His and Crista’s.
And that thought opened a whole other can of worms. One he wasn’t ready to empty right now.
He knew Natches hadn’t taken Rowdy’s defection from the ménages very well. He had waited, anticipated Rowdy’s return and the slow seduction of his fiancée, Kelly. When Rowdy had put the skids on that idea, Natches had been downright pissed.
Hell, the sharing had been a part of their lives since their first sexual encounter as teenagers.
The widow Barnes. She had been soft and sweet, older, more experienced, and lonely enough to take three young boys to her bed.
At the time, no one knew she was also hiding from her psychotic husband, a man who had been watching the teenage Mackay cousins slip into her house, and through the window he had watched the sexual antics they had gotten up to.
That first foray into the dark sexuality of a ménage had come back to haunt them last year when the lady’s son, warped beyond belief by his father’s molestation of him and the beatings he had endured, had begun raping the girls he claimed as his own.
Then he had targeted Rowdy’s stepsister and the woman that held Rowdy’s heart, Kelly Salyers.
The bastard had nearly killed them all before they stopped him.
And now, Natches was in the cold again, and Dawg knew that was how he had to be feeling. And he was withdrawing. Dawg had been feeling it for a while now. Natches was drifting away from them; the connection that had held him with his cousins all these years was gone now. The ménages, the emotional bond they created, Natches didn’t have that anymore.
“Come on, Dawg, stop wrestling over it,” Natches advised somberly. “Let’s play this out and see what the hell happens. I have an SOS out to her brother, Alex. The minute his head pops out of whatever hole the government sent him to, then he’ll come running with backup.”
“We’ll play it out.” Dawg breathed out roughly before pushing his sunglasses back up his nose.
There wasn’t much more they could do. Someone else, someone who knew too much, had dealt Crista into a very deadly game. To save her now, Dawg was going to have to risk everything and pray to God they caught the thieves before the Swede pulled in friends or the task force learned she was at the warehouse. If that happened, all shit was going to hit the fan.
“Look, man, we’re backup mostly. The majority of the investigation is being handled by those HS
tightwads. They won’t call us until something gets ready to go down anyway. We just lie back and keep watch on Miss Crista’s tight little rear, and we’ll do fine.”
Dawg’s gaze sharpened on his cousin. “I’ll watch her rear.”
It came out harsher than he had meant, a snapping reply he would have never intended.
Natches’s lips quirked mockingly, but Dawg saw the knowledge in his eyes. He also saw a vague edge of distance settle over the other man’s face as he nodded slowly.
“You watch her ass. I’ll just watch. Whatever.” He turned the switch and kicked the Harley’s motor in gear before pulling out without saying anything more and leaving Dawg to follow.
Damn it to hell. Dawg hit the ignition and gunned the motor, feeling an edge of anger beginning to burn inside him. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it? He, Rowdy, and Natches had been closer than brothers all their lives. They had fucked the same women, loved the same women, until Kelly, and now Crista.
Dawg wasn’t a fool. He might not love Crista, but that edge of possessiveness had been there, even eight years before. Growing up was hell. Maturing was even worse. Three men who had been as close as ticks to a hound dog eight years ago were fading apart and, Dawg admitted, sometimes it sucked. And sometimes, like now, there was an edge of relief.
But a part of him knew that Natches was being affected worst by the maturity of his two older cousins. For Natches, the sharing had never been a game; it had just taken Rowdy and Dawg longer to see it. For Natches, it was a part of who he was, and losing that connection was starting to affect the other man in ways Dawg hadn’t anticipated.
Damn, he would have ripped his own arm out to have kept this from happening. He and Rowdy had always gone out of their way to protect Natches, even as a kid. And maybe as an adult, too.
Somewhere along the way, they had all grown up, though. Even Natches. To the point that the other man had become even harder, darker, than Dawg or Rowdy. Which explained how Natches had stepped into the role of an assassin that last year he had been in the Marines. An assassin the military had been loath to lose when Natches had taken a bullet in the shoulder during a skirmish in Iraq on his off time.
Natches had stepped out of the Marines darker, harder, and more dangerous than he had been when he, Dawg, and Rowdy had stepped into basic training.
Yeah, they had all grown up. But sometimes Dawg wondered if they had grown up for the better.
TEN
She was making headway. Crista stared at the top of the surprisingly nice desk.
Walnut, if she wasn’t mistaken, and rather old with deep drawers on each side. The middle drawer had been removed; in its place was a keyboard shelf where the computer keyboard rested.
She hadn’t powered up the computer; she had to clean it first. There was so much dust gathered around the tower that she had been half afraid to turn it on.
It didn’t make sense. The houseboat was spotless. She hadn’t seen so much as a dish or an article of clothing out of place. But the office was a war zone. Scattered files and papers, miscellaneous receipts
—receipts for God’s sake; how the hell did he pay his taxes?—and a variety of other papers, files, and memos that she knew had to be important.
