We're right by work, so we'll see you shortly."

It took him a second, probably because his brain had been put to sleep by being in an art gallery. Not that he didn't like art, but he was particular about it. "Why're you near work?"

"Tell ya when we see ya," I teased and hung up.

"Oh, that's not going to make him crazy at all," she deadpanned.

I waggled my eyebrows at her.

We grabbed a cab and were there in ten minutes. Inside, it was a zoo, but the hostess had already seated our party of seven—seven?—so she had one of the servers walk us to the table.

Scanning the people, I saw Lang and Malik, their dates, and three more men.

"Huh," Talia said under her breath.

I was just as confused.

Once we were close, Lang stood up and pointed at the two seats near him at the end of the long table. I pulled out the one next to him for Talia, and she thanked me as she sat down. I then took the one across from her, next to a man in a royal-blue velvet suit.

"Everyone, this is my sister, Talia, and my partner, Del."

"Partner?" the man on the other side of Blue Velvet Suit asked, leaning forward so he could see me.

"My work partner," Lang clarified. "We're both deputy US marshals."

"You're a marshal?" the woman beside Lang asked, who had to be his date. "I thought you were an attorney like Malik."

"We didn't have a lot of time to talk at the gallery," he said, glancing at me and then back to her. "But yeah, I'm in law enforcement."

"No white collar here," I told her, then looked at Talia. "What're we now? You told me, but I forgot."

"Gray collar," she answered. "All first responders, teachers, people like that."

"I like bein' included with teachers."

"Who wouldn't?" she concurred, then looked down the table. "And now, since we missed the introductions, everyone please tell us who you all are and what do you do?"

Everyone laughed and smiled because she was charming and beautiful, and her smile, much like her brother's, lit up her face.

Blue Velvet Suit's name was Ashton, next to him sat Garvey, and next to Garvey was Bing. I didn't listen to the information after their names because frankly, when was I ever going to see any of these people again? They had all ended up at the gallery because of Bing. A client of his had a show that opened at the Logan and Bailey gallery downtown that evening. When he'd seen two of his closest friends across the street, he'd insisted that they, along with their dates—Lang and Malik—accompany his group to the gallery. It was nice, but to me, they should have declined. They were on a date, after all.

Malik, whom I knew and met on a number of occasions, was across from Bing, then his date, Cheryl, and next to her was Lang's date.

"I'm Nicolette," the stunning woman introduced herself, smiling at me. "I'm an interior designer at Weitzman King."

The way she said it, like I should have known what that was, would have probably made me look bad, but thank God for Talia.

"Your company redid our lobby at Sutter," Talia gushed, "and it's gorgeous."

"Thank you so much. That was my project."

"Fantastic. Chef's kiss on that."

Nicolette beamed. "What do you do at Sutter?"

"What is Sutter?" Garvey asked her.

"Only the biggest real estate developer in Chicago and God knows where else all over the world," Nicolette answered like he was an idiot.

"Oh, Sutter as in Aaron Sutter, the billionaire."

"That's the one," Nicolette said, and then her gaze returned to Talia.

"I'm in acquisitions," Talia responded, "and if you do any staging at all, I would love to talk to you about a building we recently bought that has commercial space we need to sell."

Lang stood up then, and Talia and Nicolette both laughed as he and Talia switched places. He immediately moved his chair to the head of the table so he could be closer to me. It was a thing he did. Wherever we were, he always moved either my chair or his. In meetings, everyone knew they needed to leave a seat open next to me or he'd make an entire row stand up and move down. He wasn't playing around.

Looking at him, at the furrowed brows and how fidgety he was, I figured out what the problem was fairly quickly.

"You haven't eaten since lunch," I said, grinning at him.

He whimpered, leaned in, and pressed his forehead to my shoulder.

"Is he all right?" Bing asked.

"Just starvin'. Did you guys put in a drink order yet?"

