Forbidden Pleasure (38 page)

Pulling up the entry cell he began typing in the names of his employees, past and present. Something he had only thought of earlier. It would take a lot of work to figure out the perfect position to lay in wait with a gun from the base of the hill across from the house. It would take someone familiar with him and his home though to get a picture like that. Perfect positioning, perhaps a hidden camera.

Just because he had left the Bureau didn't mean he wasn't still a paranoid son of a bitch.

Because he was. He had laid out the stables, barns, and landscaping around the house in a very precise manner. It would take someone who knew every angle, and had worked it.

That meant someone he knew, because he didn't allow strangers on his land and he didn't have a schedule that would allow for an easy invasion into his property. Not to mention the alarms on the house and the animals around it.

The position of the pastures and buildings around the house ensured that the animals would be disturbed by anyone moving onto the property. Someone could do it without being detected, but it wouldn't be easy.

The shooting he could explain away. Cameras in the house were another thing.

Finishing, he then turned to his stationary computer, powered it up, and pulled up Google. Half an hour later he sat, his cheek cradled in his hand, staring at several pictures that had been taken years before.

He was bare-assed naked and having a hell of time. Drunk as a loon and grinning for the camera. The other window held a variety of pictures of Jethro in a similar state.

Damn, they had been wild then. Fifteen years had aged them, given them a measure of maturity. Maybe. At least enough to know better than to get into antics as they had then.

A third window was still working, looking for information on Keiley that didn't involve the pictures splashed in newspaper articles regarding her father's embezzlement and her parents' deaths. Her father's death, her mother's suicide.

At eighteen, Keiley had been alone, faced with a mountain of debts she had no hope of paying, and the condemnation of a town that had no one left to punish.

Shutting the computer down, he turned as Jethro stepped quietly into the office, his gaze going immediately to where Keiley lay sleeping on the couch.

"We need to get her to bed," Jethro told him softly.

Mac nodded slowly. "Did you talk to Gladsteen?"

"She's working on it. Said she would let you know the charge later."

Mac winced. He was going to end up paying out the ass for this one and he knew it.

The case of Scotch might be a small, very small, portion of it, but there wasn't a chance it would be the entire thing.

He wiped his hand over his face, glanced at the clock, and winced.

"Let's head to bed, then. Keiley doesn't sleep well on the couch."

He caught the slight stiffening of Jethro's expression and stared back at him questioningly. He hadn't expected this to be easy, not for any of them, but he admitted that for the most part, the relationship was working out well considering the circumstances.

Did he feel guilty that he had maneuvered his wife and his best friend in such a way?

Sometimes. Enough to draw back? Not in a million years. Keiley was his soul and his life, and her pleasure, her protection were worth everything. The fact that he enjoyed the hell out of watching her pleasure was secondary. Besides, he missed Jethro. They worked well together, understood each other. And they both loved Keiley.

"Everything in moderation," Keiley murmured as she smoothed her hand over the sleeveless vest top she wore and checked the fit of her snug blue jeans and stylish boots.

The jeans were a little tight, hugging her butt and legs perfectly. They weren't as low at the hips as those that she wore around the house, but she was going out. That required a whole different perspective.

"Less is better," she reminded herself as she attached small hoops to her ears. "Don't go overboard. They belong to you. Just remember, you don't have to stake a claim, just show ownership. Simple. Easy. Very aboveboard."

Mac tilted his head as he stood in the doorway, shot Jethro a confused look, then stared back at his wife as she turned, ran her hand over her curvy little ass, and checked the fit of her jeans.

"It's not like you have to get dirty," she murmured.

Mac looked around the room. There was no one else there, and he knew damned good and well she hadn't seen them yet.

"All you have to do is hold your head up. And remember, a ménage is not the same as embezzlement. Ménages are fun. Embezzling is illegal. They can't stone you."

Pep talk. Damn. He had never heard his wife give herself a pep talk before.

"You will be the envy of the county." A smug little smile curved her lips as she faced the mirror again and brushed back her bangs. "Both those hard cocks are all yours. You can show your pride without being wicked."