Those scattered on the desk were now neatly filed. Of course, that was after she had spent hours straightening out his filing system. Not that she was finished with that chore. Last year’s files were mixed with this year’s files, and the aging metal file cabinet was was about to give its last groan of effort and collapse into the floor.
She glanced to the glass door, looking onto the floor from the view the office commanded. She had sent two of the stock boys for the nice wooden file cabinets she knew sat in the office supply section of the lumber store.
Dawg was smart. He had taken ideas from several smaller chains and incorporated them into Mackay’s Lumber, Building and Supplies, the business his father had left him.
There was every manner of appliance, office needs, paints, and hobby supplies as well as a mix of seasonal items that added to the sales from the lumberyard.
It was a thriving business if the customers below were anything to go by. Yet, from what she had seen in this office, Dawg rarely made the effort it took to keep everything together.
She knew a manager had overseen the business while he was in the Marines. A man Dawg had promptly fired when he returned home to learn the manager had been systematically embezzling from him.
According to the floor manager, Dawg had nearly gone bankrupt that first year after his return, despite the steady business that came through the large double doors.
There was no danger of bankruptcy now. An audit, maybe. Terminal mismanagement of his office for certain. But not bankruptcy, because despite the “hellhole,” as she had called it, there had been a very weird sort of system that Dawg had going on. Just not a system that anyone else could have worked with.
Shaking her head, she moved from the now-cleaned desk to the stack of files, folders, papers, books, and every manner of receipt awaiting her stacked on the other side of the room in front of the large, overstuffed couch.
Evidently Dawg also liked his creature comforts. The couch was long enough and most likely wide enough for him to sleep on. There was a plasma television off to the side, a microwave, and mini refrigerator stocked with beer. Just beer.
It was too bad he didn’t like a neat office to go with his creature comforts. But, to be on the fair side, the seating area was ridiculously neat until Crista began stacking the slush inside the area.
She wiped her palms down her jeans and glanced at her watch before breathing out a weary sigh.
Dawg was supposed to have picked her up thirty minutes ago to collect her car and her clothes.
He had stashed her in his office with a firm warning to stay put, then headed out with no more information than the approximate time he would be back.
And while he had been gone, she had been thinking.
What happened at the warehouse made absolutely no sense whatsoever to her. The fact that the note from the delivery company was missing from her car made even less sense. About as much sense as the other items that had come up missing over the last few months, just to turn back up days later. She had meant to look for the note. It must have slipped onto the floor or between the seats, but Dawg hadn’
t given her a change to search for it.
She propped her elbow on her knee and cupped her fingers in her hand, a frown tightening her brow as she tapped her lips with her fingers.
Why would she be deliberately drawn to the warehouse?
Unless someone wanted to mess up something Dawg was doing. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he had been chasing her ever since he had learned of her return to Somerset.
And in doing it, they had given him the perfect opportunity to blackmail her.
Would he really turn her over to the authorities? Damn, he had looked serious, sounded serious.
And he warned her in no uncertain terms not to discuss the other night with anyone.
She jerked to her feet and paced to the wide door with its tinted window to stare at the busy floor below. She was in trouble, and she knew it. She had known it even before she bumbled into the warehouse; she just hadn’t wanted to admit it. Even Alex had had enough sense to know something was wrong. He would have never told her to call Dawg otherwise. Because he must have known that Dawg was some kind of agent. Alex would have known that Dawg would have the means to find out what was going on.
But Alex couldn’t have known the fee Dawg would require: her body.
She shivered at the memory.
He had caught her off guard, she assured herself; otherwise, she would have never given in to him.
He had been inside her before she could assimilate the change from anger to passion, even within her own body.
And her body had betrayed her. She had been so slick, so wet, that even now her face flamed in mortification. Even as she grew wetter.
She was going to have to buy more panties at this rate.
She glanced at her watch again. Nearly an hour late. If she didn’t pick up her car, it was going to be towed.
What would it have hurt to let her go ahead and pick up the rest of her stuff and then meet him here? It was broad daylight. She didn’t exactly live in the boondocks, and she had neighbors.
Besides, other than Dawg, Natches, and that insane person who tried to shoot her, no one knew she was at the warehouse. Except whoever sent her to the warehouse to begin with.
She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans and continued to stare into the sales floor. She would give him a few more minutes. If he wasn’t back in a few minutes, then she would catch a ride from here to the diner where her Rodeo was still parked. It was no more than a half dozen blocks. Broad daylight. She could have her car back and her meager belongings packed and waiting in the front of the store before he returned.
It wasn’t like there was much to pack.
As the thought zipped through her mind, her gaze landed on the short, leanly built man moving through the register counter below.
A smile lit her face.
Johnny Grace owned the little bakery store on the land next to her and Alex’s house. The scent of the delicacies wafting through the air nearly drove her crazy on her off days.
He was obviously ringing up his purchases, flashing a smile to the checkout boy and flirting easily.
Johnny wasn’t deterred when it came to his sexual lifestyle. He enjoyed men more than he did women, and he saw no reason to hide it.
She glanced at her watch. She could be back before Dawg ever knew she was gone.
