The fierce lightning display over the angry, white-capped water illuminated the waves pounding at the shoreline.   At the moment, Mickie felt like a piece of wood being tossed by those waves, only her angry ocean was life.

What if Grayson Jennings couldn’t help her? What if the mob found them at the remote beach house?  They’d found her in DC pretty quickly, hadn’t they?  Or, what if he gave up and she had to spend the rest of her life this way?  That was the scariest prospect of all.

The farther Gordie drove toward the end of the island, the sparser the dwellings became and the harder the rain pounded on the windshield of the truck.  They were driving straight into the gale, and she hoped that wasn’t a parallel for her situation.  If the mob found them out here, in all likelihood, nobody would ever hear their screams or know they needed help. 

And Mickie knew they would make her scream if they found her. 

Those weren’t men to be messed with, as her uncle found out, and her cousin had definitely done a lot of messing.  She’d stomped on that angry ant pile and left Mickie behind, coated in honey, to deal with them.

Thank goodness Hawk wore a pistol, because she knew that air gun Grayson had wouldn’t be any help at all.  At least that gave her a little measure of comfort for tonight.  But what about tomorrow night, and the night after?  She had pepper spray, but that would probably just piss the angry ants off before they put a bullet in her.

“We’re almost there,” Hawk said, leaning forward to squint into the dark storm, as if he could see where they were now through the rain-washed windshield.  He glanced at the GPS screen on the dash, then ordered Gordie to slow down as he watched the houses on the Gulf side of the road.  A mile or so later, he tensed. 

“Stop!” he shouted and Gordie slammed on the brakes. 

Mickie grabbed the handle above her head and held her breath as the truck fishtailed right then left, before Gordie regained control and slid to a stop.  Her breath came out in a rush, as she saw they’d stopped in front of a muddy road which bisected a thick jungle of palm trees and brush.

  Gray put his long-fingered hand on her thigh and squeezed.  Fire zipped up her leg to electrify her lady parts, making her squirm, but his touch comforted her too.  She wasn’t alone anymore, and he promised to help her.

“Don’t worry, Jersey.  This place is almost as secure as the compound,” he said, squeezing her thigh again like it was a loaf of bread he was testing for freshness.

Her body slid lower on the seat and her legs spread wider on their own.  When she realized what she was doing, what she was asking him for with her body, Mickie quickly snapped her knees together, trapping his hand there.  Embarrassment washed through her as she released it and scooted closer to the door.

“I’m just worried that there isn’t a house with a bed in that jungle,” she replied with a manic little laugh, as she crossed her arms over her breasts.

“Oh, there’s a house.  I haven’t seen it before, but I’ve heard enough about it from the others,” Gray said.

“You, ah, think it’s safe here?” Mickie asked, gritting her teeth as Gordie hit a pothole, sending her sliding into Grayson again.  Right now, she didn’t think she’d ever feel safe again.

“I’m sure of it. Dave Logan takes security very seriously, and Dexter, our computer geek, is a fanatic about staying up-to-date on technology.”

Mickie’s teeth rattled when the front wheel fell into another, even deeper hole, and Gray put his arm behind her shoulders to hold her to his side.  Dave Logan might want to spend a little of his technology money on repaving his driveway here, she thought, giving in to the urge to grab Grayson’s thigh to hold herself on the seat.  His thigh tensed and she jerked her hand back onto her lap.

“Forget security,” Hawk said from the front seat, evidently listening to their conversation. “Let’s hope they have some stale crackers and whiskey in the house, because I’m starving and we’re not going anywhere until this storm breaks.  All hell is about to break loose.”

Gordie broke through the jungle barrier and the dirt road evened out. Then, like Hawk summoned it, the bottom fell out of the sky, rain poured down in howling wind-driven sheets, making it almost impossible to see out of the windshield. 

Mickie couldn’t see the house until they were twenty-five yards from it, but when she did, she gasped, and so did Gray.  She knew now why the driveway was so rough—Dave Logan had evidently spent his whole construction budget on this beachfront palace.

“Wow—this is—just wow,” Mickie said in awe as Gordie pulled the truck up under the open carport and killed the engine.  She couldn’t imagine what it looked like in the daytime.

Sheets of rain swept through the opening, which acted like a wind tunnel of sorts to swirl through the beam of the headlights.

“Who has a key to the house?” Hawk asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Lou Ellen said there was a key above the ledge over the back door.  I’ll go get it,” Gray offered, but Hawk opened his door first.

“No, you stay here and I’ll go get it.” Hawk was out of the truck door before Gray could offer a protest.

“Be careful,” she whispered, a little afraid that even as fit as he appeared to be, the wind might carry away the tall, lean pilot.  Heck, as rotund as Gordie was, it would probably carry him across the beach, into the waves crashing against the shoreline.

“He’s a former Night Stalker.  He can take care of himself,” Gray mumbled, sounding slightly agitated. “Death waits in the dark according to him.”

“Night Stalker?” Mickie repeated.  That sounded pretty ominous. “Shouldn’t he be in jail?”

“As crazy as he is, probably so.”  Gray gave a tired, humorless laugh. “But Night Stalkers are Army spec ops pilots, not criminals.”

“Were you in the military too?” Mickie asked, unable to picture the Armani-suit-wearing man beside her in army fatigues, toting a rifle.  He even looked ridiculous in the t-shirt and gray sweat pants he wore now.

“No way.  The FBI taught me that forensic accountants have no place in field work…except when they get too inquisitive,” he replied with a harsh laugh.

“FBI?” she repeated with a gulp.

