“She’s never going to stay put. You know better than that. You’re her husband. Her heart. She’ll no more stay put than you would. Think about that one.”
Mac grimaced tightly, knowing he was right.
“She’ll follow your lead, but she’ll never let you lock her away. She proved that tonight, and we all nearly paid for it. Teach her, Mac. Or I will.”
Mac stared back at his friend through the darkness of the bedroom, discerning the shadow of his body alongside Keiley’s and the glitter of his eyes.
There was nothing to be heard outside but the sounds of the night. Beyond the locked bedroom door, Pappy lay on guard, an early warning should anyone breach the house again. But he still wondered why the animal hadn’t sounded the alarm sooner. That question and the determination in Jethro’s voice pricked at him.
Keiley was smart enough, in control enough, to back them up if she had the proper training. But there was no time to train her properly.
“We’ll take turns covering her,” he finally said softly. “Instruct her as we can. But this isn’t going to go down easy, Jethro, I can feel it. He took a chance last night and got away with it. He’ll make a move again soon.”
“And he’s escalating,” Jethro murmured. “The next move could be completely unlike the ones he’s made before. We need to keep her in the house. Keep the windows shuttered.”
Mac let his gaze drop to Keiley. How long could he keep her out of sight and still draw the stalker in?
“He knows we’re on guard now,” Mac murmured. “If he’s smart, and we know he is, he’ll wait and watch.”
“So will we.” Jethro’s voice was pure death. “This time, we’ll get him.”
This time they would get him. Mac wiped his hands down his face before rising to his feet and shucking his jeans. The rest of the night would be quiet, he could feel it. He was exhausted and Jethro was awake now.
“Give me two hours,” he told his partner as he crawled into the bed and dragged Keiley into his arms.
She muttered sleepily but cuddled against his chest like a sleepy little kitten and drifted off once again.
“I’ll sleep in the morning,” Jethro told him quietly as he moved from the bed. “Go ahead and rest, man. You’re the one who’s been out of the game for three years. Not me.”
There was an edge of amusement to Jethro’s voice that had a grin tugging at Mac’s lips. Yes, he had been out of the game, but he wasn’t nearly as rusty as Jethro was accusing him of being.
“I can still kick your ass,” Mac assured him.
Jethro stretched lazily. “Expect to back up that claim, my friend, because this week we’ll be sparring.”
Mac grinned as he settled deeper into the pillows, his arms holding, sheltering Keiley as he drifted off to sleep. He trusted Jethro to watch his back. But even more, he was starting to realize that he trusted Jethro to watch his wife’s back, which was infinitely more important.
13
The next morning, towel wrapped around her and fresh from the shower, Keiley left Jethro’s bathroom with every intention of going to her own before dressing.
Her essentials were in her bathroom, her lotions and scents and the light makeup she wore through the day. But the minute she walked out of the bathroom, she knew she wasn’t going anywhere for a while.
She faced the two men who had broken through barriers she hadn’t known she had last night. Men who had touched her with a passion and hunger she hadn’t expected, then protected her through the night with a dedication that had left her shaken.
She stared at her husband as he slowly pulled the dark t-shirt from his body, revealing the finely sculpted muscles of his chest with the light scattering of black hair across it.
On the other side of the bed, Jethro followed suit. He wasn’t as heavily muscled as Mac, but the mat of hair was a little thicker, his hard body leanly muscled and compact.
A scar she hadn’t noticed the night before ran from his chest to his abs. The wicked mark against the darkly tanned flesh reminded her of the dangerous career he and Mac had chosen.
Flicking her gaze between them, her hands knotted on the towel covering her as she cleared her throat with a hint of hesitation.
“I’m a little sore,” she said breathlessly, her rear clenching at the slight ache that had been left from last night’s excess.
“There are other ways.” Mac’s voice was low, but nothing could disguise the hunger in it. It lent a rough edge to his tone, a dominant strength that had a tremor racing down her spine.
Her gaze moved to Jethro. He had held her as she slept, she knew. She remembered drifting awake several times to feel his arms around her, to smell his scent enveloping her.