The day before had been filled with questions, from the FBI, the local sheriff, and the reporters who had caught the story.
She didn’t think the house was ever going to empty of people. She had finally collapsed in exhaustion at midnight while Jethro and Mac were still compiling information on Wes Bridges, alias so many different variations of the name that she had lost count.
“Is she okay?” Mac stood in the doorway, already showered and dressed, his gaze concerned as he moved to the bed where Jethro held her.
“You could ask me, you know.” She pushed back from Jethro, dragging her hand shakily through her hair as she swallowed back the remnants of fear.
“Are you okay, Kei?” He sat down beside her, reaching out to brush a tear from her cheek as Jethro collapsed back against his pillow.
“Stupid nightmare.” She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
He watched her carefully for long moments before slowly nodding. “If you two want to get a shower, I’ll fix breakfast. We need to head to D.C. later this afternoon to give our depositions and finish up some red tape.”
“Great,” she muttered as she looked over at Jethro. “Why is he still in the bed? I thought he got up with the chickens with you.”
Mac glanced over at Jethro with a smile. “He was up later last night.”
She looked at Jethro suspiciously. “Why?”
A frown etched over Jethro’s brow as his eyes opened. “I had things to do.”
Keiley glanced back at Mac, barely catching the concern in his eyes before they became shuttered.
“Get a shower. I’ll put breakfast on while you two have your coffee.” He rose from the bed before leaning forward and kissing Keiley’s lips gently, “I’ll see you downstairs.”
Evidently someone had decided that she got to deal with Jethro’s early-morning grouchiness.
She turned and stared back at him silently.
He was staring at the ceiling, avoiding her gaze, his muscular body tense, as though prepared for battle.
“Are you coming home when we’re finished in D.C.?” she finally asked, terrified of the answer.
His gaze sliced back to her before moving away again.
“Should I?” he finally sighed, his thick black lashes shielding his eyes.
“What does that mean?”
She pulled the sheet over her br**sts and stared back at him in apprehension.
His lips tightened, his jaw flexing as though he were holding back what he wanted to say, what he wanted to feel.
“So, you’re just going to walk away?”
“That’s what a third does, Keiley. They leave.”
“You aren’t a third,” she said painfully. “You know you’re not a third. You’re a part of us. You made yourself a part of me, let me think you would stay, and now you think you can just walk out and everything will be fine?”
“It will be. You have Mac—”
“You f**king coward.” She didn’t raise her voice. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement.
His gaze snapped back to her, the blue of his eyes glittering in anger.
“What the hell did you say?”
“I called you a coward, Jethro,” she repeated ruthlessly. “You’re too scared to stay here and be a part of me. This has nothing to do with who my husband is or feeling like a third. It has to do with your fears.”