“Yeah, I did eight years, which should be counted as military service.  Hell, I should’ve gotten combat pay on my last operation,” he replied, and she groaned.

The FBI was investigating her uncle, so they could be looking for her right now, too.  Mickie knew right then she shouldn’t have trusted him—trusted them to help her.  These people didn’t operate like her uncle and his cronies.  They resided on the moral high ground and she had no doubt, if push came to shove, they’d serve her up to the authorities.

God, had she just jumped from the frying pan into the fire?

The light under the carport suddenly came on and Mickie’s heart raced.  The side door of the house opened and Hawk cursed when the wind jerked it out of his hand and slammed it against the side of the house.  He wedged a lawn chair against it then stood in the doorway to wave them inside.

“Tell Hawkins I’ll pick him up tomorrow afternoon, if the weather clears,” Gordie said as Gray scooted across the back seat toward the door.

“Will do, and thank you for the ride, Gordie,” Gray said as he grabbed the handle.

“Anytime, Big,” Gordie replied and a laugh choked Mickie as she slid across the seat to wait behind Grayson.

Gray shook his head, opened the door and cursed when it flew back on its hinges. Chivalry definitely wasn’t dead, and Grayson Jennings had it in spades, because after he slid out, he turned his back to the wind to shield her.  He grabbed her hand to help her down, then pulled her into his side as he fought to close the door, before he hustled her inside.

“Good news,” Hawk said, closing the door behind them.  “It looks like Lou Ellen had someone air out the house and stock the pantry and refrigerator.  Bad news is, they left the window in the kitchen open. The floor is a river, so be careful.”

“We need to find some candles and flashlights before the electricity goes,” Gray said, shoving a hand through his wet hair.  “You find some towels to mop up the floor.”

“Where is the bathroom?” Mickie asked.

“I have no idea,” Gray replied, his shoes squeaking and squishing as he walked into the hallway to stand and look toward each end.

“I’ll get the towels,” Hawk said, moving around him.  “The linen closet is in the laundry room.  I think the candles and flashlight are in there too.”

Mickie’s stomach rumbled loudly and she realized right then just how hungry she was.  The guys had to be starving too, since they’d all only had snack crackers and sodas at the airport when they stopped to refuel.

“I’ll fix us something to eat,” she offered and Hawk stopped to turn back and grin at her.

“So you’re beautiful and you cook?  How in the hell did I get lucky enough to be stranded with you?”

Mickie’s insides melted under the heat of his smile, but now wasn’t the time to enjoy being flirted with by him.  “Don’t get too excited.  I have no idea what I have to work with.  I just hope there’s plenty of food, because when I get stressed, I cook.”

“Well, when I’m stressed I eat, so that will work out just fine.”  His grin widened, and he winked as he turned toward the hallway.

A growl sounded behind Mickie as she walked into the living room and turned toward the kitchen.  She stopped to look back and found Grayson scowling at her. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

His jaw worked a minute before he responded.  “Nothing. I just forgot my damned suitcase and briefcase in the back of the truck. Everything in it will probably be ruined, including my laptop.”

“I’ll call Gordie and tell him to be sure to—” Hawk spoke as he walked back into the living room carrying a bundle of towels with other things stacked on top.

“Don’t fucking worry about it.  It’s probably too late anyway,” Gray grumbled as he walked up to Hawk to grab the bundle of towels. “I’ll clean up the water, so you can help Michaela find us something to eat, since you’re both so stressed.”

Hawk reached for the candles and flashlight then stepped back to frown at him.  “Dude, you really need to get your pipes cleaned before you get your clock cleaned.  Seriously, I don’t need this shit.”

Pipes cleaned? Clock cleaned?  These men were talking in a foreign code of some sort, and Michaela was too damned tired to try to figure it out.

“We’re all tired,” she said, stepping between the men as they faced off to glare at each other.  She put her hand on Hawk’s chest and thought she heard a snarl from behind her.  “Help me get something for us to eat, so we can go to bed.”

“Yes, help her get us something to eat, flyboy, so you can take her to bed,” Gray snapped, and stalked off toward the sliding glass door.

Mickie turned to see his stiff back, wondering what in the hell was wrong with him. 

I’ll find you something to eat, testa di cazzo.  Some of my Nonna’s limoncello pie.  Then that mouth will be too puckered up to be spewing angry words at us. 

She took one step toward the kitchen, but stopped when Gray cursed loudly.  She turned just in time to see him ski across the tile floor.  His feet flew from under him, and Mickie gasped when his body went midair.  She flinched when he landed hard on his right hip and the towels landed on top of him. 

It served him right, she thought, when she heard him groan.  But when he didn’t move, she got concerned and gingerly walked across the slick floor to stand above him.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“No, I’m not all right,” he growled, his face contorted and his eyes closed as he gripped the back of his thigh.

“You break a nail, desk jockey? Or is it your hip, old man?” Hawk asked gruffly, as he stopped beside her and Gray’s eyes flew open to glare at him.

Gray sat up, put his fist on the floor beside his hip to push up but he moaned and sat back down.  “I’m tired of your crap, Hawkins.”

Those two were acting like little boys, Michaela thought, her patience snapping.  So she decided to treat them like her mother would when her brothers were in this mode.

“Well, I’m tired of both of you!” Michaela shouted, and two sets of eyes zoomed to her.  “If you want something to eat, Hawk, you’ll help him up.”  She pointed her finger at Gray. “And if you want something to eat, you’ll stop being a cazzone and let him help you.  Otherwise, you can both go to sleep hungry for all I care.”

With a huffed breath, Mickie lifted her chin and turned to walk into the kitchen feeling two sets of eyes burning her back.