Chaya didn’t know the game this girl was playing, and she didn’t care. When Rogue lifted her hand, Chaya continued, as requested, and received Rogue’s affirmation that she was aware she was being recorded.

“For the record,” Rogue drawled mockingly. “I thought Johnny Grace was a teeny-tiny little maggot that needed to be blown away, so you’re looking to the wrong person if you think I was helping him.”Il

“Who would have helped him?” Chaya kept her voice low enough to keep those around from listening.

Rogue shrugged. “His uncle Dayle. He’s a son of a bitch, but I’m sure Natches told you that. He wouldn’t have helped kill soldiers or steal weapons though. Dayle Mackay likes to knock the women around, and he likes to run his mouth about politics, but he wouldn’t sell missiles to terrorists unless he had them rigged to blow them to hell and back.”

“What about Johnny’s mother?”

Rogue sneered maliciously. “The only thing that bitch knows how to do is fuck her brother. Johnny got drunk one night right before he died and decided I should know that. Dayle tells her what to do, and she does it. She doesn’t make many moves without Dayle’s permission.”

“But Johnny did?”

Rogue stared across the bar as she tipped the beer to her lips and narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. Finally she set the bottle back on the bar and shook her head.

“I would have said no, but it appears he did.” She shrugged again.

“Why would you have said that?” Chaya asked.

Rogue pursed her lips. “Johnny was a weaselly little thing. He craved male attention and approval. I wouldn’t have thought he would have done that, simply because his uncle Dayle would have been disappointed in him. And he couldn’t have borne that. It was bad enough when Dayle found out he was gay.”

“What happened when his uncle found out he was gay?”

Rogue tapped a fingernail against the bar, frowning down at the movement for long moments. “Johnny didn’t walk for weeks,” she finally said. “I kind of felt sorry for him, went to the house to check on him.” She shook her head on a bitter laugh. “Dayle had beat him from head to toe. Johnny was in a dress, stockings, and a wig. Said it was his punishment.” Disgust marked her expression. “Damn, sometimes I wonder why I don’t just go ahead and move back to Boston. You know better than to get involved with people there.”

Chaya glanced around the bar. There weren’t many customers, but those who were there seemed to keep an eye on Rogue. And Chaya.

“Did Johnny spend much time in bars?” she asked the other woman then.

Rogue shook her head. “Not really. Johnny was the home-and-hearth type. I guess that’s why it surprised a lot of us when we found out what he’d done. He didn’t seem the type.”

“And you don’t care that you’re telling me all this?” Chaya injected. “Getting people around here to talk hasn’t been easy. Yet you’re more than willing.”

Rogue smiled. A wicked upturn of Cupid’s bow lips, and eyes filled with cynical amusement. “Lady, this county holds no love for me, or me for it.” Bitterness flashed in her eyes. “The only difference between me and the fine upstanding citizens of this town is that I tell the truth as I see it. Let’s see. Example. I bet a half dozen spiteful little bitches are going to tell you, if they haven’t already, how hard they partied with Natches the weekend before you lit back into town.” She smiled gleefully. “I can tell you Natches hasn’t snacked on any homegrown offerings since he came back from the Marines. Now, the good sheriff over there? Widowed at a young age, he sampled the fine pleasures of one Janice Lowell just last week. And from what I hear, he’s a real go-getter. An all-nighter.” She leaned over and waved at the sheriff over her shoulder.

Chaya glanced back and was surprised to see Sheriff Mayes watching the other woman with narrow-eyed disapproval.

“He does the whole good-cop routine so well.” Rogue sighed elaborately.

“What else can you tell me?” Chaya asked her then.

“I can tell you a lot of women want to claw your eyes out. Weekend gossip is so much fun. And I can tell you that one of your agents—” She paused and shook her head, the brittle amusement dropping for a second. “Hell of a way to go. I heard he was killed this morning and several others almost went up in flames as well. What do you want me to tell you, Agent Dane?” The mocking, devil-may-care grin was back.

“Who was pulling Johnny’s strings? Even better, who set the bombs?”

“If I knew, I’d be barbeque, too.” Rogue grimaced. “All I hear is a little gossip here and there.” She shook her head, the tiny bells at her ears chiming softly. “The Mackay family is damned weird though. Ray, he’s a good guy, so are Dawg, Rowdy, and Natches. I didn’t know Chandler before he died, thank God, but I know he and Dayle were having one major fight the night Chandler and his wife were killed. And I know Nadine Mackay Grace and Dayle like to get the nasty on a little too often.” Her smile was all teeth; her eyes were bitter and much too cynical. “If I had known anything more, trust me, one of the Mackay cousins would have known, because there’s nothing in this world I would have loved better than bringing down Nadine Grace.”

“Why?” Sometimes that was the most important question a person could ask.

Rogue picked at the label on the bottle of beer, then reached over and turned the recorder off.

“Interview over,” she said softly.

Chaya picked up the recorder, transferred it back to her pocket, and watched Rogue expectantly. “Just between us girls then,” she told her. “What did Nadine do to you?”

