Chapter Three
KINLEY
AGENT ABBOT insists I wake up my husband on the way to my house, and I have to correct him. But then he orders that I wake up my dad and brothers. I tell him that’s not a good idea and we can regroup tomorrow, but he won’t listen.
I’m not calling them.
He turns his phone on record and asks me ten questions in ten different ways as we drive down the highway.
“Why were you outside?”
“I was hot.”
“Did you think it would be cooler outside?”
“At least there was a breeze.”
“Why did you go to that intersection?”
“There were fewer people.”
“What drew your attention to the suspects?”
“There was a scuffle. Duh.”
“Why didn’t you run when they turned to you?”
“Because I’ve never seen anyone get fucking stabbed and die before.”
My feet are killing me, so I untie and unbuckle my very uncomfortable shoe and toss it on his floorboard.
I swear I catch him looking at my legs, so just to be a bitch, I prop my other foot on the dashboard and slowly take off my other shoe, full leg on display, and let that shoe fall to the floorboard.
With a shift in his seat, I hear his hand tighten on the steering wheel before he clears his throat. “Why were you at the bar tonight?”
“What does that have anything to do with anything?” I ask with a huff.
“Are you always this difficult?” He asks, exasperation in his tone, and turns his head long enough to give me a frustrated glare and then looks back at the road.
“You call it difficult, I call it none of your business.” I turn my head and pretend to look out the passenger window, but it’s after midnight and all I can see is the reflection of him illuminated by the dash lights.
He really is handsome, and under different circumstances, I would be interested. He definitely knows how to kiss a woman, that’s for sure.
Keeping one hand on the top of the steering wheel, he leans on the door with his other and cups his jaw. The sound of his beard scraping against his palm is loud in the quiet cab. “I’m just trying to establish a timeline and details.”
“The only details you need are the ones that start when I innocently stepped around a corner while getting some fresh air and saw two men stab another.”
His frustration is palpable in the SUV, and, for some reason, I’m enjoying it.
“I just would like to know your frame of mind before you saw the incident. Just to make sure you’re not letting prior emotions skew anything you saw.”
I turn to him and give him a ‘duh’ look. “Why does anyone go to a bar, Special Agent? To have fun. Ever heard of that? Fun? Shouldn’t you be asking me how many drinks I had or if anyone else might have groped me besides you?”
His hand squeezes the steering wheel again, the leather crunching in his grip. “I did not grope you. My hands never touched anything they shouldn’t have.”
“Oh really? So my boobs and butt are off limits, but it’s okay to commandeer my hands and back and shove your knee between my legs?” I cross my arms and sit back against the seat. My sister would tell me I look like a petulant child, but I don’t care, I’m having too much fun.
He is quiet for a moment, and I start to wonder if I’ve gone too far. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I grabbed you and kissed you, my only intention was to block you from view, but I could tell you were about to yell at me, so I kissed you so they wouldn’t hear you.”
I wasn’t expecting an apology. The air in my difficult bubble is starting to leak out until he says, “But in all honesty, I think you liked it. You kissed me back, and, baby, I know when a woman enjoys being kissed. You practically melted into me.”
Ooh, new air in my bubble.
“Conceit is not an admirable quality, Special Agent. I tell you this only out of concern for the next woman you grope. Women have many different tactics of self-defense, one of which is letting the aggressor, that’s you, by the way, think she likes it to buy time.
That’s in practically every thriller movie on TV.
I’m pretty sure it might be in the FBI self-defense one-oh-one handbook you have lying around somewhere.
” I swirl my hand in the air indifferently before I suck in a breath with an afterthought. “Oh, and stop calling me baby.”
The tension in the SUV crackles like static, and he keeps his hand over his mouth as he cups his jaw.
I don’t know why I decide to tell him. Something about the way it makes me feel bad that he doesn’t respond to my jab. “It’s my birthday.” I adjust and tighten my arms across my chest and resume pretending to look out the dark window. At nothing.
His reflection looks my way just for a second and then back at the road. The quiet is making me antsy, but then he says, “Happy birthday.”
I don’t usually celebrate my birthday. The specialness of it disappeared after Mom died. Dad tried to make birthdays and holidays special, but the magic of it didn’t come back until my sister, Marley, was a little older and she made things special again. But I never got the birthday magic back.
My friend Allison made me go out tonight. I was prepared to smoke a joint and paint whatever came to mind in my cabin, but I let her talk me into this ridiculous outing instead. So much for ‘celebrating’.
Huffing a small breath as I see my driveway coming into view on the long, dark country road, I say. “I hate disingenuous sentiments, Special Agent. This is me.” I point to the driveway.
As I walk into the house, I make just a little bit of noise, dropping my shoes near the front door, knowing that my light-sleeping father and brothers will hear me.
Since I’ve been staying in the cabin for the past few weeks, they’re not expecting me in the house tonight.
I just hope I don’t wake up my sisters or any of the babies.
Dad refurbished the old foreman’s cabin behind the house when I told him I wanted an art studio about nine years ago.
