“That is not the way you fold an egg!  You’re bruising it!” Mickie shouted from the kitchen, and Levi slammed a bowl down on the counter.

Safe or not, how in the hell could anybody be expected to focus in this house?  Gray bit the inside of his cheek, as he opened another of the accounts Dex had gained him access to so he could compare it to the notebooks opened on the table beside his laptop. 

He was finally making a little progress on figuring out the code used by Teresa Girabaldi to keep up with her father’s criminal activities.  She was an organized and thorough thief, for sure.  That made Gray’s job easier, but she was also good at hiding what her notes would reveal with some kind of cryptic shorthand.

If he had Vinny Girabaldi’s internal spreadsheets and accounting records, they would most likely be the key to cracking the code.  As it stood, he had a hundred or so companies, bank accounts, and thousands of deposits flowing into and out of every account from many different sources that appeared to be legitimate deposits. 

Money in and money out meant nothing without being able to examine the transactions behind the transfers.  Gray was sure he’d find invoices, most likely fake, that matched with each one. 

If he had Vinny’s accounting records.

At least the Italian Stallion had proven to be committed to providing him with everything he needed to help his sister.  He’d gotten office supplies, a printer, a calculator, and an internet card for him, but threatened him with his life if he emailed anyone connected with the government.

Gray assured him he’d learned his lesson about contacting his old cronies.  He knew now he couldn’t trust them any more today than he could five years ago.

“I promise you, it will taste the same!  I’m tired of you standing over my back Gordon Ramsay.  This isn’t Hell’s Kitchen, so go find someone else to annoy!” Levi shouted, and a metallic object slammed down on the granite countertop.

“Well, you’re making it into Hell’s Kitchen.  Who taught you to cook in the swamp, anyway? Marie Laveau?” Mickie snorted and Levi growled. “I know what that blackened thing is all about now!  It’s because nobody there knows how to cook!”

“If you come to my home state and say that too loudly, lady, you may end up in the swamp,” Levi said in a low and lethal tone.  Gray hoped Michaela realized that meant the amiable former Ranger had reached the end of his rope with her. “It’s my turn to cook, and you are not invited to watch.  If you don’t leave me alone, you won’t be invited to eat, either.”

Caleb snickered as he grabbed his rifle from beside the front door.  “I’m going to walk the perimeter,” he announced as he opened the door.  “You two kids try not to kill each other.”

Gray flinched and tried to tune them out, like he had for the last six days.

Dexter’s search for the mysterious Blade had turned up nothing so far, but he said not to give up hope, because he found a few more accounts on a different server that he wanted to look at.  He wished like hell he’d hurry up, because after a week, Gray hadn’t found anything substantial either.  Just a few suspicious accounts he needed to inspect with a fine tooth comb.

Mickie suddenly appeared beside him at the table and he forced his eyes to stay on his laptop screen.  He hoped like hell she hadn’t chosen him as her new target to annoy.  It was hard enough to ignore her as it was, when he was trapped inside of twelve-hundred square feet with her.

Well, not only with her—with two others too. That gave him only four-hundred square feet of wiggle room.  That wasn’t enough when she was wiggling her beautiful ass in her four hundred square, trying to distract him.  With her invading his small allotment of space, her heat and scent surrounding him, it wasn’t a battle to ignore her, it was a war.  One he had to win, if he wanted to find the evidence he needed to get her out of this mess. 

He might be able to combat it better if that damned kiss in the woods didn’t keep replaying in his head like a broken record.  That kiss haunted him much more than sex on the beach bed did, which although hot as hell, hadn’t been intimate really.

Gray was a masochist, because his body and soul screamed for a repeat of the beach bed scene, but with the intimacy of that kiss. He knew that would have to wait until this was over, though, because, considering how that kiss had affected him, it would be the point of no return.

That memory was one of the most vivid of his life.  Her potential guilt was no match for the innocence and sincerity of the woman he’d kissed in those woods. It connected him with her in a way he hadn’t connected with a woman since Mona, only stronger. 

One comforting, slow, and meaningful kiss reminded him he was capable of those feelings.  And now, the persistence of that memory told him he, indeed, had those feelings for her. 

He had allowed Michaela Girabaldi to crawl not only inside his head, but inside his heart.  Considering the situation, that was sheer madness.  In his defense, however, she had some pretty lethal ammunition, and used it effectively. 

She’d snuck up on him with her cannolis, her soft, concerned eyes, heaping plates of food when he didn’t ask for them, but needed sustenance.  It was like she knew just what he needed, and made sure he had it.  She showed with her actions that she felt that way about him, too.

What man could resist that temptation?

Now, he was as addicted to her, as he was her cannolis.

But she hadn’t been able to give him what he really needed, because there were too many people in the house, including her brother, who randomly appeared.  That did not keep her from trying to tempt him to forget that.

When she stepped up behind him, Gray knew what was coming.  He leaned in closer to his screen and pretended he didn’t notice her.  Maybe she’d go on a walk. Please go on a walk. 

He tensed when she placed her small hands on his shoulders.  She squeezed the ridge of muscle on both sides in tandem, then dug her thumbs firmly into the key spots on either side of his neck to unlock his muscles.  Gray slipped lower in the chair and couldn’t stop the moan that floated past his lips.

