Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,74

But not always. Sometimes they were drawn in on cases, separately or together.

It was all part of the extraordinary way the Krewe worked. She chuckled thinking that Jackson Crow had possibly set them up, knowing that even among the different she was different, and Keenan could not only handle it but encourage her.

Over their takeout sushi, eaten right in the car after they picked it up, they both admitted that they’d taken White House tours—hoping to meet Abraham Lincoln or one of the other presidents rumored to haunt the Executive Mansion.

Neither of them had met Lincoln.

Stacey was eager to get home. Long days had turned into long nights.

To her surprise, when she opened the front door, she found that Marty Givens was waiting anxiously, as if waiting for her.

“You’re here!” she said.

“Uh, yes. Home after a very—”

“Very,” Keenan added.

“—long day,” Stacey said.

“Yes, of course, but... Special Agent Wallace, I am so, so glad that you’re here, too!”

Her pleasure couldn’t simply be the fact that it probably appeared that Stacey finally had a date.

“Yes. I’m here, too,” Keenan said.

“There was someone out there tonight,” Marty said. “Someone sneaking around!”

“There was?” Keenan asked.

Marty nodded gravely.

Stacey lowered her head, counting slowly. She lifted her head and smiled at Marty. “Marty, the alarm was set, right? On the main door. I heard it tick when I set my key in the lock.”

They had a high-tech system; keys for the apartment were specially crafted so that they armed and disarmed the main door alarm by being the right key.

“And I know,” Stacey continued, “that you have bolts on your door, right? You’re as safe as you can be. And I’m sure you know if our friends are home in the other apartments?”

Marty nodded but still looked upset.

“Nothing like a good alarm system,” Keenan said.

Stacey reminded herself that Marty lived alone and that she was a good person.

“We’re here now. Two FBI agents. We’re watching out for everything, I promise,” Stacey said.

“But you haven’t caught him yet, have you?” Marty asked.

“No,” Stacey admitted.

“Marty, we’ll be here all night,” Keenan said, smiling and speaking with gentle reassurance.

Marty smiled at last. “Thank heavens! Well, I think I can go to bed at last.”

Stacey forced a smile and a pleasant good-night. There was no way out of it: Marty would always trust a man with a gun more than a woman, trained agent or not.

Marty started up the stairs and then turned back, smiling happily now.

“So, so, happy that you’re here!” she told Keenan.

“Thanks, Marty!” he said.

Stacey had already turned to head into her own apartment. He followed her in, leaning on the kitchen counter as she set her bag down.

“I guess we have approval all the way round,” he said, grinning. “Pseudomom seems to like me!”

“My mom will surely like you,” Stacey said. She shook her head. “She probably thinks only a man can keep someone safe, too.”

“Some stereotypes are hard to break.” Before she could reply, he added, “Safety is in numbers. I wonder if someone was prowling around. Don’t take offense; we need to make sure that we’re vigilant.”

“Keenan, Marty tends to be paranoid. And I know she’s alone, so, I swear, I try to be very nice.”

“You are nice. But we’ll stay on alert.”

“I thought we were already on high alert.”

“Higher alert.”

She smiled. “Guns on the sink while we’re in the shower?”

“I think one will do,” he said, grinning.

There was no pretense after the night they’d already spent together.

But he was serious about the gun. She slid hers into the drawer of her nightstand; he brought his into the bathroom, setting it on top of her laundry hamper, within easy reach.

They showered together, for long moments just standing together beneath a spray that was hot enough to wash away some of the day, even though there was nothing that could really rinse away the intensity of their case.

But it was night. And they were working endless hours. This time was precious.

They were both determined to use it.

She wasn’t afraid with Keenan. If she slept, if she dreamed, if she woke screaming like a maniac, it was all right.

That added a touch extra.

Not, she thought quickly, that he really needed an extra touch of anything. He was so right for her in so many ways. He seemed to know just how to touch her. They could laugh and tease, and grow passionate and urgent, and even then, laugh again.

As he carried her to the bedroom, she wondered at how she’d never imagined that something so beautiful