“Good,” she sighed, clearly relieved, and then she visibly realized what she’d said. How her whole face fell, like there was nothing worse she could think of than seeing my partner, was sort of sad. “Miro.” She beamed for a second and then faltered. I made my excuses to the group, drained my beer, handed off my pool cue, and was on my way to the door when I moved to shift around a woman and she turned. I saw the looks we got from the other marshals when we returned with bloodied suspects, recaptured felons, or secured witnesses, and over the years they had changed from respect for Ian to sympathy for me. I considered it a win if I got Ian Doyle to put on a Kevlar vest before he kicked down a door or charged headfirst into the unknown. Since I’d become his partner, the number of scars on my body had doubled. Watching him run was a treat I just wished I wasn’t always following him into the path of whizzing bullets, speeding cars, or flying fists. “Just this once.”Īnd then I’d get the head tip or the shrug or the grin that crinkled his pale blue eyes in half before he’d explode into action, the velocity of movement utterly breathtaking. The fact that he even stopped to listen to me before acting stunned most people who knew us. The chase was always on seconds after I spoke. I’d mention we didn’t have probable cause, and sometimes I would even go so far as to point out we weren’t armed because it was our damn day off! Not that he ever listened.
I would say, hey, let’s wait for backup or a warrant. All our interactions with suspects ended the same way.
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