“No kidding,” Chase grumped. “Fayrene’s already wondering why the hell none of my Army buddies can’t visit for the summer. You have those women frothing in fantasy. Man, we should kill you for that alone.”
Mac looked out at the dance floor. Jethro was indeed wrapped around Keiley like a winter blanket, dancing slow and easy, his head bent to hers, and laying against hers. Like Mac danced with her. And there was no jealousy, just a sense of comfort.
There would always be someone to protect her, and Jethro would heal. The bleak shadows of his past would go away, and beneath Keiley’s influence and her love, he would soften. She had that effect on people. Her love had that effect on men. He didn’t expect it to be easy. Jethro had been rejected from hell and back during his childhood. It would take a while. A year. Maybe two. But he would realize he was where he was meant to be.
All three of them. They were exactly where they were meant to be.
26
“Come on, sweetheart.” Jethro eased Keiley from Mac’s hold as he opened the door, careful to keep her body shielded with his as Mac tucked his weapon behind his back and eased from the vehicle.
She was aware that they shielded her from the time she moved from the truck until they entered the house. Keiley fought back her apprehension, easing into the house behind Mac, hating the fact that he had to stand in front of her, that she had to be protected, that she wasn’t able to protect herself.
“When this is over, we’re going to talk about my own training. You’ve been neglecting me,” she hissed at Mac as they entered the foyer and headed upstairs to Jethro’s room, where she knew they would stash her until they had secured the house.
She heard his amused snort and felt Jethro’s hand smooth warningly over her rear as they stepped to the landing and headed for Jethro’s room.
She really wanted her bedroom back. Her comfortable bed, her familiar surroundings.
Jethro moved into the bedroom, his weapon held confidently in his hand as he swept through the room. He checked the bathroom, the closet, and behind the curtains. Within seconds he was motioning them in and Mac was pulling his backup weapon from the holster at the top of his boot and pressing it into her hand.
“You know the drill,” he told her. “Lock the door behind us and don’t open it until I give you the okay.”
She nodded sharply as worry continued to gather inside her. She tried to draw the confidence she felt radiating from both of them into herself and steel herself to be strong.
When this was over, Mac and Jethro were going to train her to help them. She made that decision as she stared at her husband, then her lover. She would never again hamper their movements if danger followed them.
“We’ll be right back.” Mac kissed her quickly, his lips taking hers, catching them in a kiss of heated promise and desire before he moved away.
Jethro moved by her then, caught her to him, and pressed his lips to her brow. “Be good,” he growled with a sexy warning. “Or you won’t get spanked later.”
“Hell of an incentive.” Her breath hitched shakily. “Hurry. I get lonely very easily.”
“Spoiled fairy.” His voice was teasing.
“Remember it,” she ordered as he pulled away from her.
They moved out of the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Holding the gun in one hand, Keiley locked the door with the other and pressed her face against it with a ragged breath.
Ten to fifteen minutes was all it took, she assured herself. The security device they carried that worked with the motion-sensor alarms had shown no disturbance in the house. No one was here. They were all safe for the night.
Weren’t they?
She turned and stared into the room. The small lamp Jethro had turned on spilled a circle of golden light on the edge of the bed, but it left the rest of the room in shadows. Long, sinister shadows had a chill racing down her spine.
She wished she could turn on the brighter overhead light, but Mac had forbidden that several nights before. The brighter lights allowed shadows to reflect against the curtains, and despite their heaviness there was still a chance of becoming a target.
Low light worked best, he told her. There wasn’t enough glare to penetrate the heavy curtains or to cast shadows. Just enough light to see by. Not enough to shake the feeling of oppressive danger that surrounded her.
Get a grip, Keiley. She laid the gun on the dresser top beside the door and rubbed at her arms briskly over the wrap she wore. She felt cold. Frightened.
Three minutes. God, they had only been gone three minutes. The clock on the bed stand confirmed it, but it felt like three hours.
She paced the floor at the end of the bed, from the bathroom door to the window on the other side of the room and back again. She rubbed her arms, counted her footsteps, and prayed.
She glanced at the clock two minutes later. Four minutes later.
Shaking her head, she pushed her fingers through her hair and paced to the window again. Where she froze at the sound of a soft shuffle, a sliding sound out of place with the beating of her own heart.