Nauti Nights (25 page)

strong suit.

Unfortunately, Sheriff Mayes liked a lot of answers to his questions.

“What the hell are you involved in, Dawg?” Zeke kept his voice low as they stood back from the state

police unit now inspecting his office.

There were no prints, no hint of anything disturbed, though it was impossible for Dawg to tell if anything was missing. He glared at Crista where she stood in the open door of the lounge beneath the office. He

hadn’t even recognized his damned office.

And she smiled.

That smile lit a fire inside him he didn’t even want to understand. A fire-charged electrical arousal and a brooding anger, in equal intensity through his body.

Because he knew she was holding back. Some part of her didn’t yet belong to him, whether it was her

honesty or something deeper, he didn’t want to delve into at the moment. But she was holding back. And

that just flat pissed him off.

“What the hell is she involved in, then?” Zeke asked.

Dawg glanced at the sheriff before leaning against the floor-to-ceiling shelving that ran the length of the aisle they were in front of.

“Nada,” he answered shortly.

“Your nadas are getting on my nerves,” Zeke warned him.

“It’s going to get on your nerves worse when I campaign for your opponent next election,” Dawg pointed

out irritably. “Leave it alone, Zeke.”

“You’re going to get her killed, Dawg,” Zeke said quietly. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s going to backfire on her.”

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“Then you’ll have bloodshed to clean up, Zeke.” Dawg’s smile, he knew, was a shark’s glare. “Anyone

even thinks about hurting her, and they’ll die. Expect that. Count on that. Now get the hell out of my way.

I have a business to run.”

Unfortunately, Zeke was right. Whatever the hell was going on, someone was intent on not just drawing

Crista into it, but of striking out at her.

As Zeke headed back toward the small crowd of investigators and officers, Natches moved up to him.

His cousin’s dark green eyes were like flinty ice in a stone-cold expression.

Dawg crossed his arms over his chest and stared around the crowd intently, making certain no one came

close.

“The investigators want to think she deliberately left the door unlocked,” Natches muttered. “The scrapes on the lock are being brushed aside because there are no prints. Someone wants you to think she’s

incompetent at the least, using you at the worst.”

Dawg nodded slowly.

“They struck after you were seen arguing with her. After the Rodeo went up in flames. None of it makes

any sense or ties in. Threaten her, and you’re only going to cover her closer. So why attempt to search

your office?”

“Unless the point was to plant something against her,” Natches said softly. “Thankfully, I was able to get in there with the first investigators. There was a map of the warehouse, the address, and a detailed list of the missiles and their chips, along with about twenty-five thousand in cash in an envelope tucked into the file cabinet. Someone’s setting you up with her.”

“Did you get the envelope?”

Natches nodded slowly. “Taken care of. Security tapes were fuzzed, bad. Both the outside and inside

monitors were affected. There was so much static on them there’s no way to tell who it was or what they

were doing.”

“They know my system.” His was state-of-the-art with a few additional devices that should have made it

impossible for the average thief to bypass.

“They know you,” Natches pointed out. “I’m going to head to town, spread a little trash, and see what

happens.”

“What kind of trash?” Dawg stared at his cousin suspiciously.

“Well, you hired a new manager, and look what happened.” Natches nodded to the officers and agents

milling around. “What if, after they leave, I overhear you and Crista arguing about it? Maybe she’s called her good friend Mark, and she’s heading back to Virginia. Whoever’s involved with this is trying to lay

the money at her feet to keep suspicion off them. If she’s arrested, Dawg, with the pictures they have of the woman resembling her, then any testimony the thieves give that she wasn’t involved won’t matter.

She’ll take the rap, and someone else gets away with the money.”

“Do the thieves know for certain it’s not Crista?” Dawg asked then, remembering the interrogation of the men they had arrested. “If they knew, why not take the deal Cranston offered them for the woman? From

all reports, she was the mastermind behind this.”

“Maybe they don’t know who she is,” Natches suggested. “They were a few good ole boys contacted

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the brains.”

“Someone who knows my security system,” Dawg mused.

“Close the store down for the rest of the day. I’ll hang around until everyone has left, check things out, then head to the diner with Rowdy and Kelly. We can get the information that Crista is heading to

Virginia where I think it needs to go. Whatever’s going on, that diner seems to be the center of it.”

“Or someone who hangs out there too much.” Dawg nodded.

“Wait till after dark to leave, and when you do, take the back roads to the marina. Stay in the houseboat tomorrow; keep the windows and doors closed and Crista hidden. Let’s give them time to take the bait.”

Dawg nodded. It could work. At the moment, it was the best chance they had at flushing out the culprit.

“Keep me up-to-date,” Dawg ordered. “And watch Cranston. He’s making me nervous.”

The agent was watching Crista too closely at the moment. Standing back, his head tilted to the side and

his eyes narrowed on her as she and Layla kept the officers supplied with coffee.

Natches nodded sharply. “I’ll be around the houseboat later tonight and let you know how things are

going.”

Dawg nodded again as he watched the crowd. One of his employees had to be involved; there was no

doubt. But which one? And why?

He watched them milling around, gossiping, chatting, filled with curiosity. One of them had betrayed him and threatened Crista. Which meant one of them had a death wish.

FIFTEEN

Eight years before, Crista had lived for the moments she could bask in Dawg’s smile. His flirting had

turned her heart over, filled her with a wild, reckless joy, and made her dream of being in his arms.

