The Nauti Boys Collection

by Lora Leigh

  “Dad drove yours in,” Rowdy answered softly as they moved toward the parking lot. “He’s waiting to take your Harley back to the marina. We sure as hell didn’t want to leave it here.”

  Crista wrapped her arms across herself as Dawg led her to the big black pickup truck that she had ridden in the day before.

  Her life had definitely gone beyond Mercury in retrograde. Car bombs were major catastrophes, not fate fucking with you.

  “We’ll meet you back at your place,” Rowdy told him as they neared the pickup, and Ray Mackay opened the door and stepped from it.

  Rowdy’s tan pickup sat beside it, and Dawg’s and Natches’s cycles on the other side. Ray lifted the rifle he carried from the seat, unloaded it, and calmly reached in to hang it on the gun rack that stretched across the back window.

  “Few curiosity seekers and that rabid little twit Johnny,” he grunted as they neared him. “Little bastard. His daddy would roll over in his grave if he knew how that boy turned out.”

  Crista stared at Ray in surprise. “Johnny Grace?”

  “Grace my ass,” he muttered. “That bitch that spawned him had to have gotten the sperm donor from someone other than Ralph. Ralph was a fine man. Ain’t none of him in that boy.”

  “Easy, Dad.” Rowdy’s voice was clearly warning. “Johnny probably just wanted to check on Crista. They’re neighbors. Kind of.”

  Ray’s eyes speared into her then. “Don’t tell me you befriended that little shit?”

  “Johnny’s always been kind to me, Mr. Mackay,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound so weak, so tired. “He wouldn’t have meant any harm.”

  She was aware of the gazes now trained on her in disbelief. Her chin lifted. She didn’t base her opinions or her friendships on others’ opinions, and she wasn’t going to start now. “Fine. For some reason you don’t like Johnny, and from what he said earlier, there’s not a lot of love lost. That’s none of my business, and it has nothing to do with me.” And she was too tired right now to make sense of any of it.

  She respected Ray Mackay, trusted him. The fact that he so intensely disliked his own nephew was telling. But until Crista understood why, she wasn’t going to automatically dislike him herself. She would definitely be wary, but she would reserve judgment.

  Ray turned his gaze from her to Dawg as he rubbed his hand over is face in agitation before he and Dawg seemed to share some private communication. Crista hated private communications between men. She wasn’t a male mind reader, so she didn’t consider it fair in her presence.

  “I’ll take care of her, Ray,” Dawg finally murmured.

  “You know, you could get on my nerves fairly quickly,” she told them with no small amount of her own irritation. “If you want to take care of me so damned bad, take me to get my clothes, and then leave me alone to shower and sleep.”

  “We’ll stop on the way to the marina and buy you a few more things,” Dawg told her firmly, causing her to freeze and stare back at him in disbelief.

  “You said we could pick up my stuff from the house. Damn it, Dawg, I can’t just go out and buy more clothes.”

  “And that was before someone decided to turn you into a piece of charcoal,” he snapped back. “I’m not even attempting that house with you along. I’ll go check it out myself in the morning and get your stuff. Until then, we can stop on the way home and buy you a few extra things.”

  She was aware of the interested gazes on them. The men were watching with expressions varying between amusement and wariness, and Kelly shook her head back at Crista warningly from Dawg’s side.

  The men she could have ignored, but there was something in Kelly’s eyes that warned Crista that now wasn’t the time to push Dawg. And that sucked. Because she wanted her own clothes; she didn’t want to have to spend the small amount of savings she had on clothes she didn’t need.

  “I’ll just use your damned washer tonight,” she finally retorted. She wasn’t about to end up more in debt to him than it already appeared she was going to be.

  “Just get in the truck.” He didn’t wait for her to follow the harshly worded order. Dawg gripped her waist and lifted her in before crowding in beside her and forcing her to climb over the console to the passenger seat.

  As she faced forward and stared through the windshield, she was faced with her poor little burned Rodeo. She had loved that little SUV.

