He knew she was pregnant. He could feel it clear to his soul. The moment she told him she wasn’t protected, that knowledge had slammed clear to his gut.

Silence again. Rowdy’s eyes widened and Dawg’s seemed to bug out.

“She’s what?” Dawg wheezed. “What the hell? She’s not been back here long enough, unless . . .” He let it trail off.

“It’s mine.” His child. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter, it wouldn’t matter. “She won’t admit it, but I know she is, Dawg. The first time, she wasn’t protected and I didn’t give a damn.” But now, fear sliced inside him. His baby rested inside her, barely more than an instinct, and already that child was in danger. “I haven’t given a damn since.”

“Damn,” Rowdy breathed out roughly. “Okay, another reason why you don’t go running off solo. Your ass is staying here. And so is hers.”

“You’re risking your lives,” Natches told them both. “Kelly and Crista need you two. This is my fight.”

“He wants me to kick his ass,” Dawg snapped.

“No, he wants a cold bath tonight, and I might oblige him by tipping his ass over that rail and into the lake,” Rowdy said with a healthy dose of disgust. “Get over yourself, Natches. Later today, we tackle Cranston. That little bastard has gone too far this time. He should have contacted us to start with.”

“He did.”

Dawg and Rowdy stared back at him in surprise. “When?”

“The anonymous call the night Chaya came into town. I finally recognized the voice despite his attempts to disguise it. It was Cranston. That was his warning.”

“Then he needs to brush up on his social-fucking-skills.” Dawg’s smile was one of those nerve-racking curves that always denoted trouble. “And I’ll just enlighten him on that little tidbit when we get hold of him.”

Natches stared at Rowdy, then at Dawg, and shook his head. He hadn’t wanted them involved, but hadn’t they always been? Dayle would never be satisfied if he managed to take Natches out, because he hated his nephews with the same consuming fury that he hated his son. And his brother Ray? His hatred for Ray ran so strong and so deep that Natches had worried for years that Dayle would strike back at him.

“We meet back here in the morning, then tomorrow night,” Rowdy told them both as he moved to the rail of the boat. “We hash this out then and figure things out. And we do this together.” He stared back at Natches, his gaze hard, determined.

Natches nodded. There wasn’t a chance they would let him do it alone, he knew.

He watched as his cousins, his family, jumped from his boat to Dawg’s. Dawg headed inside while Rowdy made the jump to his own houseboat, his shadow barely visible even under the clear sky and nearly full moon.

He stared up at that moon, and before he headed back inside to Chaya, he whispered another prayer. This one for protection. God, don’t let him lose Chaya, because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never survive it.

Chaya smiled as she felt Natches move silently beside her in the big bed, then gave a little shiver as his cool body curled around her.

“You’re cold,” she murmured, not quite awake, not quite asleep, but content to drift where she was, content and peaceful.

“You gonna get me warm.” His voice washed through her, just a little rough, tinged with masculine amusement.

“Hmm.” She shifted against him, her legs rubbing against his hair-roughened ones as a sense of completeness began to make itself known.

She shouldn’t feel comfortable. She shouldn’t feel like she was home in his arms, because she hadn’t known what home felt like until Natches.

“I’m really cold,” he murmured, rolling her to her back as her lashes lifted and she stared into his shadowed face, glimpsed his quick smile.

She loved his smile, though she hadn’t seen it nearly enough since coming to Somerset. She wanted to see it every second of her day, she realized. A smile on his lips and in his eyes.

She let her hands slide up the arms braced on each side of her body, until they curved around his neck. She was ready for his kiss when it came, and he had no right to claim being cold, he was an inferno, heated and hungry.

His kiss sank into her, his lips slanting across hers as he moved over her, sliding between her thighs and nestling the head of his erection against the slick folds of her sex.

“You feel warm now, Natches,” she whispered, feeling the need beginning to grow inside her again.

As he slid inside her, thick and hard, her breath caught in her throat and her back arched, taking more of him, taking him deeper and fighting to hold him tighter. Though she was stretched so tight around him that a thought couldn’t have slid between his flesh and hers.

“Downright hot now.” His breathing was rough, his hands demanding, gentle, as he stroked her body, his head bending until his lips and tongue could play over her nipple.

“Yeah, you feel kinda hot,” she gasped, then moaned as he suckled her deep and thrust heavily inside her. “Oh God, Natches, what are you doing to me?”

But she knew what he was doing to her. Binding her so tight to him that there was no way to escape, no way to protect herself.

“Loving you,” he murmured against her nipple before kissing it softly and turning to the other tight peak. “Can’t you feel me loving you, Chay?”

She could. Thrusting, sliding so deep and warm inside her, like a dream. He was taking her like a slow, lazy dream, making every stroke memorable, every touch burning inside her heart.

“Keep loving me.” She almost sobbed the plea, and she bit his shoulder as he raked his teeth over her nipple, sending sensation after sensation shooting clear to her womb. “Don’t stop, Natches. Don’t stop loving me.”

“Not gonna happen,” he groaned. “Always love you.”

