He didn’t say anything. He finished the beer, tossed it in the trash and narrowed his eyes on her once again.

And it infuriated her. He could see the mad rising in her eyes. The distant expression he referred to as her “agent face” began to peel away. A light flush worked over her cheeks, her lips lost that thin, cool little line and the lower curve became almost lush, definitely sensual.

Here came his Chaya, the woman.

“Timothy’s playing a very neat little game,” he said then. “I can see it in every move you’re making and I know you can, too. He gave you orders I’m not to accompany you on these interviews? Have you asked yourself why?”

“Probably because you’re too damned nosy and you don’t know how to stand down,” she muttered.

He almost grinned at the accusation.

“Because he knows he’s going to be poking in my business,” he informed her. “Whatever the hell he has going on here is going to piss me off and he doesn’t want me to know about it until he has no other choice.”

“This does not concern Ray Mackay, Natches,” she told him again, and he saw the truth in her, felt it. “Are you going to go off the deep end when I question Dawg? Rowdy? What about Crista Mackay? Are the Mackay cousins going to close rank against me then?”

He paused and stared back at her. Is that what she really expected? That he would side with his cousins, with anyone, against her? Hell, he had risked his damned hide for her in Iraq, not just once but twice. Did she think he would do any less for her here?

“I have a job to do, Natches. I don’t have the option you chose last year of telling Timothy Cranston to get fucked. And to be honest, this time, I don’t want that option. I want to know who the hell thought they could get away with murdering that kid that drove the transport vehicle. I want to know how Johnny Grace got away with nearly killing Dawg’s woman. And I want to know why the hell this little town is suddenly a beehive of terrorist activity.”

His brows almost arched at that statement. The last year, he and Dawg had admittedly been concentrating on their own lives. Had they somehow managed to miss something going on that they should have seen?

“I haven’t seen many terrorists this week, Chay,” he finally stated, tilting his head and watching her curiously. “Is there something here that I should know?”

She inhaled slowly. “Last year you had nearly a dozen terrorists near or around Somerset. The Swede that laid that down payment on those missiles wasn’t a happy little camper after his arrest, and he has friends. Friends who most likely are sitting right here just waiting to see who they should target to get that money back. A million dollars is a hell of a lot of money, Natches, even in today’s economy.”

His brow arched. “That was one of your flimsier excuses,” he told her. “Try again.”

Chaya stared back at him, recognizing the slow, lazy drawl as it passed his lips. It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it. It was the dangerous throb of suspicion just beneath the careless tone, the warning that he wasn’t buying whatever she was selling. And she had warned Timothy he wouldn’t. No matter the truth of it, Natches knew there was more going on. Somehow, the list of names she had interviewed today, in that little group, she had managed to tip Natches off, and it wasn’t just her questioning of Ray Mackay.

“Someone in Somerset was helping Johnny,” she told him. “Someone who had more contacts than Jim Bedsford could have managed. Bedsford was a front, Natches, nothing more. Someone else was pulling the strings.”

He leaned against the low counter, crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at her with those frighteningly observant eyes of his. Sometimes, she swore he could see clear down to her soul with those dark green eyes.

“What’s your proof?”

“Bedsford’s contacts couldn’t have gotten him and the Swede together last year for that missile deal. That group doesn’t deal with penny-ante thieves. They’re too slick for that no matter how impressive the merchandise. Someone else brokered that deal, someone from Somerset. Someone Timothy’s been chasing for years. That’s all I know.”

“The deal in Iraq?” he asked her then. “The one Craig was involved in? Does it tie in?” The illegal transfer of arms and information to terrorists, and the unsanctioned attack on the hotel, the explosion that killed her daughter.

She flinched at the question and forced back the more personal aspects between herself and Natches now. There were things they had to deal with, later. Right now, she had to deal with this, and she hated it.

“It ties in,” she told him. “It also ties in to several other thefts the public is unaware of, that were made too close to Somerset. Those thefts go back further than Iraq and the threads of suspicion lead right back to Somerset.”

“So you’re here to do what? Avenge Beth?” He shook his head wearily as he pushed his fingers through his hair and stared back at her. She could see the memories in his eyes, too. The loss. The pain.

“I’m here to ask the right questions and see if I can’t force them into making a move. Timothy has other agents watching persons of interest.” She held her hand up as he started to speak. “I have no idea who they’re watching. I’m here to ask the questions; they’re here to see who moves after I ask those questions. This isn’t about Beth, Natches. It’s about stopping it.”

“So he’s put your ass in the line of fire and he’s hoping to catch whoever puts you in their sights?” he bit out. “Son of a bitch, Chay. He’s working you. He’s using your baby and your pain, and he’s working you.”

She didn’t like to think of it that way, but she inclined her head in agreement, because there was always the risk of that. Timothy was definitely capable of it.