"No, they did not," a handsome man in black jeans, a white dress shirt, and a bar apron said as he stepped up beside me. "Sorry I was late—we had a mix-up over whose table you all were—but I'm here now."

"And we couldn't be any more excited to see ya."

"I'm Cody, by the way," he said, and I knew flirting when I saw it, despite being a bit rusty with the drought I'd been going through. I hadn't picked up anyone in over a month, which wasn't like me. I loved sex and missed it.

"Well, Cody, it's gonna be a big order. Are you ready?"

In answer, I got a wicked grin and a quick head tip.

"Okay," I said, "I need water and a big-ass chocolate shake."

"Ass," he repeated, his gaze meeting mine. "Got it."

I chuckled, pointing at Lang, who had not moved, still wedged against me. "He needs a water and a Dark n' Stormy. Do you have the right rum?"

"Goslings?"

"That'd be the one."

"Got it," he apprised me.

"Perfect. And if you could bring us some nachos or whatever you got as far as shareable appetizers as soon as you can, that would be epic."

"Anything you want," he assured me.

I pointed to Talia then, who was still chatting with Nicolette. "She needs a big water and the largest Coke or Pepsi you've got, as well as a big-ass vanilla shake."

"More ass," he said, his gaze locking with mine again. "I hear you."

The table found our banter very amusing, if all the laughing was any indication. As Cody took orders from everyone else, Lang sat up and glowered at me.

"What? Food and drink are on the way."

"Don't flirt with the staff," he groused as soon as Cody walked away.

"Let him flirt," Ashton told him, giving me a smile. "I always flirt with hot waiters myself, but he's not even looking at me."

"Aw, shucks," I teased him, and he flushed a lovely shade of pink.

"Where are you from, Del?" Bing asked.

"Texas. Can't y'all hear it?"

"I hear something, and it's enchanting," Ashton said with a sigh.

"See?" I snapped at Lang. "I can talk to people just fine."

Everyone but Lang was laughing again.

I had to go to the bathroom and so excused myself. Once I was on my way back, I was stopped in the hallway by a wolf whistle. When I turned, Cody was there, smiling at me.

"Tell me the truth. Are you covered all over in that lovely golden tan?"

"I reckon so," I husked, grinning back.

His eyes mapped me from head to toe, and clearly, from his quick indrawn breath, he liked what he saw. I wasn't stupid; between the defined muscle I worked hard to keep, the dirty-blond hair I inherited from my mother along with her blue-green eyes, I normally didn't have any trouble getting men to notice me.

"My shift ends at midnight. Is that too late for you?"

I shook my head. "Tomorrow's Saturday. I can stay up all the way to breakfast."

"Oh, I know that's a line, but I love it."

"You gonna give me your number?"

"Yes," he said breathlessly, licking his lips. He rushed over, pulled out one of the restaurant business cards from his apron, flipped it over, and wrote his number on the back.

"Thank you kindly," I murmured, then turned to get back to the table.

Halfway there, I passed Talia on her way to the bathroom.

"Oh, everyone had nice things to say about you when you left."

"Is that right?"

"Yes. God, you're the same as Lang. Take a damn compliment, will you? Everyone thinks you're gorgeous and charming."

"Well, I am, ain't I?"

She nodded. "I don't think Lang and Nicolette will be going on a second date. He's not being fun or engaging, and now he's insisting we talk on the balcony when I get back. I will not stand outside in a-hundred-and-fifty-degree heat with the same amount of humidity. Fix it while I pee, all right?"

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't care, get it done," she demanded, then gestured, I thought, at my shoes.

"What?"

"I never noticed you have such good legs before."

I squinted at her.

"What? They're nice. All muscly and fuzzy and toned."

"Can I go now?"

"Do you think the shake is safe to drink since I barfed earlier?"

"I do," I affirmed. "Whatever Alcott slipped you is outta your system now."

She nodded, spun around, and left me.

