The Nauti Boys Collection

by Lora Leigh

  Long minutes later Zeke lifted his head and pinned the other man with his eyes. “You sure about this, Jay?” he asked quietly.

  “Gene and I both ran the same tests and came back with the same conclusions, Zeke. I don’t know who killed those boys, but they were unconscious before the shots were fired. Both boys were pumped full of heroin, not just Joe. Evidence shows they were nearly dead before those shots were fired. I don’t know what you have going on here, but I’m ruling it a double murder and I’m using those grounds to justify holding their grandmother’s body for an autopsy as well.”

  Zeke rubbed his hand over his jaw and shifted through the reports before blowing out a heavy breath.

  “Why?” He lifted his gaze back to Jay. “Why go to these lengths to hide a murder?”

  Jay shrugged. “Hell, it looked like a murder-suicide, Zeke. Chances were, we’d never have run these tests this in depth. Even with your suspicions I wouldn’t have normally justified it myself. It was a damned slow week though, so what the hell. Whoever did this, they almost pulled it off. We had to look for this.” He waved his hand to the report. “It didn’t come easy.”

  Zeke stared down at the file and he knew, knew in the pit of his stomach, that the Walkers had been killed by the Freedom League’s killer. The why of it was driving him crazy. There were no answers to be found, no way to tie Joe or Jaime to any one particular woman, or to pinpoint if this was simply a League hit and the woman was an incidental.

  “The Walkers were rumored to be courting one particular woman,” Zeke said. “They told their grandmother they had a date with her that weekend. The day of that particular date they’re killed. According to their sister, their grandmother was trying to contact me in regard to that girl’s identity. She never called, but she ends up dead the same day.”

  “Sounds like you’re looking for a very smart little girl, or a really pissed off husband or lover.” Jay shrugged as he rose to his feet. “If you learn anything let me know. Until then, you have our reports and your evidence to continue the investigation. Good luck on that.”

  “Thanks, Jay.” He nodded as Jay turned and left the room.

  He shook his head as he closed the files and slid them into the drawer at the side of his desk. It was time to figure out exactly what had happened to those boys.

  Zeke had questioned everyone he could think of that were close to the Walker boys. He knew they were supplying DHS with information, but Zeke knew Cranston and the Mackays. Unless the Walker boys had let that information slip, then no one else had known it. And from everything he’d learned, Joe and Jaime hadn’t talked. But their grandmother must have.

  Running his fingers over his hair, he tried to narrow down the choices of who Callie Walker would have chosen to talk to. Lisa hadn’t had any answers for him there, and Zeke wasn’t coming up with his own.

  The only thing he was certain of was that this had to do with the Freedom League and the killer that seemed to shadow his life. The same killer that could threaten the one woman Zeke had promised himself he would always protect.

  Rogue wasn’t going to leave town, even for her own good. He’d accepted that sometime in the middle of the night as he stared up at the ceiling, his dick pole stiff, his balls tormented with need.

  She was just that damned stubborn that she would stay come hell or high water. Or death.

  He rubbed his hands over his face as he considered the fact that he may have even made an error in judgment in calling her father. But at the time, nothing had mattered but her protection. Someone was killing Walkers, and she could be next. This investigation into Joe and Jaime’s deaths could possibly bring that danger closer to her door. Just as his mother’s association with his father and the League had brought death to Zeke’s life in L.A. His mother had died when flames had engulfed her small house, but the coroner’s report had stated she had been dead long before the fire started.

  Elaina had died in a car wreck when her car has sped into traffic on a busy interstate, straight into an oncoming semi. She had been drugged, not with heroin but with a toxic mix of narcotics that she wouldn’t have survived even if she had managed to live through the wreck.

  On the day of Elaina’s death he’d received a short, printed note. We protect our own.

  It was the League’s motto. He’d known the minute he read it that his wife had died because of his past, because of his hidden investigation into certain members of that League once he made detective.

