"Doorbell? That's some kind of fog horn. Are you kidding, Jaimie?" Kane and Mack exchanged one long disgusted look. The noise was louder the second time, more insistent.
"Joe?" Mack shook his head. "Lean out the window, Kane. See if you can't get a clear shot at him."
Alarmed, Jaimie sat up, pulling the blankets to her chin. "You can't shoot him."
"Why not?" Kane asked.
He looked wild enough to really do it, his hair spilling all over the place, his clothes disheveled, his eyes fierce.
"Because I forbid it, that's why." Jaimie tried to be stern, but the two looked as if they might have been drinking all night, disheveled and heavy-lidded, making her want to smile. Sleeping on the couch hadn't been as much fun as Kane thought it might be. There was some satisfaction in that since they'd taken over her house. She'd forgotten how crazy they could get, feeding off each other, until she never knew exactly how far either of them would really go.
The doorbell let out another long blast. "That's it." Mack scowled fiercely. "Shoot him, Kane. I'll take the blame and let her yell at me. It's worth it."
"You got it." Kane, looking like a panther, stalked along the bank of windows to one of the long, tall windows overlooking the street where the front door was.
Jaimie nearly flew across the room, laughing, grabbing at Kane's arm. "Don't you dare. It's ten o'clock, we overslept. It isn't his fault."
Mack found the intercom. "Drop dead, buddy," he snarled into the speaker.
Jaimie whirled around, horrified. "Mack, I can't believe you just did that. Get away from there." She turned hastily back to Kane, who was unlocking the window. "Get away from the window." She pushed her hands through her own hair, now as disheveled as Kane's. "You're both completely out of control."
"What's he look like?" Mack demanded. "A skinny little runt, I hope."
"I don't think so," Kane muttered, leaning halfway out the window. "He's a big son of a bitch, Mack. Really big."
Jaimie tugged on his arm. "This is embarrassing me, Kane. Get your head back inside this minute."
"Big? How big?" Mack lifted Jaimie right out of the way, craning his neck to peer out the window, fending Jaimie off with one hand. "Hell, Kane, he's over six foot. Shoot the bastard."
Jaimie bit her lip, laughing, pushing at both of them, trying to pull Kane's arm down. "You're both so insane. Get away from the window. You're going to embarrass me. And if he sees that gun, he's going to call the police and then what are we going to do, smart ones?"
The doorbell boomed a deep, dramatic, and very insistent intrusion. Mack headed toward the speaker. Jaimie put on a burst of speed and beat him to it, although one of Mack's talents was something close to teleportation so he'd obviously let her. She coughed twice, trying to control her voice, trying not to laugh.
"Joe, sorry, my family arrived very late last night and I overslept."
Mack reached around her trying to get to the intercom. She pushed at the solid wall of his chest as she spoke, so she sounded out of breath.
"You need help, Jaimie?" Joe's voice floated out from the speaker a little distorted. Jaimie's brain immediately sought out the reason and made a mental note to correct the problem.
"No, she doesn't need any help, you baboon," Mack answered rudely, stabbing at the talk button around Jaimie.
Fortunately, she cut off his last few words. "All right, that's enough. If you keep playing around, he's going to call the cops. How do you expect to explain the arsenal you brought up here? Go make yourself useful. Make coffee!" Jaimie turned back to the speaker. "Why don't we take today off, Joe? I'll make it up to you later."
"You're sure, Jaimie?" Joe sounded suspicious.
"Absolutely. I'll see you tomorrow. I'm sorry, we stayed up all night talking. I'm a little tired. You understand, don't you? I should have called you."
"If you're certain." Joe didn't sound certain. He sounded worried.
"Make it up to him? Exactly how do you plan to do that?" Mack's snort of disgust was loud. "Did you hear her voice, Kane? Pure syrup. She was dripping with it."
Kane closed the window with unnecessary force. "I heard her." His vivid green eyes pinned her. "We don't know the first thing about this character. He could be a mass murderer. Did you do a background check on him?"
Jaimie threw her hands into the air. "You should take your act onto the road. He's a carpenter helping me, not a serial killer. Stop being crazy and get yourselves coffee. It might make you civilized."
