She respected Ray Mackay, trusted him. The fact that he so intensely disliked his own nephew was telling. But until Crista understood why, she wasn’t going to automatically dislike him herself. She would definitely be wary, but she would reserve judgment.

Ray turned his gaze from her to Dawg as he rubbed his hand over is face in agitation before he and Dawg seemed to share some private communication. Crista hated private communications between men. She wasn’t a male mind reader, so she didn’t consider it fair in her presence.

“I’ll take care of her, Ray,” Dawg finally murmured.

“You know, you could get on my nerves fairly quickly,” she told them with no small amount of her own irritation. “If you want to take care of me so damned bad, take me to get my clothes, and then leave me alone to shower and sleep.”

“We’ll stop on the way to the marina and buy you a few more things,” Dawg told her firmly, causing her to freeze and stare back at him in disbelief.

“You said we could pick up my stuff from the house. Damn it, Dawg, I can’t just go out and buy more clothes.”

“And that was before someone decided to turn you into a piece of charcoal,” he snapped back. “I

’m not even attempting that house with you along. I’ll go check it out myself in the morning and get your stuff. Until then, we can stop on the way home and buy you a few extra things.”

She was aware of the interested gazes on them. The men were watching with expressions varying between amusement and wariness, and Kelly shook her head back at Crista warningly from Dawg’s side.

The men she could have ignored, but there was something in Kelly’s eyes that warned Crista that now wasn’t the time to push Dawg. And that sucked. Because she wanted her own clothes; she didn’t want to have to spend the small amount of savings she had on clothes she didn’t need.

“I’ll just use your damned washer tonight,” she finally retorted. She wasn’t about to end up more in debt to him than it already appeared she was going to be.

“Just get in the truck.” He didn’t wait for her to follow the harshly worded order. Dawg gripped her waist and lifted her in before crowding in beside her and forcing her to climb over the console to the passenger seat.

As she faced forward and stared through the windshield, she was faced with her poor little burned Rodeo. She had loved that little SUV.

The engine flared to life. As it did, Crista glanced over to see Dawg’s hands wrapped around the steering wheel with a white-knuckled, furious grip.

“Is Lessing who you left here with?” His voice was cold, furious.

“Yes.” She kept her voice soft, kept it calm.

Mark and Ty had come from Virginia that week eight years ago to inform Alex, their former Special Forces commander, why they were discharged from the Army. She had left with them when they returned home. It was supposed to have been a temporary thing. Instead, they had all become friends, family in a strange kind of way, and she hadn’t moved out until returning home the year before.

“You left me for another man?”

She stayed silent, despite the shaking in the pit of her stomach. She could lie to the sheriff but not to Dawg, not about this. The words would choke her to death.

“Crista, so help me God, you better answer me now.” His voice was a graveled, curt sound that had her flinching imperceptibly.

“I didn’t leave you for another man,” she finally answered evenly.

She had left him because of two other men, the men he had been intent on sharing her with. Then she had left town because she couldn’t bear the hollow pain that burned inside her months later.

“But you went with another man?” His voice was harsher, if possible.

“I left Somerset with Mark. I moved in with Mark. I lived with him for seven years. Is that what you want to know?

He turned his head toward her, his eyes glittering back at her with burning male lust and anger.

“No. What I want to know is, did you sleep with the son of a bitch?”

She drew in a slow, deep breath. “I slept with him often.”

Three hours later, Dawg pulled Crista inside the dimly lit houseboat where Natches waited silently, jerked the door closed, and locked it, before tossing the handful of plastic shopping bags filled with clothes to the couch.

His fingers were latched around her wrist, where he had learned fast to keep them as he forced her through the store and chose the clothing himself.

There were some panties in there that had his dick throbbing at the thought of pulling them from her body. Lacy little push-up bras, skimpy little pj’s, some low-rise jeans and high-rise shirts that were guaranteed to make his blood boil if he caught another man staring at her.

As he released her, Natches uncurled his body from the deep shadows in the corner of the room, rising from the recliner and watching them expectantly.

“What is he doing here?” She flicked Natches an irritated glare.

She was irritated, and he was still so damned mad he was wearing his back teeth down.

“He,” Natches drawled, “is being a Good Samaritan. I brought the rest of your thirsty plants.” He indicated the freshly watered greenery sitting on the dining table. “And your personal stuff.” He grinned as though proud of himself. “I knew Dawg was buying you new clothes, so I didn’t bother with those.”

Dawg watched Crista carefully. He could see the mad washing over her expression, the light flush that stained her cheeks, and the glitter of it in her eyes.

“Of course you didn’t bother,” she muttered through her teeth. At least Dawg wasn’t the only one gritting his molars. “Wouldn’t it just suck to spoil Dawg’s fun?”

“Hell yeah.” Natches breathed as though relieved that she understood some complicated dilemma.

“We’re real careful not to spoil Dawg’s fun. That could get bloody.”

As Crista swung around, Dawg ducked his head, hiding a grin that tugged involuntarily at his lips.