At the table, I noted that everyone was talking except Lang, the lone man out, scrolling on his phone. I was very excited to see nachos—well, half a plate of them—onion rings, and what was either mozzarella or zucchini sticks. Either way, it was good.

"I see Cody delivered the goods."

"Yes," Malik agreed, glaring at Lang. "And your partner has been eating the nachos all by himself and not passing them down here."

I picked up the plate in front of Lang, moved the onion rings over, and handed the nachos to Ashton, who delivered them to Malik. "Sorry about that, everybody. He's not great at sharin' his food."

They laughed, which was nice.

"We all ordered," Nicolette told me, smiling, and then, when she glanced at Lang, there was an instant scowl. "And Lang got something for you."

Talia was not kidding when she said her brother and his date would not be going on a second outing. Even her body language, her crossed arms as she regarded him, told me she was less than interested.

"Well," I said, "since we eat together every day during the week, lunch and dinner, and usually on the weekends too, I'm sure he's got me covered."

"You work a lot, don't you?"

I didn't want to kill her joy if I had somehow misread her and she was hopeful over seeing Lang again. No matter what Talia thought she saw or knew, her brother was a catch, and honestly, so was Nicolette. I could see them as a couple. "No, we?—"

"Yes," Lang confirmed. "We do. I mean, when you spend more time with your partner than anyone else on the planet, you can see where our priorities lie."

"I do, and I'm busy too," she declared, sounding more than a bit defensive. "But I always make time for the important people in my life."

So did Lang, especially for his mother and sister.

But then he went ahead and was snide, which was never a good look on him. "Well, we're not actually doing the same kind of job now, are we? I can't imagine a life-and-death design emergency, am I right?" And he scoffed, adding insult to injury.

"That was rude," Ashton rebuked him, leaning sideways so he could see Lang around me. "You owe her an apology."

He wasn't wrong, but I felt myself bristle anyway because he was reproaching my partner. It was automatic. I was always the first to defend him from anyone outside of his family. Because when his mother or sister were criticizing him, they were doing it out of love or teasing. This wasn't that, and so I took a breath to make sure I said nothing.

Lang met my gaze, and I smiled at him. "Just think," I told him, "Monday we have to fly to Vegas and pick up that nineteen-year-old hacker. Did you read the report from the last team? They stated they didn't necessarily think savin' her from the Serbian mob was the best choice on our part."

He smiled slightly and I knew that by talking to him, that he was able to process and not instantly attack. It was what Becker had meant earlier in the day when he said our strengths complemented each other. They did. I kept him from blowing up, he kept me grounded. The two of us always worked.

Exhaling sharply, he turned to Nicolette. "I apologize. That was stupid. I'm working through something at the moment, and I vented that frustration on you for no good reason. I really am very sorry."

It was sincere—it was easy to hear in his thick, gravelly voice. It didn't hurt that his deep brown gaze was locked with hers.

"Of course," she whispered, and I saw her searching his face. He was a beautiful man, and having every drop of his attention, I knew from experience, was exhilarating.

Lifting his head, he looked down the table to Ashton. "I apologize to you too."

"That's unnecessary," he rushed out, staring at Lang, whom, I was betting, he hadn't really seen until that exact moment. Sometimes—and I had no idea how, and it didn't happen often, but every now and then—people missed that he was everything on first glance. "But thank you."

Lang nodded and turned to me, sliding his drink over. "Tell me if you taste anything but rum in that."

I took a sip, watching him as he took off his suit jacket and, without a word, slipped it around Talia's shoulders.

She mumbled a quick thank-you as she shivered.

"Nope," I croaked out, because the rum nearly burned through the back of my throat. "There ain't nothin' else in that."

He chuckled and slid his chair even closer. "Let's go outside. I want to talk to you first, then Talia."

"It's too hot," I said firmly. "I refuse to sweat to death for no good reason."

Quick exhale from him. "Fine, then tell me what happened. You and Talia never hang out, just the two of you."

"Because you're normally with us. Are you sure you want everyone listenin' in?" I motioned at the rest of the table.