He bit his lip as Jethro's shoulders shook soundlessly.

Damn, he had lived with her for six months and been married to her for over three years and he had never heard her give herself a pep talk. And he sure as hell hadn't seen the blatant smug smile such as the one she had on her face when she declared herself the proud owner of his and Jethro's cocks.

"When you've finished cheering yourself on, we're ready to go," Mac announced, holding back his laughter as she swung around, a delicate pink blush working from her throat to her hairline.

"Eavesdroppers," she snapped.

"Eavesdroppers hear nothing good of themselves," he pointed out with a grin. "What we heard was infinitely satisfying."

Keiley felt her own laughter bubbling in her throat. Okay, so it had sounded bad of her, but she was determined to do this right. Sometimes that took a few reminders.

Besides, it was hard to get mad at either of them when they looked so damned good.

Well-worn jeans hugged powerful legs. Their feet were encased in boots. Mac wore a white short-sleeved shirt and Jethro wore a black t-shirt. Both men had tucked their shirts into their jeans and wide belts cinched their hips. And those pants bulged perfectly. She must have a naughty streak she hadn't recognized until now, because the proof of their very virile bodies sent a surge of pride racing through her.

"Okay. I'm ready." She spritzed a quick spray of Poison over her shoulders and chest before smoothing her hands over her jean-clad hips and watching as Mac's gaze was drawn to her tanned legs and low-heeled Western boots.

His and Jethro's gazes both sparkled with heat and approval. Confidence filled her.

She could do this. She had been preparing all day. While Mac and Jethro had removed the other cameras from her bedroom curtains and worked to trace the remote link they had found, she had prepared herself for tonight.

Dinner and dancing at Casey's, the old Western saloon—style club outside of town.

She had taken a long, soaking bath filled with bath salts, waxed her brows, spent hours selecting her clothes, and called Maxine for moral support. Maxine, her husband, several of her sisters and their husbands, and half a dozen of the women from the charity committee were all going to be at Casey's as well. Moral support, Maxine had raged. The picture Delia had shown Keiley had arrived in their in-boxes late last night from Delia's e-mail address. It had arrived several more times from friends of Delia's.

Maxine was outraged. Joseph was coldly furious with the Statens and had demanded to speak to Mac and Jethro. What had happened during that conversation she had no idea, but she knew Mac and Jethro had seemed particularly smug after he handed the phone back to Keiley.

She had friends. Keiley had been terrified that the few friends she had made would turn their backs on her. She would have hated that. Would have mourned it. But her friends were jumping in with both feet, giggling on several conference calls and demanding details until Keiley laughingly refused.

Not that it wasn't tinged with a bit of embarrassment. Well, a lot of embarrassment.

Maxine, the wretch, had noticed Keiley's birthmark right off, the little strawberry on her hip, and teased her mercilessly. Her sister Fayrene had insisted her husband invite his Army buddy for the summer, which resulted in Fayrene hastily hanging up the phone amid giggles and half-hysterical reminders to her husband that she was on the phone.

Her friends were gathering around her, though. The phone had rang unceasingly throughout the day. Many of the men who had received the picture were calling Mac.

They were smart enough to throw their support behind the men with the FBI rather than the witch with the pictures.

Smart of them, Keiley thought.

"Heinagen and Sheffield are watching the house tonight," Mac told her as the truck doors closed behind them and he put the truck in gear. "We caught a transmission from inside the house. We think he's using a remote-activated electronic bug. Those are harder to pick up. It has to actually be activated to be detected. They're working on it while we're out. If they don't find it before we return home, remember, anything you say could be heard."

"What about the truck?" Keiley asked nervously.

"You can hide them in the house because the wires are easier to conceal. I pulled the truck into the garage earlier and went over it top to bottom. There's nothing on it or in it.

It's safe. Going through the house would be a hell of a lot harder and damned near impossible to find without the right equipment. Director Williams is having that equipment flown in tomorrow afternoon. It's the quickest we could get it."

