He waited. He didn’t pace; instead, he sat on the couch and stared around the living room. He thought of the house Dawg had nearly completed farther in the mountains. There was land close to him, and it wasn’t but a few miles from the house Rowdy and Kelly were building. He could buy that land, build him and Chaya a home. A place to love and to raise their babies.

Lots of bedrooms, he thought. He wanted to fill her life with babies and with laughter. Both their lives. He wanted to be the husband he’d dreamed of being with her, the father he’d never had.

When the clock showed five minutes past the hour, he stood and left the houseboat. He paused on the deck as though considering turning back, then shook his head and moved to the docks, striding quickly to the small metal building Ray had allowed them to set up to park the Harleys in. He took his time getting it out and checking it over.

Half an hour and he was on the road. He didn’t rush, there was no need to. Dark glasses protected his eyes from the cold wind, but it ruffled through his hair, clearing his head.

He pushed thoughts of Chaya and babies as far back in his mind as he could, though he admitted, that wasn’t far. Hatred, a child’s rage and pain, and the fear of the dark that kid had known. He erased it from his mind. It was just another mission he told himself. Except this time, he wasn’t going to kill.

He pulled onto the side of the street before Nadine’s driveway forty-five minutes past the deadline and parked the Harley before cutting the motor and stepping off. Far enough away that he’d be surprising them.

He’d passed the dark panel van parked on the street, blending in with the SUVs and pickups it shared space with. Wasn’t Nadine nice? Why, she had bought her a nice little place in the middle of town. Made things so much easier. But it didn’t make this any easier.

Stepping up to the door, he didn’t bother to knock. He pushed open and stepped into the living room before coming to a rocking stop.

“You’re determined to make me puke this morning,” he stated as he watched his aunt jump from Dayle’s lap and Dayle pull his hand slowly from beneath the silk dress she was wearing.

Nadine didn’t even bother to flush. Actually, she let a nervous little smile touch her lips; it was almost welcoming.

What dimension of the twilight zone did he step into? Natches wondered as he lifted his brow and closed the door.

“We thought you weren’t arriving.” Dayle rose to his feet, adjusting the polo shirt he wore and the creased slacks.

He looked as powerful as he ever had. Six feet plus, wider than Natches, broader. Older, Natches reminded himself as he hooked his thumbs in the top of the chaps he wore and stared at the man who dared call him son.

“I didn’t think I was either.” He shrugged and stared at Nadine as she twisted her hands together nervously and glanced between Dayle and Natches. “What’s her problem?”

Dayle smiled. “She wants to welcome you home.”

“Really?” Natches arched his brows. “How interesting. Last I heard, she wanted to gut me for popping Johnny’s head off for him. Changed her mind rather fast, didn’t she?”

She paled, swaying as Dayle put his arm around her and whispered something in her ear before nodding toward the back of the house. Giving him a grateful look, she accepted his kiss on the lips before moving through the house.

Natches shook his head. “You know, that relationship you have going on there never did make sense to me. She had her brother’s kid, and you’re not the brother. No wonder Johnny was so screwed up. Now she just wants to welcome me right into the family as though she never hated my guts? You two been doing hard drugs or something?”

“You always were a smart-mouthed little bastard,” Dayle snapped irritably.

“Yeah, I do good at that.” Natches grinned in pride. “So, what the hell do you want and how do I return things to where you ignore me rather than harass me?”

Dayle grimaced, his lined face tightening into displeasure as he pushed his hair, still thick and barely graying, back from his forehead.

“Little whelp,” he muttered. “You don’t even look like me. If it wasn’t for those eyes of yours I’d swear you weren’t even mine.”

“Maybe Chandler was my daddy as well as Johnny’s,” Natches mocked. “From what I remember, it could be possible.”

“I thought of that,” Dayle snapped. “Even had the paternity test done. No such luck, you’re mine. And now it’s time we both come to terms with that.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

“You know what I am, what I’m a part of.” Dayle sighed. “I always knew you’d remember it.”

“Is that why you hired Linkins to try to kill me in Iraq?”

Dayle shrugged again. “It wasn’t an easy order to give. And I have to admit, I wasn’t disappointed when it failed.”

Natches forced himself to keep from curling his fingers into fists.

“The strike order on the hotel where Chaya’s husband and child were?” he asked. “Another attempt?”

Dayle’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “That had nothing to do with you or the girl. I didn’t find out about your relationship with her until later. And I didn’t give that order, that came from one of our founding members based there at the time. Craig Cornwell was working for us. We had no idea he was working for the enemy,too, until then. We couldn’t risk his capture. He would have talked.”

“I want to know how the hell you managed it. A strike order, authenticated and radioed to the planes. That seems pretty much impossible.”

“Orders get messed up sometimes.” Dayle shrugged. “The commander only knew the orders he received. We just had to get them through the proper channels. As I said, Iraq wasn’t my call. I’m a recruiter, that’s all.”

“You’re not a very good recruiter,” Natches informed him. “I’ve been checking up on you a bit. Dishonorably discharged, malcontents, some of your boys aren’t even in the military. Those that are still there are just a breath from being tossed into Leavenworth.”

