by Lora Leigh
“Hmm.” She looked up at him, her gaze sharpening for a moment. “Why are you so upset over that woman staying the night with Natches?”
She didn’t sound jealous; she sounded concerned. The question had him rubbing at the back of his neck in irritation.
“She’s up to something. That’s Timothy Cranston’s little pet, Agent Greta Dane. I don’t like it.”
“Is that all?”
“She’s too damned plain,” he muttered, knowing she wouldn’t understand any more than Rowdy did.
Her lips quirked in amusement. “You’re not the one sleeping with her; so why should you care?”
He glared at the dark carpeting on the floor before lifting his gaze back to her. “I don’t know. It bothers me.”
“She’s actually a very pretty girl,” Crista told him. “It’s not her looks that bother you.”
A frown snapped between his brows. “I know a pretty woman when I see one.”
And she smiled at that. A smile he didn’t quite understand. It was patient and amused and made him grit his teeth.
“You know, it’s mothers who are supposed to protest the girl’s looks, not fatherly cousins.”
Her comment had him staring at her in disbelief.
“You’re crazy.”
And she shook her head. “You have to let them go sometime, Dawg. Natches is all grown-up now. Let him try his wings a little bit. It might not be as bad as you think.” She was on the verge of laughing at him.
“You obviously have a very strange virus,” he grunted, put out that she was laughing at him, that she just didn’t understand what he didn’t understand himself. “Go to sleep.”
She didn’t protest. She just yawned a little and pulled the blankets closer to her chin. “It’s cold in here.”
Yeah, maybe it was time to move to the house. He was definitely calling those contractors. Then he was going to make another call and find out just what the hell Agent Dane was doing back in town.
Chaya made sure she spent no more time in her hotel room than she had to. She was betting Natches was a very early riser. She showered, dressed, dried her hair, and pulled it back into a ponytail, and within an hour she was out of there. And not a moment too soon. When she pulled her rented sedan onto the interstate, she swore that she saw Natches’s jeep headed toward the hotel.
She glanced at her watch and breathed out roughly. She had an hour to kill before meeting the sheriff at the diner. That was going to be a long hour, considering the fact she had to make certain to avoid running into Natches.
And who the hell was she kidding? An hour later, she pulled into the diner and stared at the wicked black jeep sitting beside the sheriff’s cruiser, and clenched the steering wheel of her car.
He was in there, waiting on her. She had run out on him this morning, terrified of what had happened the night before, leaving only a note. At least she had left a note this time, she assured herself. She had told him she would call him this evening, hadn’t she?
She jerked her case from the seat beside her and pulled herself out of the car. She forced her chin up, stared around the parking lot, and glimpsed both Rowdy’s and Dawg’s vehicles as well. Didn’t any of those damned Mackay men work? Surely they had something better to do than to harass her this morning?
Evidently they didn’t.
As she entered the diner, she flicked a look at the table beside the one Sheriff Mayes was sitting at, and restrained the urge to grimace. Three Mackay men sipping coffee. Rowdy looked amused, Dawg looked pissed, and oh boy, Natches looked ready to hit the damned roof.
Sheriff Mayes, that bastard, didn’t even bother to hide his laugh as she walked in.
She moved through the diner, thankful there were very few customers, and stopped in front of Natches. “Are you following me today as well?”
He tipped the glasses he wore lower on his nose and glanced up at her from over the dark lenses. She almost flinched at the anger burning in the forest green depths. He was livid.
“I’m going with you,” he stated. “As soon as you tell Mayes over there that’s the deal.”
Shit. That wasn’t the deal. That was expressly—with an unqualified no—forbidden.
“I can’t do that, Natches.” She forced herself not to show her own nervousness, or a reaction. She couldn’t, not here. He would take any weakness and run with it.
“You don’t want to do it like this, Chaya,” he warned her then, and she could feel her stomach tightening in dread.
“I don’t have a choice.” She refused to glance at the other two men for their reactions. “This is my job, Natches, and you’re no longer a part of that team.”
