Michael’s arms came down, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m sorry. To both of you. And I’m really not totally a hundred percent sure about working with Ten. I shouldn’t even be talking about the job.”
JT stared at his brother. “Those friends of yours who are out at the ranch, do they have anything to do with the Agency?”
Michael shook his head. “Like I said, I’m not going to talk about this.”
JT turned to Simon as though he could do anything about it. “He’s got a couple of Navy buddies out at the ranch this week. He’s using the guesthouse and I’m supposed to give them space or some shit. I thought he was just partying. Soldiers work damn hard and they play hard, too. I stayed away so he could blow off some steam with his friends. Now I’m wondering if he’s not meeting with the Agency. I don’t know that I like that happening on my land.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “The last time I checked, the Circle M still belonged to our father. You want to take it up with him? Like I said, stay out of my business, big brother, and I’ll stay out of yours.”
Chelsea frowned as she turned his way. “They’re pleasant.”
“They’re leaving.” He needed to get his cousins out of here. He couldn’t do a damn thing to figure out what was going on with Chelsea until they were alone.
The doorbell rang.
Chelsea stiffened, her eyes going for the door.
Shit. It was probably his food, but he couldn’t take that chance now. And he couldn’t hide it from his cousins. In this case, he definitely preferred Michael to JT. “Are you carrying?”
Michael’s whole face slid from angry to blank in a second. He reached around and pulled a SIG Sauer out of its holster at the small of his back. “Trouble?”
“Probably not. It’s probably Kung Pao chicken and two egg rolls, but it’s a rough neighborhood.” It was an upscale neighborhood. They wouldn’t buy it, but he had to let them know he wasn’t going to discuss it.
JT’s eyes had gone wide. “Why the hell are you carrying a gun?”
Chelsea had pulled her Ruger and was expertly checking the clip. “Why the hell aren’t you carrying a gun?” She looked up at Simon. “I’ll stay here with the cowboy.”
At least she wasn’t going to fight him. Simon nodded to the door and Michael moved across the floor on utterly silent feet. He got behind the door, ready to take care of whatever was on the opposite side.
Simon couldn’t risk looking through the peephole. He opened the door with a quick motion and prayed Michael followed his lead.
He didn’t need to be worried. A thin young man who couldn’t be more than nineteen stood in the hallway, holding out a paper bag. “You ordered the beef and broccoli?”
Nothing was going right with his day. “Sure.”
* * * *
“Should I call the police?” JT Malone kept his voice down but there was no way to miss the worry there. He was a future CEO. Chelsea was sure his day was made up of reports and checking the company stock. He very likely had never had anyone send him a bomb. His green eyes were tight with tension. He was what her sister would undoubtedly call smoking hot. With thick black hair and a lean body, there was no doubt Jackson Tyrell ranked heavy on the delicious scale, but somehow he couldn’t compete with Simon’s urbane good looks. JT fit the all-American cowboy mode, but Simon was a mystery. There was a dirty Dom under all that metro finery. It made her want to strip him down and figure out just what made him tick.
“I think Simon can handle it.” She could hear him talking, asking how much he owed. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food. She hadn’t eaten on the plane and then she’d pretty much run around Dallas for hours hoping no one murdered her. No time for tacos.
She lowered her gun. It didn’t look like she would need it.
What was she doing here? God, she should have just taken off the minute she realized someone was after her. Why was she here?
You know why you’re here. When that stupid bomb was about to blow up, all you could think about was him. You’re here because you don’t want to die without knowing what it feels like to be with him just once. You’ve been looking for any reason to hop into bed with him even though you know it’s a terrible idea.
“I don’t like this at all. This is wrong.” JT moved in front of her. “You should be the one standing back. I should protect you.”
So he was a women-and-children-first kind of guy. It didn’t surprise her. It kind of went with the cowboy motif. If he was anything like his cousin, he was a heroic, self-sacrificing guy—the kind that she’d been sure didn’t exist anymore and maybe never had. They’d been a myth until she’d found McKay-Taggart and their band of Dommy men. Unfortunately, she couldn’t indulge JT.
“I’m the one with the firearm and the knowledge of its use,” Chelsea explained. “Have you ever shot anyone?”
“Hell, no, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a gun. I’ve lived on a ranch all my life. I don’t go out without a shotgun.”
Naïve. “There’s more to shooting a man than knowing how to fire. It’s different than killing a coyote. There’s a certain coldness that comes with pulling the trigger on another human being.”
She’d felt it several times before. She’d felt that cold seep over her when her father’s man came for her that night. She’d felt it again when she’d buried the man’s body and cleaned up the blood. Sometimes, she could still see the blood on her hands. So dark against the color of her skin.
“You just went white.” Simon was suddenly in her space. “What the hell did you do?”
She glanced up, and he wasn’t looking at her. His angry question had been directed at his cousin.
JT Malone shook his head, his hands held up. “Nothing. I did absolutely nothing and that’s the problem. I told her I should be the one protecting her, not the other way around. She should have given me the gun and stayed down, though I’m not sure why she needed protecting from the delivery guy. Is she allergic to MSG?”
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I overreacted. But she’s not giving up that gun to anyone. Is that understood? Now, I believe Chelsea’s come to speak to me on rather urgent business. I have to cut our chat short. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”