He shook his head. "It's loud in here, plus they're all talking to each other. They don't give a crap."

"We could wait and discuss this?—"

"You're stalling," he muttered, then cleared his throat, sliding his elbow closer, resting his cheek on his palm. "Speak."

"Okay, but you can't be mad that neither of us called you—you were supposed to be on a double date."

"I can always be mad," he corrected me. "And usually am."

"That's not true. You have the longest fuse of anyone I know."

"No."

"Yes. Think about Doyle and then tell me how you're always mad."

"Oh, that doesn't count. Have you ever seen him in a good mood?"

"When he's eatin'."

Lang shrugged.

"But to my point, this time, you have to keep an open mind."

"I'll try."

"Try harder," Talia said, and I hadn't realized she was out of her chair until she walked around behind her brother to stand next to my chair. I got up, she sat down, and I crouched between them. "I think sometimes you're so closed off because you worry so much."

"I don't worry," he snapped at her as I took hold of the side of his chair.

"Yes, you do, because you've been taking care of me and Mom since Dad left, and sometimes you have to stop and think that it's not necessary anymore."

"I—"

She gasped suddenly.

"No," he groaned.

"Shh," I hushed him. "She's havin' a moment."

"Oh my God, that's why you can't commit to a relationship," she told him. "You think you have to be there twenty-four seven for me and Mom, and how can you do that if you're trying to build a life with someone?"

"Is she drunk?" he asked me.

I laughed; I couldn't help it. Some of it was residual panic leaving my body, but the rest was me. My sense of what was funny tended to skew more twisted than most people's. When you were punished by being made to sleep outside in the cold and dark when you were five, coping mechanisms could take weird forms.

"I'm not drunk anymore," she said, and laughed as well.

"The hell happened?"

"Listen," I began. "Talia got roofied at a party tonight, and before things went sideways, she called me, and not you, because you were on a date."

He was quiet and calm, which was what I wanted but was also a bit disconcerting.

"This is why mob guys meet in public places. So no one gets murdered," Talia commented, glancing at me.

"Or yelled at," I added.

"Or that," she said, chuckling.

Lang breathed out through his nose. "Some asshole slipped something in your drink? Why would you ever leave your?—"

"No," she rushed out. "He brought it to me like that."

"I see."

"And I started feeling weird, so I called Del."

"Why Del? Why not me?"

"You were on a date ," she reiterated.

"I don't care what the fuck I'm doing, you call me if you're in trouble."

"That was the thing, though. I wasn't sure at first if I really was."

"But once you knew, I should've been the call."

"Don't make me say date one more time."

"Agree you were wrong," he insisted.

She huffed out a breath. "Yes. Fine."

"And you," he said to me. "I'm so pissed at you."

"Listen, I will call if it ever happens again, but really, you were on a date , and I got there very fast, and unlike you, Talia listened to me and did exactly as I told her."

"What're you—I listen to you all the time!" He almost yelled the last part but stopped himself in time.

"You don't, but that's fine."

"What did you have her?—"

"I told her to lock herself in a bathroom so she was safe, and I was there before the guy could go in with his key." I was not going to tell anyone what I'd overheard in the hall since it would be my word against his. And I suspected that with Talia going to Sutter and, I was certain, him relieving Alcott of his position, that if there were any more women, they would come forward. With how much faith Hannah had in Aaron Sutter, I was thinking he was probably a good man, much like her father, since he was her godfather. As such, he would want men like Alcott out of his company. He would make sure he found all the weeds.

"Who is this guy?"

"I handled it," Talia told him. "My new friend is getting me a sit-down with my big boss on Monday, so I suspect I won't be seeing him again."

"I want him prosecuted," he retorted.

"That would be hard," I told him. "And you know it. But at least we'll know precisely what was in the glass, and we can give that information to Aaron Sutter. The glass is with the CPD crime lab by now, and I bet you the chief deputy has put a rush on the results."