And she had known it, just as she had known she felt the same. She mouthed the words against his arm, felt him nip the curve of her breast, and the pleasure began to spiral. His thrusts became harder, deeper. They stroked, penetrated, and filled her with ecstasy as she flew in his arms.

Her hips lifted, her legs wrapping around his hips as she held on for the ride of her life. Each time with Natches was better than the last. Each touch, each kiss, each heated thrust inside her body bound her more tightly to him. And when she exploded, felt him explode and felt their release mingling, she knew his intentions of binding her even closer would only give them more to share. There was no way of binding her closer; he already was her soul.

Each spurt of silky release flowing into her had her crying out though. Her name on his lips, his name sobbing from hers as he finally collapsed against her and rolled to his side.

He still held her. He didn’t let her go, just tucked her closer to him and let their breaths ease as drowsiness stole over her again.

“I love you.” She whispered the words to herself.

Or so she thought. Natches felt his heart expand, nearly tearing from his chest at the sleepy, almost unconscious words.

I love you. Such a simple statement. Yet, those three little words embedded inside him and filled him with determination. He wasn’t going to lose her. He’d kill again first, and just as with Johnny, he would never regret it.

SIXTEEN

Timothy Cranston, a.k.a. the rabid leprechaun of DHS, strode into Natches’s houseboat as though he owned it. He was followed by the other five agents assigned to the Somerset case, and they looked harried, sleepless, and concerned.

Behind them strode Sheriff Mayes, and he looked ready to explode with fury. His golden brown eyes were sizzling with anger and his tall, hard body was tense with the effort at maintaining self-control.

“What happened?” Chaya stood from her seat at the table, her eyes going from Timothy to the sheriff.

“Someone tried to kill Rogue Walker last night.” Zeke’s voice grated with fury. “And they almost succeeded.”

“Damn!” Chaya turned away, scrambling through the files laid out in front of her, looking for information. “Rogue didn’t know anything. She would have told me if she did.”

“Maybe she just didn’t know she knew anything,” Natches suggested as he propped himself against the edge of the table and sipped at the coffee cup he held.

His green eyes were like flints of ice as he watched Timothy. “Isn’t that how it usually works, Timothy? It’s what a person isn’t aware they know that always trips them up. Or what someone suspects they know?”

“Rogue knew something,” Timothy growled. “She rides with that damned group of troublemakers on a regular basis. Several of them were tied to Grace and Bedsford.”

“By association only.” Natches shrugged, but Chaya caught the calculated drawl in his voice. “Hell, arrest the whole town and pull them into interrogation. Everyone but everyone associates eventually here.”

“This little town of yours isn’t as closed off as you want to think it is, Natches,” Timothy snapped. “The tourism rate is incredible. Lake Cumberland is one of the greatest draws in the area.”

“So now we’re looking for tourists?” Natches lifted his brow and Chaya almost winced.

He’d been cool and focused all morning, going through the files, making notes, answering her with short, brief replies.

“I hate Mackays.” Timothy sighed.

“Yeah, especially when they’re self-proclaimed generals of a homegrown militant group.” Natches grinned tightly, then reached behind him for the files he had stacked there, and threw them to the table. “Try those boys and see if you come up with more than I did.”

Chaya stared at him in shock.

“What are you saying, Natches?” Timothy stilled, the agents around him adjusting their posture, their hands in close proximity to their weapons.

Natches laughed at the moves as Sheriff Mayes angled himself to cover Natches if needed. Interesting. A man Chaya would have sworn didn’t uphold loyalty over the law, yet he was silently aligning himself with Natches.

“Stop baiting him, Natches.” She turned back to him, narrowing her eyes at the gleam of anger in his gaze. “We want to keep Timothy calm, remember? I’m certain his secretary wasn’t able to slip his meds in his coffee this morning, so let’s not tease him.”

It was a running joke that his secretary needed to dose his coffee with sedatives. He was so hyper sometimes he drove the rest of them crazy.

“Look at the last file.” Natches shrugged as he finished his coffee and set the cup aside. “You’ll see what I mean.”

Chaya hadn’t seen the files. Natches had been up working before she awoke, and he had stayed distant, refusing to discuss whatever he was working on.

“You’re not dealing with clumsy, drugged out hometown boys here,” Natches informed them as Timothy pulled out that bottom file.

Chaya barely managed to stifle her gasp.

“You’re dealing with men who have had a dream all their lives,” Natches stated mockingly. “Instead of sending Chaya in and risking her neck on this fool’s errand you gave her, you should have come to someone who would know.”

Dayle Mackay. There were three pictures on the front of the file. Dayle Mackay, Chandler Mackay, and another man who Chaya knew was suspected to be part of Freedom’s League. These were obviously the men they had needed to target.

“Chandler wasn’t in the military,” she said, her voice low, shocked.

“Nope, Chandler liked to play war games though. His pansy ass was too important to risk, big-shot architect that he was. But he liked to show his kid how tough and strong he was, usually with his fists, though his wife did have a measure of control over him.

“Now, good ole Dayle Mackay, there’s another story.”

Natches had once thought he had pushed that part of his past behind him, that he had conquered that hatred, that bitterness. Maybe he hadn’t fully managed it, he thought as he watched Cranston read the file.