Nauti Dreams (30 page)

must have been busy this month, I haven’t felt his gunsights in a while. But right after I

terminated Johnny, I felt them. I felt them hard enough that I wondered if he’d finally

made his mind up to do it.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” Rowdy growled, furious. Natches could hear the anger in

his tone.

Natches shrugged. “I know how to give back. I let him feel me for a while.” And it had

amused him. Just as he knew it had amused Dayle when Natches felt those sights

between his eyes. Once a sniper always a sniper, but once an assassin, a man always

knew when it was turning back on him. Dayle amused Natches for the most part with his

games. He didn’t know how to target, didn’t know any more than an experienced hunter

knew. The wind positioning was never exact. He was always too far off. But he liked to

pretend he could kill his son. The mess cook turned gourmet cook who thought he was a

general in a revolution. It was so fucking laughable Natches still had trouble believing it.

Dayle Mackay had the temperament for what he was doing though. He’d learned enough

in the Marines to know how to be hard. He’d made connections, and he’d kept those

connections. And Natches had known, as he’d read those reports, as he had begun to put

the pieces together along with the mental snapshots of the past few events that had tied

in. Natches had known.

“How long have you known who Agent Dane is chasing, Natches?” Dawg asked.

Natches could feel his anger, too. Protective, that was Dawg. And he knew Dawg would

never forget the night Natches hadn’t been able to protect himself. The night he had

nearly let his father beat him to death, to protect his sister. And he would have done it

again. If Ray hadn’t found a way to make certain Dayle was too scared to leave so much

as a bruise on Janey, Natches would have let his father kill him to protect her.

Because no one in the damned county had the balls to stop it. They were terrified of

Dayle Mackay. Bullying, cold, mean to the fucking bone. And a fucking gourmet chef on

top of it. It was almost enough to leave a man rolling in laughter at the thought of it.

Dayle Mackay could make a meal that would leave a man crying in joy at the taste. And

he could beat a man to a bloody pulp with the same cold precision.

“I knew before she arrived.” Natches finally shrugged. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to

himself. He’d refused to even consider the suspicion. But he had known. The day Johnny

had died Natches had stared into his father’s eyes across the town square and Dayle had

known who had killed Johnny. And Natches had known, in that one instant, who had

helped Johnny. Hell, helped him nothing. Johnny hadn’t masterminded that little deal,

Dayle Mackay had. And now Natches had to deal with it.

“Cranston has Chaya playing a smoke game, and I know it. Not enough to cause Dayle to

target her, but enough, he’s hoping, to make Dayle mess up just enough to rain down the

wrath of Timothy Cranston on him. The wrong phone call. The wrong meeting with the

wrong person. Just enough to pull him in on suspicion of terrorist activities.”

Silence surrounded them. Natches didn’t feel the chill of the night on his skin, he felt the

chill of betrayal in his gut. And of fear. Because the one thing he hadn’t considered until

tonight, until that bomb had taken the other agent out, he hadn’t considered the risk to

Chaya.

Dayle had no problem whatsoever targeting her. Killing her would kill Natches, and

figuring that out wouldn’t take rocket science, especially not after the past few days.

“I’m moving the boat tomorrow,” he told them then. “I’m going to dock her behind the

garage for a while.”

“The hell you are.” Rowdy faced him, cold, hard. “We stick together, Natches. He’ll

expect you to separate yourself from us. We don’t separate.”

Natches shook his head. “Kelly and Crista . . .”

“Are just as fucking innocent in this as that woman you have in your bedroom now,”

Dawg snarled. “I might not like the situation, damn it, but I’ll be damned if you’ll pull

away from us like that. There’s safety in numbers, man. And right now, Dayle isn’t going

to take that risk here. We’d all know who did it. We know his style and his signature, he

can’t take that risk. You make yourself a target, and he can take you out easy.”