"Kage knows about this?"

"Yeah. It turns out his daughter was at the party too, and she's Aaron Sutter's goddaughter."

"No shit."

I nodded. "She and Talia bonded, and she's the one gettin' her in to see Sutter on Monday. So really, it's all handled."

"Kage really cares about us."

"He must be lovely," Talia said, "because his daughter is an angel."

"And kinda spicy as well. I mean, she wasn't takin' any crap from Alcott."

"No. Not at all," Talia agreed, then looked at her brother. "But really, I'm not out here in the world walking around helpless. And when I wasn't sure, I called Del, and he was right there, showing up like you would have."

He nodded.

"You don't have to be the guy on the white horse all the time. You have good backup."

His eyes flicked to mine and then returned to her. "It's just, you'll always be my baby sister."

"Sister, yes. Baby, no," she made clear. "Okay?"

After a moment, he exhaled deeply. "Yeah."

Talia suddenly smiled at him. "Look at you with the growth right now."

"Fuck off," he told her, and she laughed loudly.

"You all okay down there?" Cheryl asked, checking on us.

"We are now," Talia told her and stood up at the same time Lang did, and they hugged tight. She leaned heavily, and he squeezed her, hand on the back of her head, whispering in her ear. As everyone watched, she nodded and buried her face in his chest.

"Family business," I told the table, and everyone looked bemused, watching the siblings.

"I don't like anyone in my family that much," Ashton confessed.

"I'm right there with ya, brother," I replied, winking at him.

The food was amazing, and once everyone started eating and really talking, it was nice. Lang was his normal charming and engaging self, and I noticed Nicolette start to look at him differently, her gaze moving over him slowly, taking in the veins in his forearms when he took off his cuff links and rolled up his shirtsleeves, the muscles in his shoulders moving under his shirt, and of course, his laugh that was infectious and made everyone stare at him.

I had enjoyed the jerk chicken sandwich he'd ordered me, as well as my fries. Because I'd had a roast beef sandwich with extra horseradish for lunch, he wasn't about to let me have any more red meat, which was thoughtful of him.

I was letting my food settle, watching the room around me, enjoying the thought that, as long as the meal was taking, I might be able to walk out with Cody directly.

"Why are you smiling?" Lang asked, leaning into me.

"I'll be leavin' with the waiter, so you'll need to escort your sister home, sir."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep. I have his number, and he's off at midnight."

He nodded. "Is that a good idea?"

"Is what a good idea, gettin' laid?"

"Yeah."

I squinted at him. "Hold up. You don't think I should get laid?"

He glanced away.

"Hello."

Turning back to me, he was silent.

"Don't do the thing where you pretend you don't know what you said."

"What'd I say?"

I stared at him.

"Fine. And no, I don't think you should have sex with that waiter. What if we want to come back here at some point? He'll end up spitting in your food."

Was he kidding? From his deadpan expression, I was thinking not. "Have you lost your mind? Why would Cody—that's his name, by the way—be mad at me if we both get what we want? That makes no sense."

"You don't think that once he spends the night with you, he'll want to keep you?"

"Of course not."

"Why? Because you're so lacking?"

I had no idea what was happening. "No, because if we're both on the same page, we won't have any miscommunication."

His gaze met mine, and I was surprised how dark his eyes were, how intent. "I think if someone finally got you in bed, they'd want to make things permanent."

It took me a second to breathe. I could feel all the air leave my body as I sat there, pinned by his attention, his unwavering focus, and his nearness.

"I don't think you should give any of your time to people you don't really care about."

"And you?" I ground out, my voice sounding mangled. "What about you?"

"I've been thinking about that," he said, holding my gaze. "It's time I make a change, do something different, and—wait."

"No, I'm not gonna wait, Lang. You need to?—"

"Look by the bar."

"What?"

"Could you just turn your damn head, please?"

"I have no idea what?—"

"Your two o'clock. Look now."