Kane's glinting green gaze met Mack's fathomless black one. Simultaneously they both shrugged powerful shoulders. "I'll call and get someone on it," Kane decided, making a move toward the phone.
"Don't you dare, Kane." Jaimie caught the receiver, slammed it back in its cradle. "I told you, I know Joe."
"How could you know him, Jaimie, really know him?" Kane demanded. "It's our job to look out for you."
"She serves him beer in her bedroom," Mack muttered helpfully.
"Go make coffee, Mack, and stop harping on the beer in the bedroom." Jaimie flung herself into one of her deep, comfortable armchairs. "You two have given me a rip-roaring headache."
Mack was immediately repentant. "We're only teasing, honey. We aren't really going to shoot him." Semi-teasing. They were going to investigate Joe Spagnola so thoroughly they'd know what kind of toothpaste he used in the morning.
The phone rang. Before Jaimie could move, Kane snagged it. "Dr. Fielding's residence." He sounded curt and inhospitable.
Jaimie rolled her eyes, and slid farther down in the chair. Why did she think she had missed them? They were totally impossible. She raked a hand through her thick mass of tangled curls. Even her hair had gone wild and primitive with them around. They thought they were a combination comedy and protection team.
"Your friend Joe," Kane announced, handing her the receiver, his eyes eagle sharp and slightly condemning.
The smile fading from Kane's eyes left Jaimie with a knot in the pit of her stomach. She had remembered all the good things about having Kane and Mack watching out for her and forgotten about this part. She never knew exactly how they were going to react to any given situation, and when it involved a man, they never reacted very well.
She glanced at Mack, who stood by the coffeepot. His hands stilled in midair, his head coming up alertly. His black eyes went ice-cold, a graveyard reflected there. His rugged features went completely expressionless, perfectly still, as if carved from stone.
Great. She'd seen that expression before. Mack wasn't taking this well. She forced a smile into her voice and greeted Joe.
Kane winced at the sweetness in Jaimie's voice and glanced at Mack. The last remnants of his humor drained away. He had known Mack McKinley every year of his life. They had done it all together, watching each other's backs along the way. Mack was the coolest, most easygoing, ice-cold bastard Kane had ever met. Unless Jaimie Fielding was involved. From the first moment Mack had laid eyes on the forlorn little girl, he had been crazy about her. She'd been so intelligent and courageous and Mack had always admired her. Mack was also the most dangerous, lethal human being Kane knew. And no one brought out that side of Mack like Jaimie did.
Jaimie seemed oblivious, laughing into the phone, reassuring Joe she was just fine, that her family joked around a lot. Kane watched Mack, wishing he could read that implacable mask. Mack never once took his eyes from Jaimie's face, obviously assessing her tone, her expression and body language. There was no mistaking that Jaimie had affection for Joe. There was even a flirty note in her voice.
Kane sighed. He had known Mack was in love with Jaimie long before Mack had even realized where his feelings for the girl were heading. They had both loved her for years, but Mack with a fierce, unswerving possessiveness he didn't seem to realize was unnatural. In those days, when they were kids, Mack thought he just wanted to protect her. As she'd gotten older, Mack refused to acknowledge what he felt for her, calling it "need," not "love." Kane suspected Whitney had made that n
eed for her much stronger. Mack didn't look at other women, yet he was stubborn when it came to Jaimie. He was used to her unswerving devotion and when she'd left, he'd been blindsided. Kane had tried to warn him, but even Kane hadn't expected her to really leave.
Mack had always made their decisions, dictated their moves. Falling in love with her hadn't helped matters, especially when he couldn't acknowledge the emotion to himself, let alone to Jaimie. His feelings for her were too intense, too uncontrollable. He didn't handle her very well. Right now his face was as dark as thunder and his eyes had become a turbulent storm.
Kane let out his breath. Hang up the phone, Jaimie, Kane entreated silently, giving her a little push. Whitney had made the men more aggressive and certainly more dangerous when it came to their women. He had wanted to ensure there was a strong pairing, but as Kane had found out, he didn't always give the woman a choice in the matter.
Jaimie had always loved Mack, but Kane didn't know if she still did, or if the chemistry between them was genuine or manipulated. And how long could something like that last?