  The engine flared to life. As it did, Crista glanced over to see Dawg’s hands wrapped around the steering wheel with a white-knuckled, furious grip.

  “Is Lessing who you left here with?” His voice was cold, furious.

  “Yes.” She kept her voice soft, kept it calm.

  Mark and Ty had come from Virginia that week eight years ago to inform Alex, their former Special Forces commander, why they were discharged from the Army. She had left with them when they returned home. It was supposed to have been a temporary thing. Instead, they had all become friends, family in a strange kind of way, and she hadn’t moved out until returning home the year before.

  “You left me for another man?”

  She stayed silent, despite the shaking in the pit of her stomach. She could lie to the sheriff but not to Dawg, not about this. The words would choke her to death.

  “Crista, so help me God, you better answer me now.” His voice was a graveled, curt sound that had her flinching imperceptibly.

  “I didn’t leave you for another man,” she finally answered evenly.

  She had left him because of two other men, the men he had been intent on sharing her with. Then she had left town because she couldn’t bear the hollow pain that burned inside her months later.

  “But you went with another man?” His voice was harsher, if possible.

  “I left Somerset with Mark. I moved in with Mark. I lived with him for seven years. Is that what you want to know?

  He turned his head toward her, his eyes glittering back at her with burning male lust and anger.

  “No. What I want to know is, did you sleep with the son of a bitch?”

  She drew in a slow, deep breath. “I slept with him often.”

  Three hours later, Dawg pulled Crista inside the dimly lit houseboat where Natches waited silently, jerked the door closed, and locked it, before tossing the handful of plastic shopping bags filled with clothes to the couch.

  His fingers were latched around her wrist, where he had learned fast to keep them as he forced her through the store and chose the clothing himself.

  There were some panties in there that had his dick throbbing at the thought of pulling them from her body. Lacy little push-up bras, skimpy little pj’s, some low-rise jeans and high-rise shirts that were guaranteed to make his blood boil if he caught another man staring at her.

  As he released her, Natches uncurled his body from the deep shadows in the corner of the room, rising from the recliner and watching them expectantly.

  “What is he doing here?” She flicked Natches an irritated glare.

  She was irritated, and he was still so damned mad he was wearing his back teeth down.

  “He,” Natches drawled, “is being a Good Samaritan. I brought the rest of your thirsty plants.” He indicated the freshly watered greenery sitting on the dining table. “And your personal stuff.” He grinned as though proud of himself. “I knew Dawg was buying you new clothes, so I didn’t bother with those.”

  Dawg watched Crista carefully. He could see the mad washing over her expression, the light flush that stained her cheeks, and the glitter of it in her eyes.

  “Of course you didn’t bother,” she muttered through her teeth. At least Dawg wasn’t the only one gritting his molars. “Wouldn’t it just suck to spoil Dawg’s fun?”

  “Hell yeah.” Natches breathed as though relieved that she understood some complicated dilemma. “We’re real careful not to spoil Dawg’s fun. That could get bloody.”

  As Crista swung around, Dawg ducked his head, hiding a grin that tugged involuntarily at his lips. Natches could play th
e fool better than anyone Dawg knew. He could be playful, teasing, almost innocent. As long as one didn’t make the mistake of staring into the cold depths of his frozen green eyes.

  As Dawg glanced down, he got a generous view of her well-rounded breasts heaving beneath her T-shirt and her fists clenching at her side.

  “You have your clothes.” He jerked his head to the bags. “You can take a shower now and change. I’ll order something to eat.”

  “Shove it,” she snapped.

  “Don’t tempt me, sugar girl.” Tension fairly snapped through him, he was so damned on edge, so horny and pissed off that he didn’t know if he could trust himself to keep his hands off her or not. “Because shoving it is something I could do real easy right now.”

  He watched her eyes widen in shock and surprise before the glitter of anger increased.

  “You are not intimidating me, Dawg,” she retorted.

  And she looked serious.

  Dawg grinned. A slow, easy curve of his lips as he let his hands move to his belt, jerking the slack through his belt loops and pulling at the buckle. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. Dawg watched as her gaze jerked to Natches before she grabbed the bags and ran like a rabbit that just caught sight of the wicked wolf.