And when I did, it took me a second, but then I saw Tobias Mosbach, who was wanted for questioning in the 2022 disappearance of Missy Regan. He was the last person the nineteen-year-old college student was seen with. There were only grainy images on surveillance footage from the apartment across the street, but Tobias and Missy had walked out of a house party together. When CPD detectives went to speak to him, he was in the wind. But now, suddenly, there he was.

Of course, he was in disguise. His blond hair was now black, the mustache was a nice touch, and he had packed on at least twenty pounds of muscle. The thing was, though, when you popped up onto the radar of the US marshals, our IT guys ran your face through software that created every disguise permutation imaginable. The dye job and bad facial hair was one of the easier ones. And no, neither my partner nor I had every fugitive committed to memory, but Missy's disappearance had made national news, there had been an episode of Dateline , and numerous podcasts had asked the question of what happened to her. Most of the coverage was because she came from a wealthy family, the one percent, and it hadn't hurt that she was lovely, with big green eyes and auburn hair. It had been a sensational case, and now I was looking at the one guy who had if not all the answers, then a great many.

"Okay," I said, keeping my eyes on Mosbach. "What's your thought?"

"I'm calling for backup, you go to the right side of the bar, and I'll go up the middle."

We didn't say a word to anyone at the table, simply stood at the same time, me pulling my Sig Sauer P226 from the holster on my hip, covered by my T-shirt, and Lang going down on one knee to retrieve his Colt Delta 10mm, very shiny, nickel plated, from his ankle holster. He had his phone pressed to his ear as he gave me a nod, and I went right while he started across the now very crowded lounge, toward the bar.

Mosbach was on the lookout for threats—no way for him not to be; he was a wanted man, after all. But he was with his friends, they were doing shots, and he was at the bar in the center of the floor and could easily see the entrance.

Lang was there, close, and tapped a beautiful woman on the shoulder.

"Hello," she said, smiling, pleased, it seemed, to see such a handsome man.

"Excuse me," he rushed out. "I need to speak to Tobias."

Instantly, Mosbach turned toward the threat, reaching inside his jacket, but as he was focused on Lang, I slipped in behind him and put my hand on his left shoulder.

"Federal marshal, do not move."

"Fuck!" he yelled, lifting his hands, remaining still as Lang, who looked like any other patron in his Prada suit, raised his gun, and leveled it at the fugitive. This was his personal gun; the regular one he carried on a day-to-day basis, his Glock 20, was stored at the office in his locker just as mine was. I preferred my Sig P226, which was the compact version of the P228, easier to conceal and far less flashy. "What the hell are you guys even—what the fuck?"

"You have any friends here?" Lang asked, holding the gun on him as I turned Mosbach around to face the bar and patted him down, taking the Walther P99 from the shoulder holster he was wearing and passing it to Lang. "Maybe some folks who have been helping you stay out of sight?"

"I'm not turning in my friends, you assholes."

I looked to the bartender, who had stepped back several feet. Everyone had moved away, giving us room. No one was running or screaming or yelling because no shots were fired. But the music was off, and the closing lights were on as patrons strained to see what was going on.

"Hey, who was he drinkin' with?" I asked the bartender.

"Him"—he pointed to a guy in a tracksuit, of all things—"and him," he finished, picking out from the crowd the second guy, who was obviously Mosbach's muscle.

"Step over here," Lang commanded the guy in the designer tracksuit, then turned his attention to the very large man staring daggers at him. "And you as well."

Tracksuit started toward us.

"I'm leaving," the Muscle informed Lang, and when he did, Tracksuit stopped moving.

"No, neither of you is going anywhere."

"There's only the two of you," the Muscle pointed out. "How are you gonna stop us when the shooting starts?"

"By shooting you both," Lang said flatly. "But why would you think there's just the two of us here? Do you know where you are?"

Smart to keep them talking.

"Shoot them," Mosbach ordered.

"Shut up," Lang countered. "You're the idiot who got them into this."

