Nauti Dreams (Nauti #3)

Nauti Dreams (Nauti #3) Page 17

She glanced at her watch and breathed out roughly. She had an hour to kill before meeting the sheriff at the diner. That was going to be a long hour, considering the fact she had to make certain to avoid running into Natches.

And who the hell was she kidding? An hour later, she pulled into the diner and stared at the wicked black jeep sitting beside the sheriff’s cruiser, and clenched the steering wheel of her car.

He was in there, waiting on her. She had run out on him this morning, terrified of what had happened the night before, leaving only a note. At least she had left a note this time, she assured herself. She had told him she would call him this evening, hadn’t she?

She jerked her case from the seat beside her and pulled herself out of the car. She forced her chin up, stared around the parking lot, and glimpsed both Rowdy’s and Dawg’s vehicles as well. Didn’t any of those damned Mackay men work? Surely they had something better to do than to harass her this morning?

Evidently they didn’t.

As she entered the diner, she flicked a look at the table beside the one Sheriff Mayes was sitting at, and restrained the urge to grimace. Three Mackay men sipping coffee. Rowdy looked amused, Dawg looked pissed, and oh boy, Natches looked ready to hit the damned roof.

Sheriff Mayes, that bastard, didn’t even bother to hide his laugh as she walked in.

She moved through the diner, thankful there were very few customers, and stopped in front of Natches. “Are you following me today as well?”

He tipped the glasses he wore lower on his nose and glanced up at her from over the dark lenses. She almost flinched at the anger burning in the forest green depths. He was livid.

“I’m going with you,” he stated. “As soon as you tell Mayes over there that’s the deal.”

Shit. That wasn’t the deal. That was expressly—with an unqualified no—forbidden.

“I can’t do that, Natches.” She forced herself not to show her own nervousness, or a reaction. She couldn’t, not here. He would take any weakness and run with it.

“You don’t want to do it like this, Chaya,” he warned her then, and she could feel her stomach tightening in dread.

“I don’t have a choice.” She refused to glance at the other two men for their reactions. “This is my job, Natches, and you’re no longer a part of that team.”

And then he smiled. She could feel her throat going dry, and she swore she could feel her stomach drop with pure female terror. This was one full-grown, pissed-off alpha male, and she was going to pay. She could feel it clear to her bones.

Not painfully. Not in bruises, in blood, or in insults. But, oh boy, was he going to get her for this one.

“Well, Natches, I guess she’s not as easy as we all thought she was.” Dawg leaned back in his chair and shot her a tight smile. “Natches seemed to think you could see reason, Agent Dane. He even said you were smarter than to say no to him.”

She turned her gaze to him, keeping it cool, detached.

“Oh, I see reason quite well, Mr. Mackay,” she assured him. “And if I had my preferences, then his company would be welcome. Unfortunately, Special Agent Cranston made his wishes clear before I arrived. And in this case, that prevails.”

Natches muttered something uncomplimentary about Cranston that she highly agreed with.

Dawg shook his head, his smile jeering now. “Loyalty, Agent Dane? Where’s your loyalty? To your own butt or to those who can watch your back?”

“Enough, Dawg.” Natches’s voice was hard with warning.

“Let her answer the question, Natches.” Dawg held her gaze. “I’d like to hear her answer.”

“I’ll tell you what.” Her smile was benign, emotionless. He didn’t like her. He’d never liked her, and she didn’t give a damn. “Why don’t you go? Then you can share that federal prison with me when Cranston finds out about it. I hear big, tall guys like yourself are really popular there. You’re cute, James Mackay. They like cute rednecks with attitude there. Consider them a challenge, you know.”

Rowdy snorted, and she could have sworn Sheriff Mayes was choking behind her.

Dawg’s eyes narrowed. “You’re playing in the big league here, little girl. You don’t want to keep this up.”

“I said enough, damn it!”

Even Chaya flinched as Natches’s hand hit the table and he came halfway out of his chair. She stared at him, shocked, surprised as he and Dawg both seemed to hover over the table, almost nose to nose.

“Watch it, kid,” Dawg snarled. “I still remember how to wipe the floor with you.”

“And I still remember how to lock both your asses up in the county jail.” Sheriff Mayes, his voice hard, commanding, stood by the table now. “Come on, Agent Dane, before you cause these two to fight like the hellions they used to be rather than the grown men I thought they were.”

Chaya stared at Natches, amazed, disbelieving as he straightened, his body tense, his expression furious.

“If you get in a fight, I’m not going to be happy with you,” she stated coolly.

“About as happy as I am with you right now?” he snapped.

“Try even less so.” She lifted her chin a notch and reined in her anger as she turned to Dawg. “And if you don’t back down, I’ll have a talk with your wife. I have a feeling she’s more inclined to act decent than you are at the moment. I wonder how she would feel if she were to find out about this little fiasco this morning?”

“Don’t you threaten me with my wife.” He glared back at her, but some of the heat seemed to leave his voice.

“Then don’t push me, either of you. Because I could get sick of dealing with thick-skulled rednecks really fast. Unlike you, Dawg, I don’t bite and snarl; I get to the heart of the problem and the solution. When you’re willing to tell me what your problem is, then we’ll talk. Until then, stop sniping at Natches, or I’ll talk to Crista at first opportunity. Good day, gentlemen.”