At first I only used it as a place to paint, but over time I started staying the night and eventually, I moved in.
When I realized I enjoyed having some space between me and my family, I just made it my home away from home.
But sometimes I like to be close to my family, and I stay in the big house.
So their surprise when they come downstairs to see me with a strange man in the kitchen, in the middle of the night, is understandable.
“What?!?” Gray and my dad bellow simultaneously once they are in the large kitchen with me and I introduce the tall, dark, and handsome agent standing behind me. And tell them why he’s here.
“Shhh. You’re going to wake everyone up.” I whisper-yell, and they both reel in their tempers.
Rhys steps forward and introduces himself, shaking their hands, and apologizing for waking them up.
He explains the events of the night, giving few details of his case and the type of men I bumped into.
He sums the whole thing up by telling them he wants to put me in a safe house with an agent until he can get the two men into custody.
“No, she won’t be going anywhere.” My brother Mason is standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders taking up over half the space. His off-the-books black ops teammate, Jax, who is married to my older sister, Marley, who is also Mason’s twin, stands right behind him.
No one heard them come down the stairs or walk down the hall. They’re both stealthy like that, and on more than one occasion, I have punched them in the arm when they’ve scared me. Even Rhys turned toward Mason’s voice like he was spooked.
They look like military guys, even the way they stand, in an at-ease position with their hands tucked under their arms. Everything about them screams military.
Now, it feels like a lot of testosterone is hanging heavy in the room, almost suffocating. Every single one of them stacked in muscle in their own way, Gray and Dad from farming and training spirited horses, and lifting bales of hay, horse saddles, and bags of feed.
Mason and Jax have been in the military since they both turned eighteen, and both have rigorous workout regimens.
I don’t know Special Agent Abbot’s story, but whatever he’s doing suits him because he is broad, hard and gorgeous.
I snort a laugh, making every eye in the room turn on me. “Told you.” I say to Agent Abbot and roll my eyes as I cross my arms over my chest.
Mason narrows his eyes at me. “We’ll talk about what you’re wearing later.” Then he turns back to the agent standing tall next to me. “She is safer here with us than she is with anything you and your men can secure.”
Agent Abbot crosses his arms over his chest. “I haven’t briefed you on the SOP yet. Due to the woodline and the traversable terrain, a sneak attack is probable at this location.”
Almost like a comedy skit, Mason and Jax tilt their heads and narrow their eyes. “You’ve had military training.” It’s not a question, Mason says it like a fact.
The agent tips his chin. “Army Rangers, eight years.”
Dad steps forward and sets his hand on the counter as he leans toward them. “It doesn’t matter what area she’s in, it’s the guards that I question. With us she’s safe, your men don’t care about her like we do.”
As Agent Abbot starts to reply, I step forward and jab my manicured finger in Mason’s chest. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t wear, you’re not my dad.
” I turn just as my dad is about to speak up, and say, “And my dad’s right to tell me what I can and can’t wear expired about twelve years ago. ”
“Kinely.” Gray’s deep voice is a warning, and I ignore him as I turn to Special Agent Abbot.
Not touching his chest like I did Mason, I extend my finger and point at him.
“You don’t get to tell me where I live and don’t live, and unless you produce some kind of court order signed by a judge, I’m staying in my home with the people I trust, the people who actually know how to fight.
Not in some strange, sterilized hotel room with a strange FBI guy who fills out paperwork, watches TV, and belches. ”
His eyebrows climb his forehead as he stares at me.
Okay, that might have gone too far.
“Kinley!” I hear Gray, Mason and my dad say in warning, all at the same time. I’m pretty sure I hear Jax chuckle.
Ignoring all of them, I drop my arms to my sides in exasperation as I keep my eyes glued on the gorgeous agent in front of me. I’m able to see in the bright light of the kitchen that his brown eyes are almost black. And they are angrily zeroed in on me.
Taking a deep dramatic breath, I say, “Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a shitty night. I got a sub-par birthday kiss from a guy who didn’t know what he was doing, I have to get a new phone tomorrow, I have to replace my ID, and I’m just tired. So, good night, Special Agent.”
His jaw ticks as he stares at me, and I can see in his eyes that he has passed irritation and is firmly in the realm of pissed off.
As I leave the kitchen, I hear my dad sigh heavily.
I pad up the stairs to my room and softly shut the door, the last thing I want is to listen to crying babies. Leaning against my closed door, I smile. That is one fine FBI agent, but his ego is just a little too big for me. Humility is a wonderful virtue.
Even though sometimes I have a hard time wearing that hat myself.
Remembering how he held my hands over my head and pulled my body into his as he gave me the best kiss of my life, has my nipples peaking and I walk to my bed that I haven’t slept in for weeks to pull the covers back.
I strip off my little dress and drop it on the floor to crawl into the safety of my warm covers.
He’s right. I liked every bit of his touching me, every swirl of his tongue and nip of his teeth. He ticked all the right boxes, and I wonder if he might visit me in my dreams.
No more thoughts about FBI guys, I think to myself, and turn out the light.