by Lora Leigh
"How much of it will be over, Jethro?" she finally asked. "Are you going back to D.C.
or staying here?"
Could she handle it if he returned to the Bureau? She had had nightmares while Mac was still an agent. The day he announced his intention to resign, she had cried for hours in relief.
"Mac and I are discussing it," he finally said.
"You are?" She glanced back at Mac, seeing the small curl of his lips at the tone of her voice. "Interesting that you two didn't think to discuss it with me."
She stared back at Jethro coolly. "None of my business?"
"All your business, beautiful. But some things men have to settle between themselves first. Get used to that. Where you're concerned, I have a feeling, we'll have a lot to discuss."
That part, she didn't like. She bit her lip as she considered the two men who were filling every part of her heart and soul and wondered about the whole outnumbered thing.
"Two men against one defenseless woman seems like lousy odds for me." She pursed her lips in disapproval. "I may have to reconsider my own battle plans here."
Jethro looked at her warily. "How so?"
"That," she whispered as she leaned to him and placed a butterfly kiss on his lips. "Is for me to know."
"And for you to worry about, Jethro." Mac suddenly laughed. "Damn, I won't be tortured alone. At least I'll have an ally now."
"You are so wrong, John McCoy," she snorted. 'Just so wrong. Give me a month, he'll be all about being on my side," she teased.
At that, pleasure tilted Jethro's lips. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm already all about being on your side. Your back. Your front. Whichever way I can get you. I promise you that most sincerely."
"Perv," she accused him as he pulled her closer, kissing her soundly before smiling back at her with devilish humor.
The drive to Casey's was completed in the same vein, but it didn't stop the nerves from building in her stomach. As Mac pulled the truck into the crowded parking lot, she almost demanded to go back home.
Damned near the whole county seemed to be there. She could safely say she had never seen Casey's so packed.
"Maybe I shouldn't have called Maxine." She swallowed tightly. "I think she's told everyone I would be here."
Her stomach was pitching tightly as fear suddenly began to fill her. The fear of facing condemnation, of hearing the whispers behind her back.
"Too late to turn back now, darlin'." Mac's voice was firm as he opened the door and stepped from the truck. "Come on. Let's go show them how hot you are. Hot enough that it takes two of us hard cocks to keep you satisfied."
Heat blazed through her as shock had her lips trembling with laughter.
"You are so bad," she accused as he lifted her from the truck and Jethro's laughter joined Mac's. "What am I going to do with you?"
"I have suggestions, but this might not be the place for them."
It was a place for hilarity. For over a dozen men and women crowded around Mac, Keiley, and Jethro. They were the friends she and Mac had been drawn to when they first arrived, couples they were comfortable with, whose interests and sense of humor seemed to align with theirs.
Now they were friends who drew around them in support and extended their hand in friendship to Jethro as well. Through dinner and drinks, Keiley watched him. He was quiet but friendly, laughing in genuine amusement at some of the women's antics with their husbands but saying no more than he had to. As though he were watching for enemies amidst friends and categorizing strengths and weaknesses.
As plates were carried away by the waitresses and more drinks arrived, Keiley noticed the subtle tension invading him. His demeanor hadn't changed, but she could feel it, just as she sometimes felt it with Mac.
On the stage across from them the band was gearing up, swinging into a slow, sensual love song. It was couples night, which meant lots of slow songs.
She turned to Jethro slowly, meeting his eyes, and whispered, "Dance with me."
Hooded, his deep blue eyes wary, he watched her for long seconds before pushing his chair back and holding his hand out to her. Talk ceased behind them, every eye at the table turning to them as she took his hand and let him lead her to the dance floor.
Mac sat back in his chair as several of the other couples followed behind Keiley and Jethro, leaving him at the table with Joseph, his wife, Maxine, and her sister and brother-in-law.
"Ladies' room trip," Maxine announced as she grabbed her sister's arm. "Come on, Fayrene."
Fayrene rolled her pretty brown eyes before kissing her husband's cheek quickly and following after Maxine.
"She hasn't shut up since that damned picture hit her e-mail box," Joseph sighed, watching as his petite wife made her way along the side of the room toward the restrooms. "I had to take the phone out of her hand before she called Delia Staten herself."
"Delia's not living peaceable." Chase Sinclair, Fayrene's husband, told him somberly.
"I talked to her husband, Robert, today. He's furious, Mac. He wanted to call you himself, but Victoria asked him to wait."
Mac nodded. He hadn't expected Victoria to take his side in this. She had her opinions on things, and her beliefs. She was more likely to toss Keiley from the charity committee than she was not to. If she felt Keiley had disgraced the rules of decency that she lived by, then she would cold-shoulder her until hell froze over. And the same went for Mac.
Mac had no doubt it would snow in hell before she extended her hand in friendship again.
She lived by her own rules, she upheld them. She wasn't a cruel woman, but she could be a strict one.
"Robert called the bank today and had Delia's name taken off their account and canceled her bank cards," Joseph muttered.
"I heard computers have crashed left and right across the county as well," Chase commented. "Everyone who forwarded that e-mail that I know of has found themselves with the hefty expense of replacing them. The hard drives were totally ripped."