She turned on her heel, ignoring their surprised looks before joining the sheriff at the door and leaving the diner. And here she had hoped the most she had to deal with was a pissed-off Natches. Now she had a pissed-off Natches, a mad Dawg, and a laughing Rowdy. Her day couldn’t get worse.

Dawg sat back down in his chair and scowled at the door while Natches slowly took those damned glasses off and glared at him.

“Son of a bitch, I’m going to kick your ass,” Natches cursed.

Dawg sneered back at him. “Yeah right. Go right ahead. You think I didn’t see your balls shrink when she gave you that cold little look? You ain’t kickin’ no one’s ass today.”

He was pissed. Pure pissed. Son of a bitch, she threatened to tell Crista on him? Like he was a little boy acting bad, and she was threatening to tell Mommy? How the hell old did that mouthy little agent think he was anyway? And he really wanted to beat Natches’s ass, too. Snarky little upstart. He never could take advice worth a damn.

“What the hell is your problem?” Natches dug a few bills out of his pocket and slapped them on the table for the coffee. At least he was paying this morning instead of mooching off the rest of them. “Why can’t you get the hell off her case?”

“Because she’s lying to you,” he snarled back, keeping his voice low, anger egging him on. “I don’t know what the hell she did to you in Iraq, and I’m getting to where I don’t give a damn. But right now, she’s lying to you, and those lies could get you killed. And she’s fucking plain.”

Natches snapped back, blinked, and stared at Dawg as though he didn’t know him. He glanced at Rowdy, but Rowdy seemed pretty interested in something he had found on the ceiling and refused to look over. Natches shook his head, as though befuddled.

Watching Natches, Dawg knew he was acting like a damned bastard, and he couldn’t help it. Hell, he knew a lie when he saw it, and this whole setup Dane was involved in was a lie.

“Look, Natches, man,” he breathed out roughly. “You’re getting in over your head. She’s up to something; I can fucking feel it. Like an itch at the back of my neck every time I see her. She’s trouble, and she’s going to get your ass killed.”

That was the problem. That gunsight between the eyes thing. Sometimes, Dawg swore he could feel someone with a gunsight between Natches’s eyes, taking aim, getting ready to fire. And it was worrying the hell out of him.

“Rowdy, take him home to Crista,” Natches said, his voice hard, and that was a bad thing. Natches might shoot him himself now. “Tell her he needs help fast. Before I kill him and make her a widow. Understand me?”

“Sure, I’ll get right on that.” Rowdy nodded slowly, pulling his gaze from the ceiling to stare at both of them. “While I’m doing that, why don’t one of you mosey over across the street and ask Aunt Nadine why the hell she’s been watching us all so close through the window from that shop?”

They turned. Across the street, in the wide shop window, stood Nadine, hatred flashing in her expression before she turned and stalked away.

“Shit,” Natches cursed. Just what he needed, the damned Mouth of the South running her vicious mouth now.

Dawg muttered something Natches was sure he didn’t want to understand, and Rowdy stood slowly to his feet.

“Dawg’s right about one thing,” he said. “There’s trouble here, and it’s starting to circle around your Agent Dane. But he’s wrong about something, too.”

“Yeah? What?” Natches snapped.

“She’s not plain. She’s actually kinda pretty. Dawg just can’t see past Crista. Or his own daddy complex.”

With that, he walked away from the table and out of the diner. Natches sat back down slowly. He still wanted to kick Dawg’s ass. He stared back at his cousin and scowled.

Dawg glanced out the window, to his coffee cup, then sighed. “Do you really think she’s gonna tell Crista about this?”

And he’d be damned, but Dawg was worried.

EIGHT

“Hello, Mr. Winston. Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.” Chaya sat down on a worn, faded couch inside the single-story weathered house on the outskirts of Somerset.

Clayton Winston was a widower, and his son was a traitor. His son, Christopher Winston, had been arrested along with the Swedish mercenary and his merry band of men during the raid on the warehouse containing the stolen missiles.

Mr. Winston was stooped, his face lined with grief and pain. Rheumatoid arthritis had a cruel grip on his joints, and heart disease was draining him fast.

Sheriff Mayes stood on the other side of the room, watching Winston silently, his expression compassionate, somber.

“I didn’t raise Chris to be a traitor,” the old man sniffed. “He’s still my son, but he wasn’t right to do that.”

He rubbed his grizzled cheek with a shaking hand before taking a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiping his eyes. Those pale blue eyes were swimming with tears.

“I’d offer you some coffee or something,” he told her. “But the cold makes it harder to move in here.”

“I’ll get the coffee, Clay.” Mayes headed for the Spartan kitchen.

“Good man, Sheriff Mayes.” Clayton nodded. “Better than his daddy. His daddy was always more concerned with getting elected again than he was with doing what was right. Zeke knows that, too. He makes up for it.”

“Don’t be talking about me, Clay,” Zeke called from the kitchen. “I’ll tell Miss Willa on you.”

Clayton’s smile was sad. “I like to brag on the boy. He’s a good boy.”

“Sheriff Mayes is a very kind man.” Chaya nodded, her heart aching for the man sitting across from her.

Clayton Winston had served two tours in Vietnam. He had a medal for bravery and a file filled with commendations. Chaya’s heart broke for him as she thought of the son that had turned his back on the life his father had believed in.