  He’d thought he was being so careful, that there wasn’t a chance that anyone could have known what he was doing. And he’d been wrong. He hadn’t protected his family as he should have, and now Rogue was being drawn into the same fire.

  It was time to call Cranston, he thought. He’d protect Rogue, and Cranston and the Mackays could help with this investigation. He couldn’t risk her. God help him if he allowed anything to happen to his Rogue.

  And he knew, the danger was drawing closer.

  Zeke could feel it, that sixth sense, that awareness that the killer wasn’t going to stop; he would only get cockier. Whoever it was had a taste for murder and for giving pain.

  A light knock on his door had his head lifting; a second later it opened and Gene stepped in.

  “I’m heading out on patrol,” Gene told him, a light frown on his brow. “I just saw the coroner leave. Do we have the report on the Walkers?”

  “Both boys were murdered,” Zeke answered as he waved Gene into the room.

  The deputy stepped in and closed the door behind him, scowling.

  “Well, hell,” he breathed out roughly. “I’m damned sorry for what I said now, Zeke. It’s hard to believe someone wanted to kill those boys.”

  “Well, someone wanted to and they accomplished it.” Zeke rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. “The part that confuses the hell out of me is how they pulled it off this slick. It would take experience and balls to make that look as close to a murder-suicide as this one did.”

  Gene plopped down in the chair in front of his desk as he gazed back at him thoughtfully. Zeke hated the suspicion that roiled in his gut now, the feeling that Gene was somehow a part of this.

  “Experience would be the hard part,” Gene said. “We don’t have a lot of folks that I know of that would have that except our new chief, the Mackay boys, and that DHS agent that seems to be loitering around the Mackays, Agent Cranston.”

  Zeke shook his head. “No motive and out of character. Whoever did this, it has to do with the woman the Walker boys were sniffing after.” That and their work with DHS. Zeke kept that to himself. If Gene was involved in this, then he didn’t need to know that Zeke suspected him of it.

  “How so?” Gene grunted. “Hell, those boys always had a woman they were sniffing after.”

  “Lisa said their grandmother was trying to contact me the day she died, to tell me who she thought the girl might be.” Zeke leaned back in his chair and shook his head slowly. “She didn’t call here or my cell phone. I have a feeling what she did was call someone else. The wrong someone else.”

  Gene stared back at him in amazement. “Hell,” he finally breathed out. “She was confrontational as hell; she would have done that.”

  And if Gene was involved in this, then he was a better actor than Zeke had given him credit for.

  “I have a request in with the job for a subpoena of her phone records; maybe I’ll figure something out there.” Zeke tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. “The way she died is sitting about as well as the way her grandsons died. She didn’t decide to take a bath on her own.”

  “Then we have a triple homicide and no clear suspect.” Gene grimaced. “Hell, you’d think we’d get a break after that bullshit with the Mackays and those terrorists last year. What do you need me to do, Zeke?”

  “Keep your ears open, see if you can get a name. I have a few more people to question.” Top of his list was Rogue’s bartender Jonesy.

  Jonesy had a daughter that had been in town until
the day before. Angie Jones was only eighteen, pretty from what Zeke had heard. Her name hadn’t been linked to the Walkers, but it was an angle he couldn’t overlook. Gene had a daughter as well, one in her early twenties, but she was married and living in Louisville.

  “I’ll do that.” Gene nodded, rising to his feet. “And the missus told me to let you know you’re invited to dinner next weekend. Willa and her new husband will be in from Louisville for a visit and they were asking about you.”

  Zeke shook his head. “I can’t make it next weekend, Gene. Shane’s supposed to be home and I try to spend some time with him when he’s in,” he said apologetically, though Zeke didn’t regret that he couldn’t.

  “Yeah.” Gene sighed. “I figured. Anyway.” He nodded sharply. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. I best head home or the missus is likely to have my hide for dinner. Evenin’, Zeke.”

  “See you tomorrow, Gene.” He nodded back as Gene left the office, then rubbed at the back of his neck while rising from his chair.

