Nauti Nights (10 page)

now does. I can’t afford not to work for three months, and I won’t accept money to sleep with you. I have to have a job.”

“We’re not talking about that right now.” His voice rumbled with displeasure.

“And we’re not talking about what happened eight years ago, either,” she retorted. “Actually, that night is really pretty fuzzy in my head. I’ve all but forgotten it.”

And that had to be the biggest lie she had ever told in her life.

Crista glanced over at him, satisfied and yet more nervous than ever once she saw the dark, brooding

intensity of his expression.

“It just pisses me off when you lie to me, Crista Ann,” he growled, glancing at her over the top edge of his dark glasses as he came to a stoplight.

The vehicle rolled to a stop as Crista stared out at the town that stretched on each side of the highway running through it. It had grown in the years she had been away from it, but it was still filled with the same qualities she had missed.

There were no high-rises here, no frantic rush of people walking down the sidewalks, fighting to get from office to office and ignoring everyone around them. She could walk into any store and see someone she

knew or had known from her childhood.

She had friends here, distant relatives, and history.

She was aware of him glancing back at her as he put the truck into gear and accelerated through the green light, gathering speed and heading to the marina outside town.

“How long have you been working undercover against the drug dealers around here?” she asked him then.

“I know Alex said the problem had grown, but I didn’t know it was bad enough to warrant late-night

raids.”

“They’re rare.” His voice was clipped, the message clear. He didn’t want to talk about it.

“It must be getting pretty bad. The guy who caught me in the warehouse looked like one of the monsters

television portrays. If the Latin factions have moved into Somerset, won’t it be hard to weed them out?”

His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as he glanced at her.

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“Doubtful.” He was determined not to discuss it with her, that was more than obvious.

“Do you know who the woman was who was supposed to be there?”

At that question, he froze. “Not yet.”

Crista bit at her lower lip nervously. “You’ve questioned the other men though, right?”

“This morning.”

“Did you find the money they were missing?”

His head swung around briefly, his gaze hidden behind the dark glasses now.

“Not yet.” Clipped, dark, his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “Why?”

“He seemed to think I had it. That was what he said to me: ‘Where’s my money, puta?’ Evidently, he’s

not the only one that considers me a—”

She swore he growled. Crista compressed her lips at the silent snarl that pulled at his lips.

“What else did he say?” he snapped out.

“He didn’t have time to say anything else. You splattered his blood all over me less than a second later.”

“It beat seeing your fucking blood staining that damned warehouse.” Violence filled his voice before

Crista watched him forcibly rein it in with a tight grimace. “Did you hear anything else? See anything

else?”

She shook her head slowly, feeling the terror that had risen inside her the night before beating at her head again. Dawg had relieved the horror of the event the night before, strangely enough, with his obnoxious

blackmail demand. But now it was beginning to set in. The fact that she had nearly died. That if she had just gone to Dawg before, this might not have happened.

She licked her lips nervously. “Look, this is probably totally unrelated, but before this, weird things were happening anyway. So weird that when I told Alex about them, he just about ordered me to call you.”

“What things?”

She went through them briefly: missing clothes, the feeling that someone was following her, watching her.

“Do you think it had something to do with last night?” she asked as she finished.

Dawg didn’t think; he knew. He could feel it burning in his gut and itching along the back of his neck.

Primitive possession roiled through his mind as he glanced at Crista and realized that somehow, for some reason, someone among the crew they had rounded up last night had known to use her.

It was far-fetched; he would do better to suspect her of being involved to begin with, but his unruly dick refused to let him consider it.

But, if someone had been trying to throw her into the mix, then it was because they knew of his obsession for her. And there were very, very few people who knew that Dawg couldn’t forget one Crista Ann

Jansen.

He wiped his hand down his face and considered his options. They hadn’t caught the one female of the

group who they knew had been involved. The mediator between the buyers and sellers had been a woman;

the vague description the team had of her resembled Crista. And if she was telling the truth about the

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buyer, Aaron Grael, then the woman had made off with half down on a two million dollar deal.

He blew out a rough breath as he glanced over at her. She was watching him worriedly, her chocolate eyes filled with indecision and a hint of fear. But there was no guilt. Over the years, hell, even before he joined the Marines, he had been able to spot most lies a mile away. He couldn’t see anything in Crista’s gaze but her worry and her discomfort.

“You haven’t answered me.” There was a snap to her voice that assured him that she wasn’t frightened

enough to have forgotten her earlier anger with him.

“Let me check into a few things and talk to Natches about this,” he finally said, his voice rough. There was too damned much money missing to discount any of it. “But my best guess is that it’s all connected.

Somehow. I just have to figure out how.”

“If you’re undercover, as I assume you are, because I haven’t heard anything about you working with the

DEA, then someone would have to know the truth to know to use me,” she said hesitantly.

He had to give her credit for being smart. No one had ever accused Crista of being without her own sense of intuition.

Too bad he wasn’t really working with the DEA; his problems might be easier at the moment.

“Natches and I both are undercover,” he finally said. “The deal we broke up last night had been in the

works for over six months. We pulled in everyone except the buyer I killed and one more player. We’re

looking for the other person now.”

She didn’t say anything for long moments.

“The other player is a woman,” she finally guessed, her voice trembling. “And she resembles me, doesn’t

she?”

Dawg made the turn into the Mackay Marina in silence before he glanced over at her again.