Mac's lips quirked. Gladsteen had a way about her, he had to admit.
"I have to admit, I was worried when Maxine started screeching like a banshee this morning," Joseph said. "She was torn between laughing in amazement at your and Keiley's daring and crying in rage at what Delia had done. She's worried about the three of you as well."
Mac's gaze flicked to Chase.
"I saw the helicopter land at your farm, Mac, I'm not a fool. I don't know what your problems are, but I'm betting they're not easy. If you need us"—he nodded to Joseph—"we're here."
"He would be better off with the information," Joseph muttered. "Chase is handy as hell in a fight, Mac."
Mac explained about the stalker quickly to Chase, keeping his voice low, his gaze on the tables around them to make certain nothing was overheard. As he finished, he watched Chase's blue-gray eyes narrow dangerously.
The Ranger was home on medical leave for a gunshot wound to his leg, taken in action. Rumor was he would never return to his unit, but that didn't cancel him out of a fight.
"You have the house covered?" Chase asked when he finished.
"I have help." Mac nodded. "We'll catch him. Right now, I'd prefer to keep you and Joe out of the line of sight. I don't want to give him someone else to target."
"We catch him here, and he'll never target anyone else," Joe suggested softly, the lowered tone of his voice doing nothing to disguise his fury.
Joseph Bright hadn't always been a banker. He had been a cop first, wounded in the line of duty just after his marriage to Maxine. It was then that he allowed his father to convince him to join him at the bank. He was the best damned bank president Mac had ever known.
"If I need you, I won't hesitate to call," Mac assured him. "Right now, I'd rather keep this on the farm, though."
The other two men nodded before their gazes flickered to the dance floor, then back to Mac. It was well known that no other man ever slow-danced with his wife. But there he sat, relaxed,
at ease, and on the dance floor Jethro Riggs was wrapped around Keiley like a winter blanket.
"You surprised me," Joseph told him without censure. "He's a lot like you were, though, when you first came home. Wary. Kind of dark. She fixed you."
"And she'll fix him." Mac nodded.
The question Joe didn't want to voice was in his and Chase's eyes, though. They were his best friends, his only true friends from the years before he left town. Two of only a few men who knew the truth of the life he had led before his mother died.
"You know why, Joe," he finally said. "I was never just like everyone else. This is just a part of it."
Joe grinned at that. "Keiley's living every woman's sexual fantasy, you know that, don't you? The rest of us are going to catch hell now."
Mac looked back at him in surprise.
"No kidding," Chase grumped. "Fayrene's already wondering why the hell none of my Army buddies can't visit for the summer. You have those women frothing in fantasy.
Man, we should kill you for that alone."
Mac looked out at the dance floor. Jethro was indeed wrapped around Keiley like a winter blanket, dancing slow and easy, his head bent to hers, and laying against hers. Like Mac danced with her. And there was no jealousy, just a sense of comfort.
There would always be someone to protect her, and Jethro would heal. The bleak shadows of his past would go away, and beneath Keiley's influence and her love, he would soften. She had that effect on people. Her love had that effect on men. He didn't expect it to be easy. Jethro had been rejected from hell and back during his childhood. It would take a while. A year. Maybe two. But he would realize he was where he was meant to be.
All three of them. They were exactly where they were meant to be.
Chapter 26
"Come on, sweetheart." Jethro eased Keiley from Mac's hold as he opened the door, careful to keep her body shielded with his as Mac tucked his weapon behind his back and eased from the vehicle.
She was aware that they shielded her from the time she moved from the truck until they entered the house. Keiley fought back her apprehension, easing into the house behind Mac, hating the fact that he had to stand in front of her, that she had to be protected, that she wasn't able to protect herself.
"When this is over, we're going to talk about my own training. You've been neglecting me," she hissed at Mac as they entered the foyer and headed upstairs to Jethro's room, where she knew they would stash her until they had secured the house.
She heard his amused snort and felt Jethro's hand smooth warningly over her rear as they stepped to the landing and headed for Jethro's room.
She really wanted her bedroom back. Her comfortable bed, her familiar surroundings.
Jethro moved into the bedroom, his weapon held confidently in his hand as he swept through the room. He checked the bathroom, the closet, and behind the curtains. Within seconds he was motioning them in and Mac was pulling his backup weapon from the holster at the top of his boot and pressing it into her hand.
"You know the drill," he told her. "Lock the door behind us and don't open it until I give you the okay."
She nodded sharply as worry continued to gather inside her. She tried to draw the confidence she felt radiating from both of them into herself and steel herself to be strong.
When this was over, Mac and Jethro were going to train her to help them. She made that decision as she stared at her husband, then her lover. She would never again hamper their movements if danger followed them.
"We'll be right back." Mac kissed her quickly, his lips taking hers, catching them in a kiss of heated promise and desire before he moved away.
Jethro moved by her then, caught her to him, and pressed his lips to her brow. "Be good," he growled with a sexy warning. "Or you won't get spanked later."
"Hell of an incentive." Her breath hitched shakily. "Hurry. I get lonely very easily."
"Spoiled fairy." His voice was teasing.