“Because they know where our leaders are taking us,” Dayle snarled. “Someone has to pave the way. The revolution is building, Natches. You can be a part of it. You can be at my side as a general and a leader now that you’ve disassociated yourself from Ray’s little bastards.”

And here it was. Natches grinned in full-throttled smug triumph. “What makes you think I’ve done that?”

Dayle tensed. “My reports are that you’re arguing over information you’re refusing to turn over to DHS. That you’re protecting me.” Pride flared in his eyes.

Natches let himself chuckle at that one. “Nah, not really. They’re just a little ticked off at me right now because I wouldn’t let them in on the fun. No, sorry, Dayle, I’m here to bust your ass.”

Dayle froze, his eyes narrowed. “You’re not serious.”

“Yeah, I am.” Natches grinned. “Real serious. See, those guys you had targeting me in their gunsights? Dawg and Rowdy have them already. Go ahead. Try to call one of them.”

Dayle pulled his cell phone from his belt and punched a number in. Listened. Tried another. Another. Yeah, Dawg and Rowdy were black death when they wanted to be.

“I’d say there’s some blood fertilizing a few areas.” Natches nodded. “It was a good try though. Too bad you didn’t pay attention to the fact that I don’t even fucking hate you. I just basically want to see you locked up until hell freezes over, knowing I put you there.”

Yeah, this was better than a bullet. He watched Dayle pale, watched his shoulder twitch as he prepared to go for his weapon.

Natches went for his first. He pulled the Glock from the back holster beneath his jacket, holding it comfortably on his father.

“Did you really think you were going to convince me to help you do anything?” Natches asked him. “I ask again, are you on hard drugs?”

Dayle’s lips thinned as he watched Natches lean against the wall, the gun held easily, pointing directly at him.

“You can’t prove any of this.”

“ ’Course I can. I’m wired.” He shrugged.

Dayle grinned at that. “Not here you aren’t, Natches. Any wire you wore was jammed the minute you walked in.”

“Cell phones aren’t jammed, are they?”

Dayle glanced at his cell. “Yours isn’t open though.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” He shrugged. “I got ya. DHS has ya. Busted, old man.”

“I don’t think so.”

Natches swung around, the gun barreling on Nadine’s voice as he felt his stomach drop.

Janey. For a moment, fear had nearly paralyzed him, the thought of Chaya uppermost in his mind. But now, the fear nearly burned through his mind. Chaya could have worked with him; she would have known what to do. But it wasn’t Chaya Nadine held by long, thick black hair. It wasn’t Chaya who stared at him from dazed, confused eyes.

“Insurance.” Dayle sighed. “Put the gun down, and hand me the cell phone, please.”

Natches watched as Nadine leveled her own gun at Janey’s head.

“I’d love to kill her,” she told him vindictively. “Pop her little head right off, just like you did Johnny’s.”

Natches lowered the gun, shifted away from the wall and forced Nadine in a better alignment with the window as he came closer to her.

Be in position, Alex, he prayed. God help them all, he better be in position.

He pulled the cell phone from his belt and tossed it to Dayle. He almost winced as Dayle cracked it against the table, busting the frame before he dropped it into the vase of water that held fresh flowers. So much for Cranston’s new toy.

“The gun, Natches.” Dayle waggled his fingers demandingly. “Let’s not . . .”

Pop.

Nadine went down, dragging Janey with her as Dayle jumped him. The fist that plowed into Natches’s jaw felt like a jackhammer. He went backward, the gun flying, clattering to the floor before he righted himself and faced an enraged Dayle.

“Just like Johnny,” Natches snarled. “What now, bastard?”

“Now I beat you to fucking death like I should have when you were a snot-nosed kid,” Dayle snarled.

Natches laughed as he shed his coat, feeling the blood pump through his body, adrenaline racing through his veins.

“I’m not a kid now, old man,” he sneered. “Come and get me. We’ll see who ends up with the busted ribs this time.”

The second Chaya realized Nadine Grace had a hostage, and who it was, panic nearly flared in her throat.

“We have a hostage situation.” She spoke quietly into the mic at her cheek that connected her to the team surrounding the house.

Alex was the closest in position, stretched out on the roof across the street, hidden from view by the branches of an aged oak growing beside it.

“Alex, confirm visual.”

“Confirmed. Target acquired.”

She heard the pop of the sniper rifle, her eyes widening as Cranston began to curse and order all agents to converge on the house.

“All agents, be advised, don’t interfere. Cover only. This is Natches’s fight.”

“Are you insane?” Cranston turned back to her, his eyes bugging out of his head. “Natches will kill him.” He pulled his own mic closer to his mouth. “All agents, detain—”

“No.” Before Cranston could stop her she pulled the plug on his communications unit and stared back at him furiously. “Stop fighting me so I can get to Natches. We cover him, that’s it. This is his fight, Cranston. No matter what.”

“And if his father manages to get a killing blow in? What then, Agent Dane?”