And then he smiled. She could feel her throat going dry, and she swore she could feel her stomach drop with pure female terror. This was one full-grown, pissed-off alpha male, and she was going to pay. She could feel it clear to her bones.
Not painfully. Not in bruises, in blood, or in insults. But, oh boy, was he going to get her for this one.
“Well, Natches, I guess she’s not as easy as we all thought she was.” Dawg leaned back in his chair and shot her a tight smile. “Natches seemed to think you could see reason, Agent Dane. He even said you were smarter than to say no to him.”
She turned her gaze to him, keeping it cool, detached.
“Oh, I see reason quite well, Mr. Mackay,” she assured him. “And if I had my preferences, then his company would be welcome. Unfortunately, Special Agent Cranston made his wishes clear before I arrived. And in this case, that prevails.”
Natches muttered something uncomplimentary about Cranston that she highly agreed with.
Dawg shook his head, his smile jeering now. “Loyalty, Agent Dane? Where’s your loyalty? To your own butt or to those who can watch your back?”
“Enough, Dawg.” Natches’s voice was hard with warning.
“Let her answer the question, Natches.” Dawg held her gaze. “I’d like to hear her answer.”
“I’ll tell you what.” Her smile was benign, emotionless. He didn’t like her. He’d never liked her, and she didn’t give a damn. “Why don’t you go? Then you can share that federal prison with me when Cranston finds out about it. I hear big, tall guys like yourself are really popular there. You’re cute, James Mackay. They like cute rednecks with attitude there. Consider them a challenge, you know.”
Rowdy snorted, and she could have sworn Sheriff Mayes was choking behind her.
Dawg’s eyes narrowed. “You’re playing in the big league here, little girl. You don’t want to keep this up.”
“I said enough, damn it!”
Even Chaya flinched as Natches’s hand hit the table and he came halfway out of his chair. She stared at him, shocked, surprised as he and Dawg both seemed to hover over the table, almost nose to nose.
“Watch it, kid,” Dawg snarled. “I still remember how to wipe the floor with you.”
“And I still remember how to lock both your asses up in the county jail.” Sheriff Mayes, his voice hard, commanding, stood by the table now. “Come on, Agent Dane, before you cause these two to fight like the hellions they used to be rather than the grown men I thought they were.”
Chaya stared at Natches, amazed, disbelieving as he straightened, his body tense, his expression furious.
“If you get in a fight, I’m not going to be happy with you,” she stated coolly.
“About as happy as I am with you right now?” he snapped.
“Try even less so.” She lifted her chin a notch and reined in her anger as she turned to Dawg. “And if you don’t back down, I’ll have a talk with your wife. I have a feeling she’s more inclined to act decent than you are at the moment. I wonder how she would feel if she were to find out about this little fiasco this morning?”
“Don’t you threaten me with my wife.” He glared back at her, but some of the heat seemed to leave his voice.
“Then don’t push me, either of you. Because I could get sick of dealing with thick-skulled rednec
ks really fast. Unlike you, Dawg, I don’t bite and snarl; I get to the heart of the problem and the solution. When you’re willing to tell me what your problem is, then we’ll talk. Until then, stop sniping at Natches, or I’ll talk to Crista at first opportunity. Good day, gentlemen.”
She turned on her heel, ignoring their surprised looks before joining the sheriff at the door and leaving the diner. And here she had hoped the most she had to deal with was a pissed-off Natches. Now she had a pissed-off Natches, a mad Dawg, and a laughing Rowdy. Her day couldn’t get worse.
Dawg sat back down in his chair and scowled at the door while Natches slowly took those damned glasses off and glared at him.
“Son of a bitch, I’m going to kick your ass,” Natches cursed.
Dawg sneered back at him. “Yeah right. Go right ahead. You think I didn’t see your balls shrink when she gave you that cold little look? You ain’t kickin’ no one’s ass today.”
He was pissed. Pure pissed. Son of a bitch, she threatened to tell Crista on him? Like he was a little boy acting bad, and she was threatening to tell Mommy? How the hell old did that mouthy little agent think he was anyway? And he really wanted to beat Natches’s ass, too. Snarky little upstart. He never could take advice worth a damn.