  Natches was chuckling as she sprinted up the curving stairs, never pausing to look back.

  “Man, she should have gotten a clue with the smile,” Natches snorted as he turned back, his gaze smug as Dawg readjusted his belt.

  Amusement lingered in Natches’s expression, but there was regret lurking in his eyes.

  Dawg knew where the regret stemmed from. He wouldn’t be sharing in this relationship between Crista and Dawg. As fiery, as problematic and irritating as it was shaping up to be, he would be on the outside looking in. And that was a helluva place to be.

  Dawg shook his head. “What did you see after we left?”

  Natches pushed his fingers through his shoulder length, straight black hair as a grimace contorted his rough hewn features.

  “I saw Johnny. He was watching you and Crista like a beady-eyed little snake from the corner as you drove off. You could see his brain just calculating ways to use this. The little twit. Other than that, all I saw were the customers from the diner. There were no unknowns.”

  No unknowns. No one unfamiliar.

  “Where could they have hidden?” Dawg wondered curiously, mentally laying out the area in his head.

  “Too many places.” Natches shrugged, mirroring his own thoughts. “Sheriff Mayes is having the Rodeo impounded, though. He’s investigating the crime.”

  Dawg grimaced.

  “Uh-huh,” his cousin breathed out sharply. “My opinion of it as well.”

  Dawg tightened his lips as he strode over to the fridge and jerked out two bottles of beer. After handing one to Natches, he twisted the cap off his own and took a long, fortifying drink.

  “This is turning into a fucking mess,” he bit out. “How the hell did she manage to get herself mixed up in this?”

  Natches twisted the cap off his own beer as he shook his head and paced over to the glass sliding doors.

  “That’s not all I found out.” Natches turned back to him slowly, his gaze brooding, hooded. “When Crista left here eight years ago, she didn’t just leave with Mark Lessing. Following them was Tyrell Grayson. Both men were once a part of Alex’s spec op team, though they were discharged a month or so before for medical reasons. They all moved into Lessing’s apartment on her arrival there, and she lived with them the whole time she was there. Rumor has it, both men were her lovers.”

  TWELVE

  Dawg froze at that information. He remembered Tyrell Grayson, though he had never met Mark Lessing. Tyrell had been a medic in the small Special Forces team Alex fought with at one time. Leanly muscled, blond-haired, and charming as hell.

  “She had two lovers,” he said quietly.

  “That’s the rumor.” Natches shrugged. “I called a friend of mine who lived in Virginia Beach, not too far from where she lived with the two men. He did a little poking around yesterday. Lessing comes from money, and his position in his father’s law firm obviously pays well. The penthouse apartment he still owns is supposed to be sweet. Lots of windows and space with a view of the beach. Lessing and Grayson still share the apartment, but a few of the neighbors say she broke their hearts when she left. My contact there believes differently. He talked to Lessing, posing as a potential employer who had heard about Crista’s references and her lack of a job. Both men sang her praises and seemed fairly upbeat about her move.”

  She had two lovers. Two men. Ex–Special Forces. Hard men. And yet she had run from him and the fear that he wanted to share her with his cousins?

  It didn’t make sense.

  “Any rumors of drugs or illegal activities?” Dawg asked.

  “She’s clean as a whistle there.” Natches shook his head.

  “But she could have made the right contacts to learn about the missiles and possible movements, as well as those needed to sell them.” Dawg didn’t want to believe that. He could feel everything inside him rejecting the idea that Crista could have possibly been involved in that.

  “Initial reports say no.” Natches shrugged. “Lessing and Grayson didn’t associate with the military or former friends. But my contact is checking into it further.”

  Dawg felt his jaw tightening with fury.

  “See what else you can find out,” he ordered harshly. “And while you’re at it, find out why she left town to begin with. Somehow, I doubt it had anything to do with avoiding a relationship with me.”

  Why should it have? She hadn’t worried about moving in with two other men. Why run from him?