"What'd you do, Mos?" Tracksuit yelled at him.

"I didn't do?—"

"Federal marshals," I heard Wes Ching roar as the SOG unit appeared in their black body armor, carrying automatic rifles, looking as scary as ever. "On the ground!"

We really were so close to work, which turned out perfectly.

Tracksuit and the Muscle both lay down on the floor, and the SOG team rushed over to them, put Plasticuffs on both, then on Mosbach.

"You two have had a long day," Ching commented as one of his team came over and held out a plastic evidence bag for Lang to drop the Walther into.

"We like to stay busy," Lang told him.

Ching smiled as his team took custody of the three and started walking them out of the lounge. "You know the drill. Both of you need to come back to the office with me and write up your statements since you're the primaries."

"Yessir." I holstered my gun, watching Lang do the same.

"That's good work, gentlemen," Ching praised us. "Hopefully with this arrest we'll be able to give the Regan family some closure."

"I hope so," Lang agreed.

"Do you want to ride back with us, or do you have a car here?"

"We'll walk," Lang told him. "I need to make sure my sister will be?—"

"Sharpe and White can drop her. They're on call this weekend and were on their way home when you sent up the bat signal."

"Oh no," I said quickly, glancing at Lang, then back to Ching. "That's okay. We just need to put her in a cab, and we'll be?—"

"Absolutely not," Ching stated. "She's family. We take care of our family."

"Thank you," Lang replied, clearly touched and not at all understanding my concern. He hadn't been with me earlier in the night when his sister first laid eyes on Sharpe.

The SOG team always traveled in two armored rescue vehicles, or BearCats, and so the first one left with the prisoners, half the team, and Ching, while the second waited on us. Jill Stowe, Ching's second-in-command, came with us to get Talia.

"Sorry about this," Lang said, walking over to Malik. "We have to go, so text me the total for Nicolette, me, Talia, and Del. I'll send you the cash."

Malik nodded, looking from Lang to me.

"I'm sorry I can't see you home," Lang said to Nicolette as Talia stood up beside him. "But it was a pleasure meeting you."

"And you," she assured him. "Talia has my number."

"We can take you home," Garvey offered Talia. "It's no problem."

"I'm sorry, sir," Stowe informed him, clipping her words. "Family members of marshals at a crime scene need to be taken into immediate protective custody so that the marshal in question is not in any way impacted, thus keeping them from performing their duties to the best of their ability."

"Oh," Talia said. "So I need to come now."

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right, then," she said, smiling big, and waved at the table. "Bye, you all, I had a great time. I hope to see you soon."

They were all sad to see her go. No one gave a crap about me or Lang except Nicolette, who I was pretty sure had decided that taking a deputy US marshal home might not be the worst choice ever.

As we followed Stowe out, flanked by SOG team members on all sides, I texted Cody, saying I hoped he would give me a rain check.

The text I got back made me laugh.

"What's so funny?" Lang grumbled, snatching my phone.

"That's an invasion of privacy," I protested, trying to grab it back.

He dodged, and when I got a chicken wing to the chest to keep me off him, I remembered he'd played hockey in college.

"He's up for being a booty call day or night, huh?" He lifted his head, done reading the screen, and glared at me.

"What can I tell you, I'm irresistible. And now he's got my number."

"It's not classy to screw the low-hanging fruit," he said, shoving my phone at me.

"You made fruit sound very derogatory," I pointed out, bantering with him like normal because it was expected. But what I really wanted to do was finish our earlier conversation. I needed to know what he'd been thinking about, what it was time for.

"You really did," Talia agreed, picking up on our conversation. "You can call Cody a twink because he is, and I'm sure he would agree with you, but I find the word fruit unacceptable."

"Listen, I?—"

"Why are you all grouchy suddenly? Did you want to stay with Nicolette and then take—oh," she gasped, and everyone in the vicinity heard the dreamy sound in her voice followed by a slight whimper. "Look who it is."