“The description we have of her resembles you,” he admitted softly, seeing her flinch from the corner of his eye. “She’s the only one missing; she has the money. There’s no reason for any focus to linger on

you.”

“Unless one of the men you captured saw me? Or recognized me from town? Or someone associated with

them sees me now?”

“Let’s not borrow trouble, Crista.” But they were thoughts brewing in his own mind. “You concentrate on

the here and now; I’ll concentrate on the rest of it.”

“Just concentrate on your little blackmail scheme?” she retorted acidly.

“Make happy with my dick, and I’ll be a happy little camper.” He said the words for shock effect. He

hated seeing the fear in her eyes, in her expression. And that took care of it nicely.

“Has anyone ever told you what a bastard you are, Dawg?” Hostility radiated from her now.

Dawg let his lips curl into a mocking grin. Oh yeah, he knew what a bastard he was. His father had made

certain he had known at a very early age.

“You’re telling me now.” He pulled into his parking slot close to the docks, his gaze moving carefully

around the area as he shut the pickup off before turning to face her. “You ready to make nice and go to the boat yet? Or do we need to sit here and have a screaming match instead?”

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“I don’t have screaming matches.” Her expression lit with offended anger.

“You’d be the first woman then,” he grunted, moving from the vehicle. “Let’s go. I need a cold beer.”

Summer had just started, but it was already warming up with a ferocity that sent waves of heat curling up from the asphalt.

He pulled her suitcase from the backseat as well as the box and tucked it under his arm as she rounded the front of the truck.

“I’ll get the flowers.” Her expression was anxious, as though she couldn’t trust him to take care of two damned pots of flowers.

But hell, why should she? She couldn’t even trust him to help her when Alex advised her to.

Son of a bitch. Missing items from her home, a feeling of being watched and followed. She had all the

signs of a stalker at the very least, and she hadn’t contacted anyone. If she had contacted the sheriff, Zeke Mayes, he would have let Dawg know.

Dawg let her gather the two oversized pots in her arms. The red miniature rosebush with its pot was nearly as tall as she was. The flowering cactus was smaller but no less bulky.

“I can have Natches come back for those,” he told her doubtfully.

The glare she gave him had his lips tightening in annoyance.

“Fine.” He slammed the doors closed as he turned back to her. “Let me carry one of them before you

topple over.”

“I have them.” She peeked between the branches of the rosebush. “Just lead the way.”

“If you fall in the lake because you can’t see over those damned pots, then I’m going to let you drown,” he warned her.

He knew better. He was so damned stupid where she was concerned, he’d save her and the fucking plants.

“I know what I’m doing.” Dark brown eyes narrowed on him. “Just go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

“After you.” He smiled tightly. “And watch where you’re going, if you can. Don’t walk off the side of a

dock. Please.”

As she moved ahead of him, Dawg stayed close to her, just in case. She was so damned stubborn she

would probably kill herself rather than see a single rose damaged.

He frowned at the small roses topping their green branches. He had given her a rosebush once. He

wondered what had happened to it. On her seventeenth birthday, an attempt to sweeten her toward him.

He had arrived at her home, endured Alex’s glare, and given her the plastic-wrapped little bush for the

tiny rose garden she had behind the house. He had noticed that. How much she liked roses.

She’d probably tossed it out just like she had tossed out the memory of them together.

Memories that were still foggy to him. At twenty-four, he had drunk too much, partied too damned hard,

and had no sense where women were concerned. But he had been smart enough to think Crista was

different. Special.

Hell, she was special, and so different from any other woman he had ever known that it was like night and day. The leading difference being the fact that Crista had never been bowled over by the famous Mackay

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charm.

At least, not until he was too drunk to remember what had convinced her to sleep with him in the first

place.

Now, he had to deal with a hard-on that made common sense iffy at best and the knowledge that someone

had been drawing Crista into this game between the agents looking for missiles and those involved in the buying and selling of those missiles.

Damn. He knew the only missing component to this case was the woman who had escaped with a million

dollars in unmarked bills. He prayed she was running far and fast and was the only person aware of Crista.

Not that he could get that damned lucky, but he could hope.

Unlocking the glass door that led into the houseboat, Dawg checked the security monitor as he entered the living room before setting the suitcase and box on the couch and watching as Crista stood hesitantly in the room, looking around.

“Can I put the flowers upstairs?” she asked. “There’s more sunlight there.”

“Set them down. I’ll take them up later.” He strode across the room to the refrigerator and the cold beer inside.

Twisting the cap off the bottle, he took a healthy drink as he stared at Crista through the dark glasses he wore. Better to hide his eyes, to hide the emotions he knew he wasn’t holding back very well. Even

Natches had watched him in concern during the meeting with the joint ATF and Homeland Security task

force that had been working the investigation.

Something about Crista made him dangerously hungry. Knowing he had had her and being unable to

remember anything but the dimmest events made him crazy.

“You have a choice.” He set the beer on the counter with enough force to cause her to jump.

“Do I?” She was watching him nervously.

At least it wasn’t in fear.

He pulled the sunglasses from his nose and tossed them to the counter before turning his gaze back to her.

Immediate. Her response came as fast as her gaze took in his.

He watched her breasts begin to rise and lower with her quicker breathing, watched the little points of her nipples tighten beneath her shirt and a softening in the defiant stance she had adopted.

His hand went to his belt, loosening it slowly as her eyes began to widen.

“Dawg.” She swallowed tightly. “I’m not ready for this yet.”