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He had fallen in love with the agent. Strong, independent, fiercely determined. Take those things away from her, and she wasn’t Chaya. She wouldn’t be his heart or his soul, and that he couldn’t allow.
Natches escorted Chaya back to his houseboat after the interview, the tension burning hot and heavy through them.
“The boat has been checked thoroughly,” he told her as they walked along the floating docks toward it. “Alex hit town a few hours ago. He and his team went over it from top to bottom while we were on our way in. ”
Alex Jansen was Special Forces and worked closely with Cranston. Chaya had worked with him several times. He was also Crista Mackay’s brother.
It was already dark and growing bitterly cold for the season. The wind off the water felt like ice and cut through Chaya’s thick jacket like the sharpest blade.
She felt cold from the inside out. As though icicles were growing in the pit of her stomach and freezing her with fear.
What the hell was going on in this beautiful little county? A place where young men were punished in such horrible ways for their sexual preferences, where young women, like twenty-four-year-old Rogue, were more cynical than women twice their ages. And agents, good men, family men, were being targeted to die in an inferno.
“Alex and his team are at Dawg’s right now. ” Natches’s voice was low, restrained. “We’ll wait till later to meet with them. After you’ve had a chance to rest and eat. You haven’t eaten today, Chay. ”
Was that concern in his voice? God, she didn’t want to hear the gentleness in his voice when she knew he was furious. Probably furious with her. She was furious with herself. She hadn’t taken the proper precautions. Somehow, she had missed something during the interviews she had conducted. An expression, a flash of maliciousness, a lie. There were always signs. Always. It was always there, in the eyes, in the small shifts of the face, and she had missed it. And because she had, Kyle was dead.
Cranston had arrived in town as she left the bar. The text message had flashed on her phone, warning her that he would meet with her the next morning. On Natches’s houseboat. She hadn’t told Natches yet.
“Come on, baby. ” His voice was a breath of warmth against her ear as he unlocked the door and they stepped into the heated interior.
After locking the door behind them, he slid her jacket from her shoulders and unclipped her weapon from her side.
“You need a shoulder harness for this. ” He laid the holstered gun on the jacket at the end of the couch.
Chaya stared at the gun for long moments. She hated it. She hated carrying it, she hated being tied to it, and she hated the life she had led for the last five years. God, the last ten years. The only part of her life that had seemed worthwhile was the time with Beth. And with Natches.
She shook her head. “They aren’t comfortable. ”
She wanted to turn to him, she wanted to beg him to hold her, to take away the pain, and she couldn’t. She was the agent, this was the life she had chosen. What right did she have to burden him with her regrets now? He would only feel as though he should fix it, somehow drag her from it, and now she couldn’t let it go.
“Chay. ” His arms came around her as she felt her throat tightening with emotion. “I have you. ”
His head rested against hers, and his warmth surrounded her.
“I need a shower. ” She pulled away from him. “Do you want to order dinner? I could probably fix something when I get finished. ”
“How domestic. ” He let her go, though his tone grated on her nerves, that hint of knowledge, patience, and just a tinge of condescending male. “I do know how to cook, Chay,” he told her a second later as he breathed out roughly. “I’ve been doing it for a while now. ”
“Since your father threw you out of your home. ” She turned on him, feeling it burn in her now, that icy rage. Nearly everyone she had spoke to knew about it, mentioned it, seemed to wallow in the dirty gossip and nasty stories they thought they knew.
“It was never my home,” he said simply. “It was a place to crash for a night or two. ”
He said that so simply, as though it didn’t even matter.
“The scars on your back? He beat you senseless . . . ”
“Yeah, well, he managed it that time. ” His grin was smug if tinged with bitterness. “He has a few scars on his back now though. What the hell is this, Chay? I was barely twenty years old. We got into a fight over my sister and ended up fistfighting. He had the bigger fists at the time. Too bad, so sad. I survived it. ” He shook his head and stared at her in confusion. “If you want to crucify Dayle Mackay, I’ll be the first in line to help you, but that’s not what this is all about. ”
No, it wasn’t. It was about the fact that he had every intention of jerking her out of that bar. That he had informed her, quite bluntly, that they would be discussing it when they returned here.
Well, she was ready to discuss it now.
“You haven’t yelled at me yet, and I’m sick of waiting on it. ” Her hands were shaking with nerves, with reaction. “Go ahead and do it and get it over with. I should have come straight back here this morning, right? I should just let you take care of all the pesky little details of my job and of protecting me. Go ahead. Say it. ” She waved her hand back at him as she felt the tears trying to fill her eyes. “Get it off your chest. ”
She was yelling. She was irrational. She had never been irrational in her life but as Natches stared back at her with that expression of patient male understanding, she wanted to scream. Men didn’t understand. They didn’t feel the same things, they didn’t hurt the same way. They didn’t fear the same things. And she knew damned good and well he hadn’t understood anything when they entered that bar.
“So. Let me get this straight. ” He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head, watching her curiously. “I should be chewing on your ass for doing your job? Despite the fact that it just impressed the fucking hell out me. Kind of like it did in that damned desert. Now, suddenly, I’m supposed to change everything about you that made me so crazy about you to begin with?”