Rogue glanced at where Natches and the sheriff sat, then turned her eyes back to Chaya. Somehow she wasn’t surprised to see the hollow pain reflected within them.

“She helped create me,” Rogue said then, her voice low and haunting. “One of these days, I’ll get to remind her of that. Create a monster, and it can come back and bite you in the ass. Isn’t that true, Agent Dane?”

Chaya nodded slowly. “That’s very true, Rogue. Very true.”

“Natches, you’re making a mistake here,” Zeke muttered as they watched the two women. They couldn’t hear the words, but a look told a thousand tales. “You need to pull her out of this.”

Rogue, the one woman who men in three counties feared on a daily basis, almost blushed, and she softened. She looked younger; her gaze twinkled in humor. Then her expression shifted again, sorrow, and then bitterness. Natches swore that in the years he had known her, which hadn’t been many, he’d rarely seen anything but hard, mocking amusement in her eyes.

As he watched Chaya though, his chest clenched. He’d been ready to tie her to his bed and force her out of this. Make her swear she would duck and hide until this was over and let him deal with the mess Cranston was creating.

But as he watched her, he remembered crashing into that filthy little dirt cell in Iraq. The smell of blood and death had filled the cramped area, but there had been Chaya, crouched, a gun in her hand, dressed in her tormentor’s uniform.

Her eyes had been so swollen there had been no way she could have seen out of them. Her feet had been ragged, though he hadn’t known that at the time. She had been so bruised and mauled, he’d seen his own life flash before his eyes. Because he couldn’t have left her, and there hadn’t been a chance he could’ve carried her out of there.

But she had run. There had been no tears, only strength. No excuses, no recriminations. She had fought to live and fought to fight, and it was those qualities that had first stolen his heart.

And he thought he could take that from her now?

“That’s not my job,” he finally murmured.

“It’s your job to protect her, damn it,” Zeke cursed.

And to that, Natches nodded. “It’s my job to watch her back while she does her job. You don’t change what you love, Zeke, or you never loved it to begin with.”

He had fallen in love with the agent. Strong, independent, fiercely determined. Take those things away from her, and she wasn’t Chaya. She wouldn’t be his heart or his soul, and that he couldn’t allow.

Natches escorted Chaya back to his houseboat after the interview, the tension burning hot and heavy through them.

“The boat has been checked thoroughly,” he told her as they walked along the floating docks toward it. “Alex hit town a few hours ago. He and his team went over it from top to bottom while we were on our way in.”

Alex Jansen was Special Forces and worked closely with Cranston. Chaya had worked with him several times. He was also Crista Mackay’s brother.

It was already dark and growing bitterly cold for the season. The wind off the water felt like ice and cut through Chaya’s thick jacket like the sharpest blade.

She felt cold from the inside out. As though icicles were growing in the pit of her stomach and freezing her with fear.

What the hell was going on in this beautiful little county? A place where young men were punished in such horrible ways for their sexual preferences, where young women, like twenty-four-year-old Rogue, were more cynical than women twice their ages. And agents, good men, family men, were being targeted to die in an inferno.

“Alex and his team are at Dawg’s right now.” Natches’s voice was low, restrained. “We’ll wait till later to meet with them. After you’ve had a chance to rest and eat. You haven’t eaten today, Chay.”

Was that concern in his voice? God, she didn’t want to hear the gentleness in his voice when she knew he was furious. Probably furious with her. She was furious with herself. She hadn’t taken the proper precautions. Somehow, she had missed something during the interviews she had conducted. An expression, a flash of maliciousness, a lie. There were always signs. Always. It was always there, in the eyes, in the small shifts of the face, and she had missed it. And because she had, Kyle was dead.

Cranston had arrived in town as she left the bar. The text message had flashed on her phone, warning her that he would meet with her the next morning. On Natches’s houseboat. She hadn’t told Natches yet.

“Come on, baby.” His voice was a breath of warmth against her ear as he unlocked the door and they stepped into the heated interior.

After locking the door behind them, he slid her jacket from her shoulders and unclipped her weapon from her side.

“You need a shoulder harness for this.” He laid the holstered gun on the jacket at the end of the couch.

Chaya stared at the gun for long moments. She hated it. She hated carrying it, she hated being tied to it, and she hated the life she had led for the last five years. God, the last ten years. The only part of her life that had seemed worthwhile was the time with Beth. And with Natches.

She shook her head. “They aren’t comfortable.”

She wanted to turn to him, she wanted to beg him to hold her, to take away the pain, and she couldn’t. She was the agent, this was the life she had chosen. What right did she have to burden him with her regrets now? He would only feel as though he should fix it, somehow drag her from it, and now she couldn’t let it go.

“Chay.” His arms came around her as she felt her throat tightening with emotion. “I have you.”

His head rested against hers, and his warmth surrounded her.

“I need a shower.” She pulled away from him. “Do you want to order dinner? I could probably fix something when I get finished.”

“How domestic.” He let her go, though his tone grated on her nerves, that hint of knowledge, patience, and just a tinge of condescending male. “I do know how to cook, Chay,” he told her a second later as he breathed out roughly. “I’ve been doing it for a while now.”