Natches scratched at his cheek and gazed out into the night. That was the only insurance

Natches had ever had against his father’s wrath. He’d rubbed Dayle’s nose in it, too. He

couldn’t take Natches out without the whole damned town knowing it. And a part of

Natches had never really believed his father would try to kill him, until recently.

Hell, he should just pack himself and Chaya up and leave. Making a life somewhere else

wouldn’t be that damned hard. Except there was no way in hell she would go for it. She

was an agent, and she didn’t break her word, she wouldn’t betray DHS that way. She

would resign, and that was a given once this assignment was finished, if they survived it.

“Have you discussed any of this with Chaya yet?” Rowdy asked.

Natches shook his head. He had only let himself believe it tonight. “She’s sleeping.”

She was curled in his bed, safe and warm for the moment, where he needed her to be

always. Safe and warm, and sheltering his child under her heart.

“She’s pregnant.” He let the words slip past his lips.

He knew she was pregnant. He could feel it clear to his soul. The moment she told him

she wasn’t protected, that knowledge had slammed clear to his gut.

Silence again. Rowdy’s eyes widened and Dawg’s seemed to bug out.

“She’s what?” Dawg wheezed. “What the hell? She’s not been back here long enough,

unless . . .” He let it trail off.

“It’s mine.” His child. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t matter. “She won’t admit

it, but I know she is, Dawg. The first time, she wasn’t protected and I didn’t give a

damn.” But now, fear sliced inside him. His baby rested inside her, barely more than an

instinct, and already that child was in danger. “I haven’t given a damn since.”

“Damn,” Rowdy breathed out roughly. “Okay, another reason why you don’t go running

off solo. Your ass is staying here. And so is hers.”

“You’re risking your lives,” Natches told them both. “Kelly and Crista need you two.

This is my fight.”

“He wants me to kick his ass,” Dawg snapped.

“No, he wants a cold bath tonight, and I might oblige him by tipping his ass over that rail

and into the lake,” Rowdy said with a healthy dose of disgust. “Get over yourself,

Natches. Later today, we tackle Cranston. That little bastard has gone too far this time.

He should have contacted us to start with.”

“He did.”

Dawg and Rowdy stared back at him in surprise. “When?”

“The anonymous call the night Chaya came into town. I finally recognized the voice

despite his attempts to disguise it. It was Cranston. That was his warning.”

“Then he needs to brush up on his social-fucking-skills.” Dawg’s smile was one of those

nerve-racking curves that always denoted trouble. “And I’ll just enlighten him on that

little tidbit when we get hold of him.”

Natches stared at Rowdy, then at Dawg, and shook his head. He hadn’t wanted them

involved, but hadn’t they always been? Dayle would never be satisfied if he managed to

take Natches out, because he hated his nephews with the same consuming fury that he

hated his son. And his brother Ray? His hatred for Ray ran so strong and so deep that

Natches had worried for years that Dayle would strike back at him.

“We meet back here in the morning, then tomorrow night,” Rowdy told them both as he

moved to the rail of the boat. “We hash this out then and figure things out. And we do

this together.” He stared back at Natches, his gaze hard, determined.

Natches nodded. There wasn’t a chance they would let him do it alone, he knew.

He watched as his cousins, his family, jumped from his boat to Dawg’s. Dawg headed

inside while Rowdy made the jump to his own houseboat, his shadow barely visible even

under the clear sky and nearly full moon.

He stared up at that moon, and before he headed back inside to Chaya, he whispered

another prayer. This one for protection. God, don’t let him lose Chaya, because he knew

beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never survive it.

Chaya smiled as she felt Natches move silently beside her in the big bed, then gave a

little shiver as his cool body curled around her.

“You’re cold,” she murmured, not quite awake, not quite asleep, but content to drift

where she was, content and peaceful.

“You gonna get me warm.” His voice washed through her, just a little rough, tinged with

masculine amusement.

“Hmm.” She shifted against him, her legs rubbing against his hair-roughened ones as a

sense of completeness began to make itself known.