  Picking up the coroner’s report, he moved to the file cabinet, filed it, then locked the tall, gray metal cabinet and glanced at the clock.

  Tonight was Rogue’s early night at the restaurant. She would have taken care of paperwork rather than working as the hostess.

  Hell. He’d fucked up last night, it was that simple. He was so desperate to get her out of the line of fire and just egotistical enough to think he could make her mad enough, or worse, hurt her enough, to send her running for home.

  He should have known better. He had known better; that was the reason he had called her father, because he had known in his gut that wasn’t going to work. Rogue wouldn’t run, not from anything. She hadn’t run from Nadine Grace and Dayle Mackay when they’d threatened her with those pictures, and she hadn’t run from her assailant six months before. She wasn’t going to run now.

  And she definitely wouldn’t run when he showed up at the bar tomorrow afternoon to question Jonesy. She’d stick right to the other man’s side and glare at Zeke the whole damned time. He’d get hard, horny, and once questioning was over he’d be trying to carry her to her bedroom. If she didn’t try to kill him first.

  SIXTEEN

  It was Ladies’ Night at the Bar. This was the reason Rogue made certain she was on-site from seven that evening until after closing. Ladies’ Night, spring and summer, was often the wildest night of the week. Saturdays could run a good close second, but the majority of her bouncers were on duty every Friday and Saturday evening. Wednesday was a bit lacking in that area, as most of her bouncers had second jobs through the week.

  She kept meaning to hire more bouncers for Wednesdays, but so far she had been able to handle it with her skeleton crew. She had four bouncers on duty along with Jonesy, and the assistant bartender Kent.

  The bar was filled close to capacity. The band was belting out country dance tunes and ballads, and the alcohol was flowing freely. A large majority of the regulars were there as well as a surprising number of tourists in town to enjoy the unseasonably warm weather and the many attractions to be had in Lake Cumberland.

  As the day had progressed, Rogue’s frustration had only grown. Her father had called. Ten minutes later her mother had called. After that, her grandparents and her sister. John hadn’t called back, and that worried her more than anything.

  Her father no longer suspected that Walkers were being killed; Zeke had confirmed his fears and now Calvin Walker was determined to get his daughter home.

  Damn them all. She had been manipulated from the moment she stepped foot into this damned town. By one person or another she had been jerked around until she felt like a fucking rubber band.

  She stared around the bar, realizing what it had come to represent, the escape from reality that it had been for all these years. She had raced here after her life had fallen apart, and she had molded herself into a woman that others feared. Men and women alike. She had surrounded herself with men who were ready to fight at a moment’s notice, and they had taught her how to fight.

  How to use her fists. How to use her knees. How to be the rogue that didn’t care what others thought or what they expected from her.

  The problem was, she did care. She had always cared. And she was only now realizing it.

  “Rogue, dance with me, baby.” An arm snaked around her waist, pulling her against a strong male body. Dressed in camouflage and smelling like week-old sweat.

  Rogue wrinkled her nose and pushed away with a forced laugh. “Get a shower, Bubba,” she called back to him. “Soon.”

  It was typical. A few feet away a hand reached out to her, laughter, most of it drunken or forced, echoed around her as the customer requested a dance. A smile and polite refusal, and a stronger dislike for where she was.

  She was here when she wanted to be back at the restaurant. Where she could make certain Janey or Alex or, God forbid, Natches wasn’t messing with her accounting file or the reservation layout. Where she could dress in something other than denim or leather.

  Where Rogue was more than the bar whore she had always allowed everyone to believe.

  Damn her pride. It ran wide and deep inside her, that was for damned sure. Four years she had spent here, rubbing it in Nadine Grace’s and Dayle Mackay’s faces that they couldn’t run her out of town. Rubbing it in Zeke’s face that he couldn’t ignore her.