She slid her hands over his shoulders to circle his neck with her arms and laid her face against his.  Her soft, sweet breaths brushed his cheek, tickled the corner of his mouth and made it buzz.  The urge to turn his face into hers was strong, to kiss her until the burning need in his gut was satisfied.  Focus, man, focus.

“You’re way too tight,” she whispered and he shivered. “I mixed up some of my magical massage oil. Go get undressed and I’ll make you feel better.”

Said Eve to Adam.  His teeth were halfway into that apple, his legs turned to the side and his butt lifted, but the front door opened with a whoosh. 

Dante walked inside and slammed it behind him.  His eyes tracked to Gray and he frowned.  Buzz effectively killed, Gray’s butt plopped back into the chair and he sighed.  Michaela’s arms slid away, leaving his neck cold and even tighter than before.

Gray noticed Mr. Mafioso wasn’t as impeccably groomed as usual.  His hair looked two-days greasy, his suit was wrinkled beyond recognition, and his usual scruff was almost a beard today.  They hadn’t seen him in three days and it looked like Dante Girabaldi hadn’t showered in that time. 

Hopefully, his metrosexual manscaping sacrifice had gained him information that could help break this case.

“What did you find out?” Gray asked, and his frown deepened.

“I found out that an Italian man dressed like me does not go into gangland asking questions,” he growled.  “I need a shower and about eight hours sleep, before I talk to you.”

His coat flapped open when he took a step, and Gray noticed a red stain on the side of his white shirt.  “You injured, man?” he asked, standing.

“Just a nick,” Dante scoffed, as he walked toward the hallway.

“Wait—let me look at it!” Michaela shouted as she ran behind him, but he turned to hold a hand up to her.  “It’s nothing, mini-Mama.  I’ve cut myself worse shaving.  Just leave me alone right now, okay?”

She sniffed as she watched him walk down the hallway. Turning, she shot Gray a terrified glance then ran to the front door.  She was out the door, off the stoop and halfway across the yard when he caught her.

“I’m done,” she said, her body quaking, tears streaming down her face.  “I’m calling the feds to turn myself in.”

“I’m close to finding the money, baby.  Just have a little patience.” Gray pulled her into his body and held her tight.  He was running out of patience himself, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“Finding the money won’t help anything now.” Mickie shivered, and slid her arms around his waist.  “I couldn’t stand it if you—one of you—were killed because of me.”

“You’re right.  We need to find your cousin too.  We’ll send a team to Acapulco to find her. Caleb, Levi, and Hawk are extraction specialists.  I have no doubt they can find and rescue her.  I was just concentrating on solving the immediate issue of finding the money.  But you’re also right—the money is not the end of it.”

“If we find the money, we can’t just give it to the mob,” Mickie said, sniffling as she pulled back to look up at him.  “If we do, then the feds won’t believe I had nothing to do with stealing it.  If we give it to the feds, they’ll probably drop the theft charges, but that doesn’t prove I didn’t murder Uncle Vinny or commit those other felonies.  If, by some miracle, I get off from all the charges, the mob will kill me.” Her eyes filled and her lower lip trembled before she looked away.  “It’s hopeless.  I’ll just turn myself in and take my hits.”

And then there was Zetas.

Whatever Dante found out about the mob and Zetas connection might help, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to relay that information to Gray until he was ready.  Gray was going to make him ready sooner than eight hours from now, but he would have mercy and let him at least have his shower.

“It’s not hopeless,” Gray said, lifting his hand to tip up her chin with his finger.  “I told you, I’m not going to let anyone touch you, and that includes the agency.  We’re going to fix this and you are going to keep the faith. Capisce?” Her lips wobbled up into a smile that caused warmth to spread through his chest.

“I’m beginning to think there’s a little Italian in your genetics, Mr. Jennings.  You’re starting to sound like my father.”

“I’m an English Protestant from Washington, DC…not an Italian anywhere in my genealogy, according to my mother, whose hobby it is to trace our roots.  Last I heard, she stopped at an English duke in Northampton who was disentitled and disowned when he married a scullery maid and migrated to the New World in 1698.”

“That’s amore,” she said with a watery laugh.  “Nothing is more important than love—not money or titles.  It’s the strongest bond there is.  Ask my parents, who’ve been married for nearly forty years.”  She sighed. “My papa said when he was a teenager, he saw my mama at mass one Sunday and that was it for him.”

“Amore,” Gray repeated, his eyes falling to her lips, as more unauthorized, but truthful, words tumbled out of his own mouth.  “What if I told you I had the same reaction when I first saw you in that coffee shop?”

Mickie’s eyes widened, then dropped to his mouth and his lips buzzed.  Her hand slid up his chest to curl around his neck and his pulse skipped a beat. “I’d say you are not only handsome and chivalrous, but you are a romantic too…a triple threat to my peace of mind.” 

Mickie pushed her fingers into the hair at his nape and a shiver zipped down his spine as she urged his head down.  Tiptoeing, she sealed her lips to his and sighed into his mouth when he opened it. Gray pulled her to him and clamped his arm around her waist to hold her tightly, because this time, it was him who was afraid she might leave.