And there was Ethan Sharpe, looking as crisp and polished right after midnight as he did first thing in the morning. I had no idea what his genetic makeup was, and we weren't nearly good enough friends for me to ask, but whatever each of his parents brought to the table made him particularly stunning. Not only was he tall and built like a swimmer, but he had dark-bronze skin, russet-brown eyes, and dressed better than all the rest of us except Kohn. I didn't at all question how he was dating most of Chicago. I only wished Talia could see the player under the pretty wrapper.

"Who is it?" Lang asked.

"It's Ethan," she cooed, immediately veering away from us to reach him.

Lang stopped walking to glare at me. "Ethan?" he repeated.

"Oh, that is so not my fault," I said defensively. "And I warned her."

"Warned her about what?" Stowe asked. "That without a nametag, he can't remember the names of all the women he's been in bed with?"

I turned to her. "You?"

She scoffed. "Absolutely not. And I've heard that Sharpe doesn't shit where he eats. But he dated my cousin Patrice, who was head over heels and ready to have babies with the man."

"Lang here dates ." I emphasized the word. "Is it the same with Sharpe?"

"No. Not at all. But I'm not sure of the exact category what he does would fall under."

"Booty call?" I offered.

"No, because it's not solely sex. Patrice got dinner, a movie, and they saw each other the following night as well, just never again after that."

"So two-night stand?"

She gave me a grunt of agreement.

"I will murder you both," Lang told me and Stowe. "That's my sister you're talking about."

"No," Stowe responded, "McCabe and I were talking about my naive cousin who is now married to an accountant she adores and who worships her in return, so that worked out fine."

"I refuse to let that man date my sister."

We all watched as Talia and Sharpe got out their cell phones to exchange numbers.

"I think that ship has sailed," Stowe told Lang, then squinted. "Also, you could never kill me, Ross. You come at me with homicidal intent, you're a dead man."

"What?"

"You said, ‘I will murder you both,'" I reminded him. "And while I feel you would most likely be overwhelmed by sentiment where I'm concerned, I think in Stowe's case, she's not sweatin' your threat."

"Not at all," she confirmed.

"We both still find your attempt at intimidation wildly inappropriate."

"Wildly," one of the SOG guys repeated. "And I agree with McCabe—Stowe would gut you like a fish."

"Aw, Matt," she said, smiling at her colleague. "That's so sweet."

"Can we go?" another guy asked.

"No," Lang snapped at him. "My sister needs to come with?—"

"Oh, she's waving goodbye," Stowe noted.

"He's too old for her," he muttered, bolting away from us toward Sharpe and Talia.

"She's gotta be what, late twenties?" Stowe asked me.

"Actually, she'll be thirty-one later this year."

"Well, then that's fine. Sharpe is either forty or forty-one, so basically, she'll always be older than him mentally and emotionally anyway."

I nodded.

Lang didn't even reach them because Talia made a sweeping motion with her hand that basically told him to be gone . He stopped walking as Sharpe took her arm and called back something to Lang. Seconds later, I lost sight of them in the crowd milling outside.

When Lang turned around, I waved in case he forgot where we were, and Stowe did too. The way he charged over, I could tell he was fuming.

"Did it ever occur to you," I began, "that the reason Sharpe has been lookin' for love for so long is because he's a romantic at heart and doesn't wanna settle?"

"That's very idealistic of you to even suggest that," Stowe apprised me. "And while I think you're being naive, you never know."

"We're melting here, people," the guy who wanted to go earlier pointed out. "The only one of us who will live is McCabe."

I did a slow turn for him with a sweeping gesture at my shorts and T-shirt. "This is what all the tactical response teams will be wearin' this summer," I told him.

"It's one in the morning. Why is it still hot?" Matt complained, standing beside Stowe now.

"Can we go, Ross, or do you want to talk about your sister some more?"

Lang shook his head, grabbed my bicep, and tugged so I was walking right beside him on the way to the BearCat.