  For what? A few one-night stands? A few hours that in the end had left her feeling stark and hollow inside. And hurt. Damn, she hated feeling hurt. It was her weakness. Make her angry and she’d explode and just get it out of her system. Hurt her and it was like her brain short-circuited. She didn’t care for people as a rule, didn’t give them the chance to hurt her because she couldn’t handle that kind of pain. Emotional pain. Rejection. Fuck, she hated rejection.

  “Rogue, get your ass behind this bar for me,” Jonesy called out as he lifted his bat from under the counter. “Jason’s got trouble near the door.”

  Rogue jumped and jerked the bat out of his grip before he could stop her.

  “You man the bar,” she yelled back, adrenaline jangling through her nervous system. “I’ll take care of the trouble.”

  She turned and moved away, slapped the bat in one hand, and grinned. She hadn’t had a good rousing fight all year long. That was all she needed to get over this. She could just get mad, get it out of her system, and then get on with her business. She could clear the emotional bullshit out of her head, then get on with getting over Zeke.

  “Dammit, Rogue!” She heard Jonesy cursing behind her and flashed him a smile over her shoulder before flipping her hair back and heading for the confrontation evolving close to the bar’s entrance.

  She didn’t intend to use the bat. She had never used the bat. She’d used her knee only when she had to, but the times she’d been forced into it had been noted and most men tread warily around her now.

  Moving quickly through the crowd, she pushed her way into the circle of customers that surrounded the two men. Billy Joe Wingate and Luke Taylor. Two rawboned country boys with a little too much drink and a whole lot of anger.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, fucker!” Billy Joe spat back at the bouncer behind him and sidestepped his grip. “I ain’t goin’ no damned where. Not till this son of a bitch apologizes.” Billy Joe slammed his palms into Luke’s wide chest, sending the other man back several spaces and bouncing against a female customer who slammed into the man behind her.

  Oh fight.

  “Whoa there. Whoa there.” Rogue jumped between Luke and the woman’s escort, her hands gripping each end of the bat and pressing it hard into the man’s chest. “Hold back. We have it. Jason, get these boys out of here.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Jason and another bouncer struggling with Billy Joe and Luke.

  “Take it outside, dammit,” she yelled over the din as the bouncers dragged the two men to the door. She turned around quickly to the man she was holding back. “Keep your ass in here,” she yelle
d, pressing against his chest with the bat for emphasis. “Don’t make me have to take your head off, too.”

  She pushed away and swung around toward the door where Jason and the other bouncer were struggling with the two young men. Both combatants were a little too drunk and a little too full of adrenaline and anger.

  “I said I ain’t leaving here,” Billy Joe yelled out, his hazel eyes wild with anger as he glared at Luke. “Not till you make him apologize.”

  “I ain’t apologizing, you stupid little fucker,” Luke screamed back at him. “You want to go dumb over a little bar whore, then you better get used to the truth.”

  “She ain’t no whore.”

  Rogue was rushing to the door when Billy Joe managed to tear loose from Jason and throw a wild punch at Luke. Rogue chose that moment to push between them and went flying when that fist crashed into her cheekbone.

  Stars exploded in front of her eyes as a vicious curse ripped from her throat. Turning, her foot kicked out and up, caught Billy Joe in the chest and knocked him back by maybe a foot. Dammit.

  Her face felt shattered. She stumbled after the first instinctive reaction and nearly went to her knees as she shook her head and used the bat against the floor to catch herself.

  Dammit. She said enough. She wasn’t here to get a ham-sized fist in her face.

  “Get him out of here!” She turned, yelling at Jason as the pain reverberated through her head. Hell, her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.

  Fury surged inside her, hot and deep as she slammed the bat into Billy Joe’s chest, gripping both ends, trying to hold him back as he jerked out of Jason’s hold again. Her boots slid on the wood floor as a chorus of curses and accusations began to ring around her head.

  “Billy Joe, enough!” she yelled.

  Billy Joe gripped her shoulders, snarled down at her, then drew his fist back, and as far as she was concerned, enough was enough.