“What the hell is your problem?” Natches dug a few bills out of his pocket and slapped them on the table for the coffee. At least he was paying this morning instead of mooching off the rest of them. “Why can’t you get the hell off her case?”
“Because she’s lying to you,” he snarled back, keeping his voice low, anger egging him on. “I don’t know what the hell she did to you in Iraq, and I’m getting to where I don’t give a damn. But right now, she’s lying to you, and those lies could get you killed. And she’s fucking plain.”
Natches snapped back, blinked, and stared at Dawg as though he didn’t know him. He glanced at Rowdy, but Rowdy seemed pretty interested in something he had found on the ceiling and refused to look over. Natches shook his head, as though befuddled.
Watching Natches, Dawg knew he was acting like a damned bastard, and he couldn’t help it. Hell, he knew a lie when he saw it, and this whole setup Dane was involved in was a lie.
“Look, Natches, man,” he breathed out roughly. “You’re getting in over your head. She’s up to something; I can fucking feel it. Like an itch at the back of my neck every time I see her. She’s trouble, and she’s going to get your ass killed.”
That was the problem. That gunsight between the eyes thing. Sometimes, Dawg swore he could feel someone with a gunsight between Natches’s eyes, taking aim, getting ready to fire. And it was worrying the hell out of him.
“Rowdy, take him home to Crista,” Natches said, his voice hard, and that was a bad thing. Natches might shoot him himself now. “Tell her he needs help fast. Before I kill him and make her a widow. Understand me?”
“Sure, I’ll get right on that.” Rowdy nodded slowly, pulling his gaze from the ceiling to stare at both of them. “While I’m doing that, why don’t one of you mosey over across the street and ask Aunt Nadine why the hell she’s been watching us all so close through the window from that shop?”
They turned. Across the street, in the wide shop window, stood Nadine, hatred flashing in her expression before she turned and stalked away.
“Shit,” Natches cursed. Just what he needed, the damned Mouth of the South running her vicious mouth now.
Dawg muttered something Natches was sure he didn’t want to understand, and Rowdy stood slowly to his feet.
“Dawg’s right about one thing,” he said. “There’s trouble here, and it’s starting to circle around your Agent Dane. But he’s wrong about something, too.”
“Yeah? What?” Natches snapped.
“She’s not plain. She’s actually kinda pretty. Dawg just can’t see past Crista. Or his own daddy complex.”
With that, he walked away from the table and out of the diner. Natches sat back down slowly. He still wanted to kick Dawg’s ass. He stared back at his cousin and scowled.
Dawg glanced out the window, to his coffee cup, then sighed. “Do you really think she’s gonna tell Crista about this?”
And he’d be damned, but Dawg was worried.
EIGHT
“Hello, Mr. Winston. Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.” Chaya sat down on a worn, faded couch inside the single-story weathered house on the outskirts of Somerset.
Clayton Winston was a widower, and his son was a traitor. His son, Christopher Winston, had been arrested along with the Swedish mercenary and his merry band of men during the raid on the warehouse containing the stolen missiles.
Mr. Winston was stooped, his face lined with grief and pain. Rheumatoid arthritis had a cruel grip on his joints, and heart disease was draining him fast.
Sheriff Mayes stood on the other side of the room, watching Winston silently, his expression compassionate, somber.
“I didn’t raise Chris to be a traitor,” the old man sniffed. “He’s still my son, but he wasn’t right to do that.”
He rubbed his grizzled cheek with a shaking hand before taking a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiping his eyes. Those pale blue eyes were swimming with tears.
“I’d offer you some coffee or something,” he told her. “But the cold makes it harder to move in here.”
“I’ll get the coffee, Clay.” Mayes headed for the Spartan kitchen.
“Good man, Sheriff Mayes.” Clayton nodded. “Better than his daddy. His daddy was always more concerned with getting elected again than he was with doing what was right. Zeke knows that, too. He makes up for it.”
“Don’t be talking about me, Clay,” Zeke called from the kitchen. “I’ll tell Miss Willa on you.”
Clayton’s smile was sad. “I like to brag on the boy. He’s a good boy.”