She had ached for him even before she knew what the ache was. His charm, his lazy humor, and that

shadow of pain that haunted his eyes drew her. And in her deepest fantasies she eased that shadow away

and saw his odd, light green eyes fill with joy.

When she had first realized she was pregnant, she had been furious, resentful. Then the knowledge of that life she held stilled the anger. His child would never know loneliness, never lack for love. She would

never see that shadow of hurt in their baby’s eyes. She would love it, protect it. Their baby.

The day she had lost that child something inside her had died, only to be reborn when she returned and

realized that that silent draw between her and Dawg was still there.

She had fought it. She had thought she could protect her heart and live on the periphery of his attention, warmed yet protected from the heat she knew could destroy her.

What a fool she had been.

Crista watched Dawg as they finished the office arrangement, going through files, searching for a reason why his office had been breached.

He was silent, angry. Determination sharpened the lines and angles of his face, giving him a warrior’s

appearance, a savage aura that turned her on more than it had a right to. He made quick work of hefting

the furniture and sliding it into place as Crista cleaned. He helped go through files, helped pack them to 108 of 183

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the new cabinets and load them, his celadon eyes sharp and intent as he went over every inch of the office to track anything that had been bothered or searched.

As he moved, the sunlight spearing through the wide office windows on the other side of the room

worshipped his raven black hair and sun-kissed flesh. It slid over his broad shoulders and emphasized his muscular arms as the short sleeves of his black T-shirt stretched over them.

Jeans molded to his powerful hips and thighs, and those boots he wore made his legs even sexier. Not to

mention how the denim of his jeans lovingly cupped his muscular ass.

He was enough to steal a girl’s breath, and Crista admitted to having a lot of breathless moments. And

perhaps she had been wrong before when she thought he hadn’t matured from the self-centered

determination he had possessed in those days.

Dawg had changed over the years after all. He was harder. Still just as sexy, but more dangerous than he had been before he joined the Marines and definitely more mature.

He had proven that today. Crista had watched as he moved through the office after the sheriff’s men had

finished dusting for prints, and the state police had finished their questions.

They could find nothing moved, nothing bothered. The only proof there was that there might have been a

break-in was the suspected tampering with the security cameras and the lock on the office door.

And Crista felt sorry for the culprit, because Dawg looked mad enough to draw blood hours later. He had

sent the employees home after the police left and locked up behind Layla before leading Crista back into the office.

She stared at him from the other end of the large room as she straightened the lamp on the table by the

couch and he stored the last of the files. His eyes were narrowed, his expression brooding as he turned to her.

“Do you realize you just destroyed years of deliberate chaos?” Dawg asked as the last of the files were

stored away and she gave the furniture a final buffing with the polish she used. Everything gleamed, even the hardwood floor beneath their feet.

She turned and looked around, realizing how large the office was. There was plenty of room for the other file cabinets she wanted as well as the extra desk Dawg had ordered one of the stock floor boys to put

together for her in the morning. A nice miniature version of the huge walnut desk he was using himself.

Deliberate chaos he called it. A slap at the father that would have taken even this from him, if he could have managed to do it without looking like the monster he had been.

“Chaos doesn’t beat success.” She shrugged. “Organization can raise productivity and profits. The way it is, the chain lumber stores are still running ahead of you in profits and customers. We want to pull those customers to Mackay’s.”

He leaned against the file cabinet and regarded her quizzically. “It makes enough money. Even with the

court battle Johnny and his mother waged against me those first years, I came out of it a very rich man, Crista.”

“And that’s enough for you?” She knew Dawg better than that.

“It’s more than most have.” That irritable frown was on his face again, the one that encouraged the person he was talking to, to go straight to hell.

Crista shook her head. “It’s not enough for you, Dawg.”

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“Says who?” He threw himself in the large leather chair behind his desk and stared back at her broodingly.

Crista rolled her eyes as she stored the polish and rag in the bottom drawer of one of the file cabinets before straightening to face him.

The look on his face was sexy and scary at the same time. Intent, brooding, dominant, and aroused.

“Stop being an ass,” she chided him. “You know you love this store. You pretend you don’t. You want

people to think you don’t. But I know better.”

He folded his fingers together over his tight abs as he leaned back and let his gaze rake over her.

“And how do you know so much about me?” he drawled with a hint of anger. “It’s not like you try to get

close to me.”

And there he was wrong. Even in the past year, Crista had soaked up every hint of gossip she could about him. She had watched him, let others talk about him, and found herself looking for excuses to be in places where she knew he would be.

She knew the lawsuit that his aunt had brought against him just after he joined the Marines had ignited a fury of controversy through the town at the time.

All the cousins—Rowdy, Natches, and Dawg—had been in the service, leaving no one in Somerset to

protect his interests other than his uncle Ray. Ray Mackay had held that front line like a bulldog holding onto a bone, though.

He had hired the best lawyers, paid them himself, and kept Dawg apprised of each step of the battle. He

had managed to get court dates delayed until Dawg had leave, and had stood beside his nephew, against

his sister, and shed a tear on the stand as he related the times he had been forced to protect Dawg as a young boy from the father who would have abused him.

Dawg’s bitterness went clear to his childhood, and it had created a man who, even at twenty-four, had

been hard and shadowed with distrust. Four years in the Marines and four years working for whatever

government agency he was a part of hadn’t helped.

“Getting close to you would have been hard, Dawg,” she finally answered him. “Your groupies stood

layers deep and jealously hoarded that hard body of yours.”

It wasn’t far from the truth.