Jaimie's gaze met his and she hung up the phone and flashed a heart-stopping grin. "He thought maybe you two were desperate criminals holding me hostage. See, I told you he was sweet."
Mack dumped the coffee into the filter, a controlled violence in his movements. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Yeah. Real sweet," he muttered.
His black gaze leapt to Kane's, a clear order in that look. Joe Spagnola was going to be so thoroughly checked out, they would know when he sneezed last. Kane's nod of agreement was nearly imperceptible, but there was satisfaction in the set of Mack's mouth when he poured the water into the pot.
"So, did you say there was only one bathroom in this place?" Kane took matters into his own hands to defuse the situation. He snatched up clean clothes and began edging toward the only walled-in room on the floor.
"Oh, no, you don't." Mack took the bait, hurrying to cut him off. "The shower's mine. You always fall asleep."
"Halt." Jaimie's clear command stopped both of them in their tracks. Looking very haughty, she took a stack of fluffy towels from the linen closet and marched purposefully across the room. "I can't believe your manners. This is my house."
"Hey," Kane protested. "We're honored guests."
"Who told you that lie?" Jaimie asked sweetly. "I'm a lady, in case you hadn't noticed, and ladies go first."
"I'll bet some woman made up that law," Kane groused.
"Haven't you ever heard of women's lib?" Mack asked.
Jaimie stuck her head around the door with a butter-melting-in-her-mouth kind of smile. "Of course I have. You two can cook."
The two men stared at each other. Mack flexed his muscles. Kane cracked his knuckles. They grinned at each other. "So, what does she have in the refrigerator?" Mack asked.
"Well," Kane drawled, "we know she has beer."
Jaimie shook her head as she listened to their combined male laughter. She was smiling again for no apparent reason. Her men were crazy and having them back was so familiar and comforting when she could hear them from a distance. She relaxed, letting the tension drain from her. All the rest of it would come with time, but for now, these few moments, she was going to savor being with them.
She stepped into the shower with its intricately tiled encased space. Both men looked good, both of them physically fit as always. Better than always. Kane had startling coloring with his blond hair, green eyes, and black lashes, brows, and bluish jaw. Even from a sisterly standpoint, Kane was good-looking. There were signs of strain on his face--lines that hadn't been there before. And shadows in his eyes. He smiled, but it wasn't all the way, never quite reaching his eyes.
Jaimie allowed the hot water to run down her face, over her full breasts, soaking the aches from her muscles. Mack. Just looking at him could make her weak. She'd loved him for as long as she could remember. It had taken a great deal of strength to pull away from him, to realize he wasn't compatible with her. She didn't have his adventurous spirit. For a long time she felt inferior because of it, but somewhere along the way, she'd come to learn that people were different. She wasn't wrong or inferior because she had a different makeup.
It hurt more than she'd expected to see him, but on the other hand, she had to face him someday. She'd set up a partnership so when he and Kane retired, they'd have a place to come. She had hoped to be married with five children by that time so she wouldn't crave him, but she could handle this. She had to handle it.
Mack stared out the window to the streets below. He didn't dare move. He leaned his forehead against the thick glass, desperately trying to shut out the sounds of the water running. Just the thought of Jaimie naked, eyes closed, her face turned up to allow the water to cascade over her breasts, run along her narrow ribs, her flat belly, still lower to the silky triangle of tight curls . . . He just stopped himself from groaning out loud.
Kane, damn him, would know immediately what was wrong. Mack rubbed his pounding temples. It felt like someone was using a pile driver on his head. His entire body burned, throbbed with pain. He hadn't felt this way in his worst teenage years.
He had a sudden vision of Joe Spagnola in that elegant glass shower with Jaimie, his hands moving over her body. Mack's large hand balled into a fist, slammed into the window ledge, instantly dispelling the scene.
Kane whistled softly. "Need a couple of aspirin?"
"The woman makes me crazy," Mack said between clenched teeth. His voice grated.
"The woman has always made you crazy," Kane was compelled to point out.
"Don't laugh about this, Kane. She's living in this . . ." Mack gestured wildly with his hands, swinging around to encompass the huge floor. "Look at this, a fucking warehouse in a not so great part of the city. And . . . and," he added when he saw Kane's mouth twitch, "she's got some six foot Adonis drinking beer in her bedroom."
