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“Chandler wasn’t in the military,” she said, her voice low, shocked.
“Nope, Chandler liked to play war games though. His pansy ass was too important to risk, big-shot architect that he was. But he liked to show his kid how tough and strong he was, usually with his fists, though his wife did have a measure of control over him.
“Now, good ole Dayle Mackay, there’s another story. ”
Natches had once thought he had pushed that part of his past behind him, that he had conquered that hatred, that bitterness. Maybe he hadn’t fully managed it, he thought as he watched Cranston read the file.
“Dayle didn’t care who he beat up on, or how bad. And he kept his wife sedated enough that she didn’t really give a shit either. He married money, confiscated the money on her parents’ deaths, and let her live to watch all his glory plans move right along. General Dayle Mackay. That’s what he calls himself in private. But then, he always has, so it wasn’t easy to put it together at first. ”
He moved aside as Chaya shifted closer to him. Hell, he’d thought he could have a life with her, and now that was being tested in the worst possible way. The son of a traitor? She had been married to one traitor already; he was pretty sure she wouldn’t want another in the family.
“The other files, those are the men I remember from years back who made late-night visits, sat and drank his fine wine and talked about the golden future they could create. ”
He had been a kid then. Those memories were always rife with pain. Natches had been a nosy kid, and sometimes he had been caught being nosy. And he’d paid for it.
“They’re all right here together,” Timothy exclaimed as he pulled free one of the few pictures Natches had stolen out of the house before his father had disowned him.
“That picture was stolen by accident. ” He grinned. “I used to steal family pictures, not that we had a lot. His wife, Linda, she tried taking them for a few years, but finally gave up. She liked being sedated better. ”
Natches looked at the picture. Six men. Dayle, Chandler, and the men he remembered visiting when he was younger. And one woman. Nadine Mackay Grace between the two Mackay brothers, their arms around her as they grinned for the camera.
His mother, Linda, wasn’t in the picture. Just those hard-eyed men and the sister the Mackay brothers had used for their own pleasure.
Natches moved back to the coffeepot, feeling the need to slip away, to hunt. His rifle was clean and ready, ammunition prepared, his knapsack was packed. He could leave at a moment’s notice and no one would have a clue where he was going. Or that the need to kill the man who sired him was eating him alive.
“Delbert Grant is your explosives expert,” he told them. “He was in town a few weeks ago. He’s been out of the service a hell of a long time. But his son was with him; I guess every man needs an apprentice. ”
Natches almost snorted at the thought.
“How do we get the evidence we need against them?” Timothy mused as he turned to his agents, and Chaya moved to Natches.
He tried to pull away from her again, to ignore her gaze.
“Don’t. Please. ” She stared up at him, then laid her head against his chest and he wondered if his heart was going to shatter in that moment.
He couldn’t stop himself from touching her, from letting his hands flatten against her back and feel her melting against him.
But he stared over her head and watched as the agents went through the files, comparing names, associations, and placing each one at specific points of operation.
They weren’t incredibly wealthy men. They were plotters, planners. They were bullies and self-appointed saviors. They were the worst kind of enemy.
“This one has a boat on the lake. ” The sheriff tapped the file of one of the more well-to-do members of the group. “He has a group out here several times a year. They don’t cause trouble, but they give you a clear feeling of trouble. ”
“Uncle Ray wouldn’t let them dock here,” Natches told them.
Timothy’s head raised at the mention of Ray’s name. “Where are your cousins? And Jansen? They’re not around this morning. ”
He stroked Chaya’s back as she turned in his embrace to watch Timothy. She was still relaxed against him, conforming to his harder, larger body, as though her petite frame could cushion him against any of this.
“They’re around,” he said softly.
Chaya tensed at the sound of his voice. Soft, almost gentle. A lazy drawl that held no warmth, no comfort.
Chaya watched as Timothy narrowed his eyes on them, taking in their position, the way Natches held her against him. It was an unmistakable picture and the special agent’s gaze flickered with knowledge.
“Yeah, that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, Timothy?” Natches asked, and Chaya forced herself to remain silent, to keep her eyes on Timothy. “You sent her in here stirring the pot so you could draw us out and make us do your work for you. ”
Timothy exhaled roughly, ran his hand over his balding head, and gave Natches a wary grin.