“Sheriff Mayes is a very kind man.” Chaya nodded, her heart aching for the man sitting across from her.
Clayton Winston had served two tours in Vietnam. He had a medal for bravery and a file filled with commendations. Chaya’s heart broke for him as she thought of the son that had turned his back on the life his father had believed in.
“You wanna talk about Christopher, I guess.” His voice roughened. “How’s he doin’? They moved him to that place in D.C. where they said I could come visit if I wanted, but I wasn’t able to go see him. And he can’t take calls.” He hunched his shoulders as despair flickered in his gaze.
Chaya’s lips parted to answer him when a knock sounded on the door.
“I got it, Clay.” Zeke moved from the kitchen, casting Chaya an impatient look as he moved to the door.
“Hey there, Zeke. Fancy seeing you here.” Natches pushed past him and moved into the room. “And Agent Dane. You’re looking nice today.”
Chaya rose slowly to her feet. “Natches, you’re not supposed to be here.”
She had to speak between clenched teeth. She couldn’t believe he had barged into this interview.
“That’s my fault.” Clayton’s shaking hands reached out to Natches as Natches knelt beside his worn recliner. “I called him when gossip came around you was askin’ questions. I asked him to be here.”
Chaya’s lips thinned. Sitting back down slowly, she glared at Natches. “You didn’t mention that to me,” she stated, her voice clipped.
“We didn’t get a chance to discuss it. You left.” The accusation in his voice had her breathing in deeply.
“Natches can stay if that’s your choice.” She turned back to the old man, watching how he held on to Natches’s hand with his gnarled fingers.
“Another good boy with a lousy sire.” Clayton’s voice trembled. “I used to sneak him sweets when ole Dayle wasn’t lookin’.”
Chaya watched Natches’s face, his eyes. This old man meant something to him, and there were few known people that Natches cared for.
“Natches, get in here and help me with the coffee,” Zeke snapped.
“I’ll be in the other room, Clay.”
Natches rose to his feet, staring down at the grizzled, gentle giant who watched him fondly. “I’ll hear every word. Okay?”
Clayton nodded as Natches threw Chaya a hard, warning look and moved back into the other room.
“Do you think I’m going to accuse you of anything, Mr. Winston?” she asked him softly. “That’s not why I’m here.”
His lower lip trembled for the briefest second before he seemed to suck it back in and his shoulders squared.
“Christopher’s my boy. What he became, it’s on my shoulders, Agent Dane. I realize that. But—” He lowered his head and shook it. “Sometimes I don’t think as clear as I used to. I asked Natches if he minded being here to make sure, if I was arrested, that my cat was taken care of.”
The cat was curled along the back of the couch and blinked at her lazily. The cat looked as old as Clayton Winston, and as tired.
“I’m not here to arrest you, Mr. Winston, for no reason,” Chaya told him gently. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything, because what your son did was his choice. You chose to defend your country, sir. Your son made other choices. I’m trying to find out why he made those choices and who else may have influenced him there. That’s all.”
From the corner of her eye, she watched as Zeke walked out with two cups. He sat Chaya’s coffee cup on the table in front of her. The other, a closed thermal cup, he put in Clayton’s hand.
“It’s just good and warm, Clay. I put ice in it, just like you like.”
Clayton nodded, and Chaya’s throat tightened with emotion. She couldn’t remember an interview she had ever done that was quite like this one. Natches and Zeke were as protective over this old man as a mother with a child.
“Clayton, I told you Miss Dane would take good care of you,” Natches told him from the doorway.
“He did.” Clayton nodded. “But I feel better, Natches, with you and Zeke here. If she has to arrest me, then old Hisser here might go hungry; we can’t have that.” He reached up and stroked the cat’s tail as it curled over his shoulder, and Chaya wanted to cry.
“Mr. Winston, I just have a few questions. If you prefer not to answer them, or if Mr. Mackay feels it’s not in your best interests to answer them, then I want you to know now that there will be no repercussions. I’m not here to see you hurt further. I merely need to clarify some things and make certain I didn’t leave any loose strings.”