Keiley inhaled roughly.

"It will be over soon, Kei," Jethro assured her as he leaned back against the door and watched her with narrowed eyes.

He was doing that a lot, just watching her, as though he were drawing her into himself somehow. It was disconcerting to be probed in such a way. He was quieter than Mac in a lot of ways, still the bad boy, but the wildness she had glimpsed in his gaze when he first came to the farm wasn't there any longer.

"How much of it will be over, Jethro?" she finally asked. "Are you going back to D.C.

or staying here?"

Could she handle it if he returned to the Bureau? She had had nightmares while Mac was still an agent. The day he announced his intention to resign, she had cried for hours in relief.

"Mac and I are discussing it," he finally said.

"You are?" She glanced back at Mac, seeing the small curl of his lips at the tone of her voice. "Interesting that you two didn't think to discuss it with me."

She stared back at Jethro coolly. "None of my business?"

"All your business, beautiful. But some things men have to settle between themselves first. Get used to that. Where you're concerned, I have a feeling, we'll have a lot to discuss."

That part, she didn't like. She bit her lip as she considered the two men who were filling every part of her heart and soul and wondered about the whole outnumbered thing.

"Two men against one defenseless woman seems like lousy odds for me." She pursed her lips in disapproval. "I may have to reconsider my own battle plans here."

Jethro looked at her warily. "How so?"

"That," she whispered as she leaned to him and placed a butterfly kiss on his lips. "Is for me to know."

"And for you to worry about, Jethro." Mac suddenly laughed. "Damn, I won't be tortured alone. At least I'll have an ally now."

"You are so wrong, John McCoy," she snorted. 'Just so wrong. Give me a month, he'll be all about being on my side," she teased.

At that, pleasure tilted Jethro's lips. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm already all about being on your side. Your back. Your front. Whichever way I can get you. I promise you that most sincerely."

"Perv," she accused him as he pulled her closer, kissing her soundly before smiling back at her with devilish humor.

The drive to Casey's was completed in the same vein, but it didn't stop the nerves from building in her stomach. As Mac pulled the truck into the crowded parking lot, she almost demanded to go back home.

Damned near the whole county seemed to be there. She could safely say she had never seen Casey's so packed.

"Maybe I shouldn't have called Maxine." She swallowed tightly. "I think she's told everyone I would be here."

Her stomach was pitching tightly as fear suddenly began to fill her. The fear of facing condemnation, of hearing the whispers behind her back.

"Too late to turn back now, darlin'." Mac's voice was firm as he opened the door and stepped from the truck. "Come on. Let's go show them how hot you are. Hot enough that it takes two of us hard cocks to keep you satisfied."

Heat blazed through her as shock had her lips trembling with laughter.

"You are so bad," she accused as he lifted her from the truck and Jethro's laughter joined Mac's. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I have suggestions, but this might not be the place for them."

It was a place for hilarity. For over a dozen men and women crowded around Mac, Keiley, and Jethro. They were the friends she and Mac had been drawn to when they first arrived, couples they were comfortable with, whose interests and sense of humor seemed to align with theirs.

Now they were friends who drew around them in support and extended their hand in friendship to Jethro as well. Through dinner and drinks, Keiley watched him. He was quiet but friendly, laughing in genuine amusement at some of the women's antics with their husbands but saying no more than he had to. As though he were watching for enemies amidst friends and categorizing strengths and weaknesses.

As plates were carried away by the waitresses and more drinks arrived, Keiley noticed the subtle tension invading him. His demeanor hadn't changed, but she could feel it, just as she sometimes felt it with Mac.

On the stage across from them the band was gearing up, swinging into a slow, sensual love song. It was couples night, which meant lots of slow songs.

She turned to Jethro slowly, meeting his eyes, and whispered, "Dance with me."

Hooded, his deep blue eyes wary, he watched her for long seconds before pushing his chair back and holding his hand out to her. Talk ceased behind them, every eye at the table turning to them as she took his hand and let him lead her to the dance floor.