Katrina's whistle as she looks in my weapons locker is one of pure admiration. I haven't shown my collection to too many people, but after hearing a little about her, I'm sure she can appreciate the time and effort it took for me to gather this arsenal. “There's stuff in here that I've wanted to play with for years,” she marvels, reaching out before catching herself and pulling her hand back. “May I?”

“Of course,” I offer, feeling at least somewhat on safe ground with her. Katrina seems nothing like Andrea. She's straightforward and intense, but she seems well-intentioned.

Disturbing though is that the dark passions that I struggle every day to keep tamped down won't stop whispering in my ear every time I see Andrea. I want to take her, to taste her, and push her and punish her. To see if she can take everything I have and come back for more, or end up broken like every other woman I've even showed a glimpse of my true self to. I sense in Andrea an unusual strength, an ability to absorb everything I can give her and still beg for more. It's intoxicating, and I've had to fight myself constantly to not step over the line, for Melissa's sake. It's why I didn't ask Andrea out here to the barn, faking that she wasn't someone I wanted to impress.

At least with Katrina I don't feel the need to yank her close and try and kiss her every second I'm in her presence. Besides, this woman is dangerous, I can see that in the way she moves. It's in her eyes, a lighter blue than Jackson or Andrea's, but also in the way she carries herself. She might let Andrea and Jackson into her personal space, but the rest of the world should heed the giant 'fuck off' sign that is written on her face. I'm not allowed in to her mental safe zone yet, but she at least trusted me enough to leave Jackson and her daughter behind in the house, although I suspect she only did that because Andrea's there as well.

“I've been collecting these ever since I was eleven,” I tell Katrina as she reaches in and takes out my Glock 17. “That was the first real pistol our Uncle Trent let me buy. After Mom died, he was appointed by the court as our guardian. It was a strange household, but Trent loved us in his own way, treated us like his own children as best he could. Except for one time...”

“What?” Katrina asks, and I shake my head. I'm not in her safe zone, and while I can respect that, she isn't in mine either. That story gets told only to a very select few.

“It doesn't matter. Aunt Barbara though, I think she blamed us for the problems her brother had with our mom. Anyway, I've been protective of 'Lissa ever since I could understand that Barb hated us and that I was 'Lissa's only real family left. I was younger, but I was quick study. So I've loved her and tried to protect her as best I can ever since.” Katrina nods, and looks back to the gun in her hand.

“It's a fine pistol,” Katrina says, clearing the chamber and checking it out. “You ever fire it? It looks almost factory clean.”

“I normally use my Smith. I like the action better,” I reply, “but yes, that pistol's had thousands of rounds put through it over the past fourteen years. I just make sure everything's very clean before I put it away.”

Katrina brings the slide on the Glock forward and checks the sights. “It's good work. You got an 18?”

I blink, surprised. “Eighteen? Those are machine pistols. No way would I be able to get one of those. Why, do you have one?”

“Not here,” Katrina replies without a hint of bragging. “You're gonna have to get used to a few things while Jackson and I are here. It's part of the reason I agreed to come out here with you, to give you a little bit of info without freaking out Melissa. I lived in foster care for years because my father, a bastard in his own right, was a dirty cop that faked his death along with my mother. I spent a decade wanting nothing more than to destroy the DeLaCoeur family, and about a year and a half ago I'd have said I didn't care if I took down Jackson and Andrea, too. As it was, I ended up falling in love with Jackson... but that didn't change the lifestyle that I'd led. Jackson and I live it now. We're underground, with no real names, no real identification. Our daughter Andrea has never been registered with any government agency, and according to the state of Louisiana, I'm dead. We live by our own rules, and a little rule like saying the Glock 18 is illegal for the average person doesn't stop me.”

I nod in respect. I can see how growing up like that would push someone to take such an extreme point of view, especially considering that she's dealing with Peter DeLaCoeur. It's not like my own family situation isn't nearly as extreme in its own way. “And your own rules are?”