  “What about the explosive device in that Rodeo, Dawg?” Natches said then. “We have the buyers and sellers, and not one of them has mentioned her name. Who struck at her, and why?”

  Dawg shook his head. That question was still eating away at his brain.

  “Whoever made away with the money set her up as well as the buyers and sellers for the missiles. Whoever the woman was, she knew we’d be there. She knew how to get Crista there. Why would she want to kill her now? She obviously set Crista up. Why wait till now to get rid of her?”

  “Are we certain we got all the players?” Natches asked. “The buyers could have had a man on the outside. That’s what I would have done.”

  “Why try to kill her without trying to find the money first?” Dawg asked. “Better yet, what’s the point in killing her until they get the money?”

  Natches stared back at Dawg silently, his expression still, calm.

  “I’ll watch things from the Wet Dreams,” he finally said softly, referring to his own houseboat, the Nauti Wet Dreams. “The Rodeo, I think, was more of a warning. Otherwise, it would have gone up with the first turn of the key. Someone wants the money, and they’re warning her that they’re not letting it go. We need to go to Cranston, pull him in on this. Show her picture to the players and see how they react.”

  “I don’t trust Cranston that far,” Dawg muttered.

  “You don’t trust anyone that far, but Cranston has a good grasp of how things work. We don’t tell him Crista was at the warehouse. We explain about the Rodeo, our suspicions that Crista might resemble the money-girl, and go from there.”

  “And if they identify Crista?” Dawg asked dangerously. “Cranston could decide to go with what he can arrest and forget the rest.”

  Natches shook his head. “He’s too good for that, Dawg. He’ll want to use it, and we can use the team this way. Let’s see how it works. What do we have to lose? We’re her alibi, remember? Who can fight it?”

  The shower shut off upstairs. Dawg turned his head and gave the stairs a long, hard look.

  “Talk to Cranston,” he said. “We’ll see where it goes.”

  He was walking a damned tightrope, and he knew it. If the players arrested at the warehouse the other night identified Crista as their go-between, then all the su
spicion would fall on Crista.

  “Cranston’s smarter than to believe it would be this easy,” Natches assured him as he headed for the door. “I’ll head in first thing in the morning to talk to him. I’ll flash the pictures to our boys in the cells and see what we get. We could get lucky, and they won’t recognize her.”

  Dawg grunted at that. “Don’t bet on it.”

  He let Natches out of the houseboat and locked the door behind him before resetting the alarms and heading for the stairs.

  Crista was up there. Showered, soft, and warm. And he hoped ready to give him the answers he needed. Because the thought of her living with one man had rage eating into his soul. Surprisingly, the thought of her living with two men, sharing in a relationship that his women had always shared with him and his cousins, was like an acid to his soul.

  Because Dawg couldn’t imagine sharing her, not eight years ago and definitely not now.

  He headed to the stairs, moving up them with slow anticipation as his body tightened with the thought of her wearing the clothes he had bought her, the lacy panties he had picked out or the brief pajamas he had imagined seeing her in. The image was tightening through him with the same force as the knowledge of her lovers.

  Her lovers.

  God help him if that was what she needed now. Once, the thought of sharing her with his cousins would have had his cock pounding in glee. Now, he had to shake back the jealousy, fight to hold back his outrage that she would leave him for not just one man but two.

  She had taken from others what she had refused to consider taking from him? He had always thought she had run because of his reputation, because of her fear of the ménages. To find out she had run straight into another one had his temper riding a thin, sharp line.

  When he entered the upper-level bedroom, he came to a hard stop.

  She was sitting on the bed, wearing one of his large shirts rather than her new pj’s, slowly spreading some kind of lotion over her legs, which looked silky, rounded, and too damned tempting to believe.

  For a moment, memory flashed through his head. Those silky legs spread, his mouth buried between them. His senses erupted with the remembered taste of silky, sweet feminine cream and hot, rich, satiny flesh. He could remember being as drunk on her as he was on the whiskey, as her fingers clenched in his hair and she whispered. His teeth clenched. She was a vocal lover. Begging, pleading, urging him on.