Natches could play the fool better than anyone Dawg knew. He could be playful, teasing, almost innocent. As long as one didn’t make the mistake of staring into the cold depths of his frozen green eyes.

As Dawg glanced down, he got a generous view of her well-rounded breasts heaving beneath her T-shirt and her fists clenching at her side.

“You have your clothes.” He jerked his head to the bags. “You can take a shower now and change. I’ll order something to eat.”

“Shove it,” she snapped.

“Don’t tempt me, sugar girl.” Tension fairly snapped through him, he was so damned on edge, so horny and pissed off that he didn’t know if he could trust himself to keep his hands off her or not.

“Because shoving it is something I could do real easy right now.”

He watched her eyes widen in shock and surprise before the glitter of anger increased.

“You are not intimidating me, Dawg,” she retorted.

And she looked serious.

Dawg grinned. A slow, easy curve of his lips as he let his hands move to his belt, jerking the slack through his belt loops and pulling at the buckle. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. Dawg watched as her gaze jerked to Natches before she grabbed the bags and ran like a rabbit that just caught sight of the wicked wolf.

Natches was chuckling as she sprinted up the curving stairs, never pausing to look back.

“Man, she should have gotten a clue with the smile,” Natches snorted as he turned back, his gaze smug as Dawg readjusted his belt.

Amusement lingered in Natches’s expression, but there was regret lurking in his eyes.

Dawg knew where the regret stemmed from. He wouldn’t be sharing in this relationship between Crista and Dawg. As fiery, as problematic and irritating as it was shaping up to be, he would be on the outside looking in. And that was a helluva place to be.

Dawg shook his head. “What did you see after we left?”

Natches pushed his fingers through his shoulder length, straight black hair as a grimace contorted his rough hewn features.

“I saw Johnny. He was watching you and Crista like a beady-eyed little snake from the corner as you drove off. You could see his brain just calculating ways to use this. The little twit. Other than that, all I saw were the customers from the diner. There were no unknowns.”

No unknowns. No one unfamiliar.

“Where could they have hidden?” Dawg wondered curiously, mentally laying out the area in his head.

“Too many places.” Natches shrugged, mirroring his own thoughts. “Sheriff Mayes is having the Rodeo impounded, though. He’s investigating the crime.”

Dawg grimaced.

“Uh-huh,” his cousin breathed out sharply. “My opinion of it as well.”

Dawg tightened his lips as he strode over to the fridge and jerked out two bottles of beer. After handing one to Natches, he twisted the cap off his own and took a long, fortifying drink.

“This is turning into a fucking mess,” he bit out. “How the hell did she manage to get herself mixed up in this?”

Natches twisted the cap off his own beer as he shook his head and paced over to the glass sliding doors.

“That’s not all I found out.” Natches turned back to him slowly, his gaze brooding, hooded.

“When Crista left here eight years ago, she didn’t just leave with Mark Lessing. Following them was Tyrell Grayson. Both men were once a part of Alex’s spec op team, though they were discharged a month or so before for medical reasons. They all moved into Lessing’s apartment on her arrival there, and she lived with them the whole time she was there. Rumor has it, both men were her lovers.”

TWELVE

Dawg froze at that information. He remembered Tyrell Grayson, though he had never met Mark Lessing. Tyrell had been a medic in the small Special Forces team Alex fought with at one time. Leanly muscled, blond-haired, and charming as hell.

“She had two lovers,” he said quietly.

“That’s the rumor.” Natches shrugged. “I called a friend of mine who lived in Virginia Beach, not too far from where she lived with the two men. He did a little poking around yesterday. Lessing comes from money, and his position in his father’s law firm obviously pays well. The penthouse apartment he still owns is supposed to be sweet. Lots of windows and space with a view of the beach. Lessing and Grayson still share the apartment, but a few of the neighbors say she broke their hearts when she left. My contact there believes differently. He talked to Lessing, posing as a potential employer who had heard about Crista’s references and her lack of a job. Both men sang her praises and seemed fairly upbeat about her move.”

She had two lovers. Two men. Ex–Special Forces. Hard men. And yet she had run from him and the fear that he wanted to share her with his cousins?

It didn’t make sense.

“Any rumors of drugs or illegal activities?” Dawg asked.

“She’s clean as a whistle there.” Natches shook his head.

“But she could have made the right contacts to learn about the missiles and possible movements, as well as those needed to sell them.” Dawg didn’t want to believe that. He could feel everything inside him rejecting the idea that Crista could have possibly been involved in that.

“Initial reports say no.” Natches shrugged. “Lessing and Grayson didn’t associate with the military or former friends. But my contact is checking into it further.”

Dawg felt his jaw tightening with fury.

“See what else you can find out,” he ordered harshly. “And while you’re at it, find out why she left town to begin with. Somehow, I doubt it had anything to do with avoiding a relationship with me.”

Why should it have? She hadn’t worried about moving in with two other men. Why run from him?

“What about the explosive device in that Rodeo, Dawg?” Natches said then. “We have the buyers and sellers, and not one of them has mentioned her name. Who struck at her, and why?”