“Out of curiosity,” Rowdy assured him as both Dawg and Natches lowered their papers with a snap.
The other man sighed—tiredly?— before moving to the desk, though he didn’t sit down.
“There’s no scheme,” he assured them, his voice matching the resignation in his brown eyes.
“Sure there’s not,” Dawg expressed doubtfully. “You’re still breathing; that means there’s a scheme.”
“The party was thrown, Dawg”—he singled Dawg out, and it wasn’t missed by any of them, especially Dawg—“to allow you to meet four young women and their mother.”
“We’re not bodyguards; nor are we in the market for a woman,” Dawg snapped.
At this point, Cranston sat down. Slowly.
His brows lowered, his brown eyes darker and flickering with what Rowdy had always said were the fires of hell. It was actually the green coming out in the dark hazel of his eyes.
They just appeared brown until he was pissed.
He was pissed now.
He watched the three of them silently, his jaw clenched and granite hard.
“At what point have you failed to miss the fact that I am completely besotted by your wives and children? And since you acquired those wives and children, at what time have I asked you to do anything dangerous?” he asked them then, and Rowdy had to admit he hadn’t expected to hear that edge of some emotion akin to hurt in the agent’s tone.
Dawg and Natches both put their papers aside as Rowdy tensed. They’d seen Cranston in a lot of different moods, but they rarely saw him pissed off at them. And they had certainly never seen him give the impression that his feelings were hurt.
They had seen him pissed at others, often— But he’d never seemed to care enough about anyone that they could actually prick emotions they’d never known he had.
“That doesn’t mean you’re not trying to draw us into one of your damned operations,” Natches growled, clearly missing the fact that Cranston didn’t get pissed at them for saying no to a mission.
“Natches.” Rowdy said his name softly, warningly, his gaze locked on the former agent. “Let’s see what he has to say.”
“Why?” Dawg grunted. “He’s obviously out to cause trouble.”
“Or to alleviate some,” Cranston stated softly, the cool smile that crossed his lips sending that chill racing up Rowdy’s spine again.
Cranston stood slowly, the expression on his face hinting at not just anger, but also that inner disappointment that had Rowdy confused as hell. “Had I known this would be my reception, I would have just told you over the phone,” he stated. “Rather than believing we had been friends for the past four years.”
Rowdy’s shoulders tightened as Cranston focused his complete attention on Dawg.
Natches and Dawg had stiffened as well, the undercurrents suddenly whipping through the room finally piercing their suspicious anger.
“Told us what?” Rowdy growled.
He knew Cranston. It was too late to repair whatever insult he’d perceived. Better to just get this meeting over with and find out what the hell was going on.
“Three months ago, Homeland Security received an alert from the Louisville Office of Vital Statistics,” he stated coolly. “Someone was requesting information on Chandler Mackay’s heirs.”
Dawg stiffened further as Rowdy shot him a warning look. They needed to hear what he had to say.
“I thought you resigned from Homeland Security,” Natches reminded him mockingly.
Timothy shook his head, his expression pitying. “Son, you never officially retire from Homeland Security. One of these days you’ll figure that out.”
“I was never part of it,” Natches reminded him.
“No, but Dawg was.” He nodded to Dawg. “And because you’ll stand with him, no matter the danger, that means you’ll be there to realize it as well.”
“Whatever,” Dawg growled. “But DHS and Chandler Mackay are not one and the same. He’s dead, and his heir doesn’t give a f**k, remember?”
Rowdy’s head whipped to Dawg. Hell, Dawg hadn’t said the word “fuck” since his daughter was still crawling.
“I remember.” Cranston nodded. “But tell me, Dawg, would you turn your back on Janey if she needed you?”
“Janey is family.” Dawg came out of his chair, causing Rowdy and Natches both to stand with him, as Timothy had always said they would do.
“So are the four young girls sitting in that vehicle outside,” Cranston stated. “They’re your younger sisters. Four girls, Dawg, still in their teens with no place to go because DHS found the property your father had bought for them, and because he hadn’t changed the title over to the mother, they seized the property as well as the bank accounts their mother was using to help support the girls. They’re homeless, without resources, and Mercedes never allowed the girls to work. She wants them to get an education. Now, are you going to turn your back on them as well? Let me know if you are, so I can have DHS drive them to the nearest corner and put them and their few belongings out. There might be some room left under a bridge somewhere.”
Dawg sat down slowly, at the same time Rowdy and Natches found themselves sitting as well. Rowdy’s knees felt damned weak, and his senses in chaos. God only knew what Natches, and even more so, Dawg, were feeling themselves.
Rowdy stared at Cranston, shock warring with the resurging shame. Hell, they should have known that invitation to dinner that they had ignored a few days before—Cranston never invited a soul to dinner—was more than some ruse.
“Chandler Mackay has been dead for thirteen years.” Dawg shook his head, obviously trying to reject the information. “That can’t be possible.”
“The youngest girl is sixteen.” Cranston nodded. “Not one of them is more than one year younger than the sister born before her. When their mother lost the little boy she’d been carrying, the year your father was killed, he never returned to the Texas home he’d bought, though payments on it were sent from a Cayman account until DHS was able to shut the account down and trace the payments. Now, what do I do with them?”
Dawg shook his head.
“Fine.” Cranston nodded his head. “I’ll tell the driver to take them to Somerset and drop them off.”