She shouldn’t feel comfortable. She shouldn’t feel like she was home in his arms,

because she hadn’t known what home felt like until Natches.

“I’m really cold,” he murmured, rolling her to her back as her lashes lifted and she stared

into his shadowed face, glimpsed his quick smile.

She loved his smile, though she hadn’t seen it nearly enough since coming to Somerset.

She wanted to see it every second of her day, she realized. A smile on his lips and in his

eyes.

She let her hands slide up the arms braced on each side of her body, until they curved

around his neck. She was ready for his kiss when it came, and he had no right to claim

being cold, he was an inferno, heated and hungry.

His kiss sank into her, his lips slanting across hers as he moved over her, sliding between

her thighs and nestling the head of his erection against the slick folds of her sex.

“You feel warm now, Natches,” she whispered, feeling the need beginning to grow inside

her again.

As he slid inside her, thick and hard, her breath caught in her throat and her back arched,

taking more of him, taking him deeper and fighting to hold him tighter. Though she was

stretched so tight around him that a thought couldn’t have slid between his flesh and hers.

“Downright hot now.” His breathing was rough, his hands demanding, gentle, as he

stroked her body, his head bending until his lips and tongue could play over her nipple.

“Yeah, you feel kinda hot,” she gasped, then moaned as he suckled her deep and thrust

heavily inside her. “Oh God, Natches, what are you doing to me?”

But she knew what he was doing to her. Binding her so tight to him that there was no way

to escape, no way to protect herself.

“Loving you,” he murmured against her nipple before kissing it softly and turning to the

other tight peak. “Can’t you feel me loving you, Chay?”

She could. Thrusting, sliding so deep and warm inside her, like a dream. He was taking

her like a slow, lazy dream, making every stroke memorable, every touch burning inside

her heart.

“Keep loving me.” She almost sobbed the plea, and she bit his shoulder as he raked his

teeth over her nipple, sending sensation after sensation shooting clear to her womb.

“Don’t stop, Natches. Don’t stop loving me.”

“Not gonna happen,” he groaned. “Always love you.”

And she had known it, just as she had known she felt the same. She mouthed the words

against his arm, felt him nip the curve of her breast, and the pleasure began to spiral. His

thrusts became harder, deeper. They stroked, penetrated, and filled her with ecstasy as

she flew in his arms.

Her hips lifted, her legs wrapping around his hips as she held on for the ride of her life.

Each time with Natches was better than the last. Each touch, each kiss, each heated thrust

inside her body bound her more tightly to him. And when she exploded, felt him explode

and felt their release mingling, she knew his intentions of binding her even closer would

only give them more to share. There was no way of binding her closer; he already was

her soul.

Each spurt of silky release flowing into her had her crying out though. Her name on his

lips, his name sobbing from hers as he finally collapsed against her and rolled to his side.

He still held her. He didn’t let her go, just tucked her closer to him and let their breaths

ease as drowsiness stole over her again.

“I love you.” She whispered the words to herself.

Or so she thought. Natches felt his heart expand, nearly tearing from his chest at the

sleepy, almost unconscious words.

I love you. Such a simple statement. Yet, those three little words embedded inside him

and filled him with determination. He wasn’t going to lose her. He’d kill again first, and

just as with Johnny, he would never regret it.

SIXTEEN

Timothy Cranston, a.k.a. the rabid leprechaun of DHS, strode into Natches’s houseboat

as though he owned it. He was followed by the other five agents assigned to the Somerset

case, and they looked harried, sleepless, and concerned.

Behind them strode Sheriff Mayes, and he looked ready to explode with fury. His golden

brown eyes were sizzling with anger and his tall, hard body was tense with the effort at

maintaining self-control.

“What happened?” Chaya stood from her seat at the table, her eyes going from Timothy

to the sheriff.

“Someone tried to kill Rogue Walker last night.” Zeke’s voice grated with fury. “And