“He’s hoping to catch whoever he’s watching through the questions he’s sending me to ask. He’s spent years investigating this, Natches. He’s not going to stop now.” She sighed.

“And you think he didn’t expect me to get involved?” He threw her a disbelieving look as he paced to the other side of the room and turned back to face her, his hands propped on his hips, his expression forbidding.

“I was told to keep you as far away from this as possible. He knew you wouldn’t stay away from me, but he was hoping you would stay out of the rest of it.”

“And here I thought you were more intelligent than that. Hell, I thought Timothy was,” he growled. “Do you believe that bull-shit, Chaya?”

“No. But I’m asking you to do it anyway,” she told him. She didn’t want him involved in this. She wanted him as far away from Timothy Cranston’s games as possible. She knew how Timothy worked. He lied and he connived and manipulated everyone to get what he wanted, the way he wanted it. She didn’t want Natches pulled into the webs Timothy created.

“All I have to do is ask the questions,” she repeated. “The danger is limited, Natches, and he’s watching whoever he suspects.”

“He suspects someone he knows I’ll try to protect, or he wouldn’t have sent you.” He snorted. “And that one, I have to admit, has me as confused as hell. Because Timothy knows me, too, and he knows there’s few people here that I’d protect.”

“No one you would protect could be involved,” she argued. “Rowdy, Dawg, Ray, or their wives? For God’s sake, I know for a fact they aren’t under suspicion. Do you think I didn’t do my own damned homework? Do you think I would let him try to crucify someone I believe is innocent?”

“Timothy wouldn’t try to crucify someone who’s innocent.” Natches shook his head as he stared at her from across the room.

He looked dangerous, too controlled, too suspicious.

“Timothy’s a lot of things,” he continued, “but he doesn’t do witch hunts. Whoever he suspects, you can bet they’re guilty, he just needs the proof of it. And he’ll sacrifice anyone or anything for that proof, Chaya. Even you.”

He had already sacrificed her, and she knew it. He couldn’t have guessed that Natches would give a damn about her if his cousins turned against her. And it appeared that was exactly what was happening.

And perhaps Natches wasn’t standing by her. He was angry, she knew that. Suspicious.

She turned away from him and moved to the sliding doors, staring beyond them to the nearly deserted boathouses. Summer was over. There were very few year-round residents here. And she didn’t blame them. It was colder than hell on the water.

“Dawg, Rowdy, and Ray aren’t under suspicion. Neither is Crista. I have Timothy’s word on it,” she told him quietly. “According to him, he doesn’t want you involved in this because you draw too much notice and you’re too temperamental where the Mackays are concerned. The questions he has me asking involve family, connections between Chandler Mackay, Nadine, and Johnny Grace. I record the answers and send the recordings via FTP back to him.”

She didn’t know what Timothy was looking for, and she was beginning to wonder if it even mattered. Timothy knew who he was after by now. The questions had begun changing, taking a new direction, leading her straight into the heart of too many family secrets. At this point, he was merely playing a delicate little game designed to catch his quarry faster.

“I want to see the names and the questions before you leave each morning.”

She swung around. “I have direct orders that you’re not to see anything.” And she followed orders. The agency had been her life for the past five years. It had held her together when nothing else could have.

He smiled.

Chaya felt her stomach tighten as he moved across the room. Clothes did not hide the shift or power of the muscle lurking beneath them, nor did it hide the sheer arrogance of the male animal she was now facing.

“I said, I will see the names and the questions before you leave my bed each morning,” he growled, his eyes darkening, his expression forbidding, and for the first time in ten years, Chaya faced a force that had her swallowing back her nerves.

“Or what?”

“Oh, Chay, sweetheart,” he crooned. “Now we just don’t wanna go there, do we? We wanna wake up in that big bed of mine, nice and warm every morning, and work this out together. Because, if we’re not working this out together, then we’re going to be fighting. Yelling. At odds. Out of sorts. And if we’re out of sorts, then bad things might start happening. I might follow you into these places where you’re questioning folks. I might make things rather hard.”

She stared back at him in confusion. “Why? I swear, your family is not involved in this.”

“Something more important than family is involved here,” he said then.

“What?” She threw her hands up in disbelief, amazed that Natches could find anything more important than family. From what she had seen since coming to Somerset, he wouldn’t just die for them, he killed for them. “What could be more important to you than your cousins or your uncle?”

“You.”

She blinked up at him, and she swore she felt the very air around them become thicker, still, heavy with tension.

“You don’t mean that.” She shook her head slowly. He had to be lying to her. He loved his family, he was loyal to them, loyal enough that he would lie to her.

It broke her heart, but she accepted it. She had no other choice.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” she whispered, moving around him as she put her hand to her brow and eased her palm over the perspiration forming there. “I know you have priorities.”

“I’m glad you do. And I thought you knew, Chay, I don’t bother to lie to anyone. Wastes too much of my damned time.”