"Remember it," she ordered as he pulled away from her.
They moved out of the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Holding the gun in one hand, Keiley locked the door with the other and pressed her face against it with a ragged breath.
Ten to fifteen minutes was all it took, she assured herself. The security device they carried that worked with the motion-sensor alarms had shown no disturbance in the house. No one was here. They were all safe for the night.
Weren't they?
She turned and stared into the room. The small lamp Jethro had turned on spilled a circle of golden light on the edge of the bed, but it left the rest of the room in shadows.
Long, sinister shadows had a chill racing down her spine.
She wished she could turn on the brighter overhead light, but Mac had forbidden that several nights before. The brighter lights allowed shadows to reflect against the curtains, and despite their heaviness there was still a chance of becoming a target.
Low light worked best, he told her. There wasn't enough glare to penetrate the heavy curtains or to cast shadows. Just enough light to see by. Not enough to shake the feeling of oppressive danger that surrounded her.
Get a grip, Keiley. She laid the gun on the dresser top beside the door and rubbed at her arms briskly over the wrap she wore. She felt cold. Frightened.
Three minutes. God, they had only been gone three minutes. The clock on the bed stand confirmed it, but it felt like three hours.
She paced the floor at the end of the bed, from the bathroom door to the window on the other side of the room and back again. She rubbed her arms, counted her footsteps, and prayed.
She glanced at the clock two minutes later. Four minutes later.
Shaking her head, she pushed her fingers through her hair and paced to the window again. Where she froze at the sound of a soft shuffle, a sliding sound out of place with the beating of her own heart.
She turned, staring across the room at the shadow that began to lengthen beneath the soft light, then darken and materialize.
Wide-eyed, shocked, she watched as the figure rose from beside the bed, a malevolent smile on his face, his brown eyes glittering with triumphant glee as he straightened from beside the bed.
"No one ever thinks to check beneath the bed properly," Wes Bridges crooned with diabolical smugness. "They'll check everywhere else. They'll bend and look at the floor beneath the bed. But they never look up once they get down."
"Wes? What are you doing?"
"Showing them how incompetent they are," he snickered. "And you're the prize. If they had caught me, you would have lived. But they didn't catch me, Keiley, so I get to kill you. Just letting them go isn't any fun anymore. There have to be stakes in any game, don't you agree?"
"Game? What game?" Terror was shaking through her, stealing her strength as he pulled a wickedly long knife from behind his back.
"Cat and mouse," he sneered. "I could have been an excellent agent. But they wouldn't let me in. They made all the tests harder for me. I was smarter and brighter than all the others and they couldn't accept that, so they had to make it harder. They had to make sure I failed."
"Who?"
"Those bastards at that fucking FBI training center. They didn't realize my genius.
Well, I'm showing them now, aren't I?" He smiled with relish. "I've been showing them for years how inept they are. And do you know, Keiley, none of those stupid agents think to look at the underside of a box spring or pay attention to the fact that the bed slats are sometimes just a little out of place?"
"How do you know?" She had to keep him talking just a little longer. Mac and Jethro would be back any minute. Just a few more minutes, she prayed.
"Pappy," he said triumphantly.
"The dog? Mac's dog?"
"My dog," he snapped, a furious frown brewing on his brow. "That's my dog. I trained him. I made his collar. I inset the rivets on it with a remote listening device and miniature camera. I saw everything. I heard everything.
And I knew they wouldn't check beneath the bed the right way. They bend down and check the floor," he cackled. "They never check the box springs."
"Mac will know it was you," she whispered. "He'll kill you."
"Mac will never know," he crooned. "I don't leave witnesses. And I'm tired of disguising myself when I make my final move. I'm going to cut you into little pieces, Keiley." He glanced at the clock, then back to her. "I can do a lot of cutting in five minutes. And you will bleed a lot. Then I'll just go out the window and come to work tomorrow like usual. He'll never know. Never ever know."
"He'll know." Terror gripped her throat, making her voice hoarse, ragged. "He'll find you, Wes."
He shook his head. "Poor Keiley. You're just a pretty little pawn, and all pawns must be sacrificed." He lifted the knife higher.
Her gaze flew to the gun. His followed. And they both dove for it at the same time.
Mac and Jethro checked the upstairs first, each room, one by one. Closets, bathrooms, the two spare bedrooms, and the utility closet before moving downstairs.
They made their way from the back of the house to the front, checking the offices first, and working their way to the living room and the front door as they checked each of the motion-activated alarms on the door frames. They didn't find a problem until they checked the alarm on the wide frame between the foyer and the living room.
"It's rigged," Jethro muttered as he ran his fingers over it, dislodging a metal sliver that had kept the alarm activated while allowing it to send a clear signal.
Mac moved through the room, his weapon held ready as he swept the area before moving to the window on the other side of the room.
"How did he get in?" Mac growled.
Jethro looked up from the alarm he was checking against the monitoring device in his hand. Keying in commands, he began to run a diagnostic on all the alarms, tracking any anomalies that wouldn't have shown up otherwise.
Finally, his gaze lifted, horror reflecting in his expression. "The bedroom alarm was deactivated and then reset without triggering the monitor."