"Let's be fair, Mack, she probably had him drink it in the living room or maybe the kitchen," Kane replied mildly.
"Just how the hell can you tell the difference? If he's sitting in her living room, he can see the bed, can't he? Don't you think that's going to put a few ideas in the bastard's head?"
"Looking at Jaimie probably put ideas in this guy's head," Kane corrected. He poured two mugs of coffee.
"I think I'll have a private little chat with him. Find out what the hell he wants with her."
"What do you think he wants, you idiot? He's a man, isn't he? She's beautiful, intelligent, going to make a load of money, and she's single. He's no fool."
"You aren't helping, Kane." Mack curled his fingers into fists and hit his thighs. "He's looking to take advantage of her because she's lonely."
"Don't do anything to make her feel sorry for him. You know Jaimie and her underdog syndrome." Kane flashed a small grin. "And she didn't look all that lonely to me, not with beer in her fridge."
"It was a big mistake to give her all this time." Mack accepted the steaming mug of aromatic liquid. "So, all right, Jaimie doesn't like what we do . . ."
"Back up, Mack," Kane cautioned. "It's more than that and you know it. Jaimie can't stomach it. End of discussion. You, better than anyone, know that. You saw her. Don't get any ideas about discussing it with her. She was traumatized. In shock. She can't live this life."
"We can't just dance around the subject." Mack's black eyes gleamed like firestones.
"Isn't that exactly what you said the night she left?" Kane rested a hip against the butcher-block table.
Mack swore softly. He had bungled that so badly. "The whole thing went wrong from the start." He pressed his fingertips to his eyes, remembering that horrible night.
The weather turned bad as they were nearing the shore. They were in dark, skintight clothing, crepe-soled shoes. Nine men, one woman. Rhianna had been chosen for a special assignment in Brazil, leaving Jaimie the only woman on the team. The raft was put over the side and the men took up the oars. No one spoke, their faces like masks in the reflection
of the choppy water.
Mack hit the sand first, covered the others as they pulled the raft onto shore. The raft was camouflaged and the group headed stealthily up the beach. Two cars waited for them. No one spoke. At precisely 3:58 the cars split up, one stopping at the top of the block, the other at the other end. The silent team closed in on either side of the fourth building. Rain hammered at them, visibility was poor.
"Sentry," Jaimie hissed softly. "Another across the street, on the roof."
Kane moved around her to take care of the guard in front. A second man split from the group to warily cross the street. The rest waited, crouched in position, until first Kane and then Javier signaled.
They moved like lightning, entering the house from two points, heading for the second floor, third door on the left. Their informant had been positive the two French hostages were still alive in that room.
Jaimie suddenly signaled, her eyes wild with fear. "They're waiting for us, it's a trap, there's at least two dozen of them."
Mack didn't hesitate. "Pull out! Pull out!" Mack gave the order clearly, quickly, into the radio.
All hell broke loose, machine gun fire erupting from all directions. They were forced up the stairs to the second floor. "Don't touch the doors, none of the doors." Jaimie yelled the warning into her radio, danger emanating in waves from their surroundings.
Mack stayed in the lead with Jaimie behind him, the others, and, finally, Kane bringing up the rear. Screams, blood, dragging their friends--it was an eternity of hell. A hailstorm of bullets followed them everywhere. Jaimie found their escape route with her unerring, uncanny, undefined ability. One door, looking like a closet, not wired, but locked. Jaimie dispatched the lock holding up two fingers.
Mack rolled in going to the left, Jaimie to the right, guns tracking. Two women, both screaming in French. "Hostage! Hostage!" Mack lowered his gun. In the same heartbeat, one of the women raised an Uzi. The other woman continued to plead in French, tears coursing down her face. She was between Jaimie and Mack's assassin.
"Shoot!" Kane's voice roared in Jaimie's ears and then both women went down in a hail of bullets.
It all happened in seconds. Jaimie screamed a horrified protest. Kane pushed her through, trying to keep her away from the second woman's body. Jaimie went to her knees, trying to cradle the dying woman's head in her arms. Bullets spit at them from every direction. Mack yanked her to her feet, dragging her out.