“Protect my daughter. Protect my family,” Katrina says simply, reaching for another pistol, a Walther PPK. “From the way you act around Melissa, I'd say you and I have similar points of view.”

“I've tried to,” I agree, putting the weapon back into its space in my rack. “Although I haven't gone to the extremes you have in disappearing and living so... invisibly.”

“You never had reason to,” Katrina says simply, without any bitterness. “But you seem to have your own ways, too. So I take it that Peter never accepted Melissa?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I don't think he even knows that Melissa and I know the truth about her parentage. Assuming he even remembers Mom at all. Anyway, I know it's not a huge collection, but it’s my collection.”

Katrina nods, looking it over. Humming in respectful admiration, she looks over a few of my other pieces before stepping back. “We can talk more about it tomorrow. In the meantime, what's with the other stuff?”

She turns, pointing to my archery collection, and I shrug. “A hobby now, very serious before I realized just how much more powerful firearms are than these. Trent saw that I was protective of 'Lissa, right about the time I picked a fight with a bunch of sixth graders, and I was in second grade. So to teach me some control, we started with archery. I still do it mostly for the mental practice, but also I respect the form and function of the different bows. They're more elegant than a gun, that's for sure. I'm no professional. Just a hobbyist at this point. I don't have time for many hobbies though.”

“I bet. Twenty-five and running a chain of galleries, as well as taking care of a sister who is brilliant, but mentally... sorry, not my place to say. Considering I was fanatical to the point of being nearly suicidal not that long ago, I have no place to judge, either.”

“Melissa's a wonderful woman,” I say defensively. “She's brilliant, and she has a way of looking at things that's special. But yes, she’s been through some things.”

Katrina gives me a heartfelt smile. “I can understand. Can I ask you something?”

Her smile eases my worries, and I nod, giving her a friendly grin in return. “Go ahead. I can't promise an answer though.”

Katrina nods, and crosses her arms across her chest. “What was up with you and Andrea?”

I know exactly what Katrina is talking about, but I can't answer right now. Seriously, how do you tell someone you just met a few hours ago that you think her husband's half-sister is the sexiest, most alluring woman you've seen in your entire life? Especially when said woman also happens to be your sister through a few legal hoops. How do I tell her that I want to unleash on Andrea the dark passions I only admit to myself in the middle of the night, when the moon's high in the air and my body churns with a hunger no woman's ever been able to satisfy?

Instead, I just crack a smile and shake my head, deciding to make a joke. “I don't know. For only being a few months old, your daughter's got good taste in men.”

Katrina's mouth tightens for a moment before relaxing, and she chuckles. “Okay. Maybe if you decide you want to talk about it, just remember Jackson and I run by a different set of rules than most people. I'm a decent ear, sometimes.”

“I'll remember that. How about we see how everyone's settling in for the evening?” I ask, leading her to the barn door. “Then we can make plans about what to do tomorrow.”

* * *

The next morning I wake up early when I hear movement around the house. I roll out of bed quickly, surprised by a couple of things. First, for the first time since seeing the news about Peter being released from prison, Melissa didn't wake me up in the night with her nightmares. Second, that I slept all the way to seven in the morning.

Coming out of my room, I check quietly on 'Lissa, and find her sleeping peacefully, so I let her rest longer, and head downstairs. The first thing I find is Katrina and Jackson in the dooryard, pushing each other through a painful-looking workout that seems to be a cross between gymnastics, calisthenics, and yoga. They're both covered in sweat, Jackson shirtless while Katrina wears just a sports bra, both of them rocking lightweight black cotton pants and bare feet. I'd warn them about the fact that the dooryard isn't all smooth dirt, but they look like they're both into what they're doing, so I guess there's not much to do. They stub a toe or get a thorn, they can deal with it.

The next thing I find is Nathan leading Maverick around the front of the house. I watch as he pushes the big dog's head down every once in a while, Maverick responding by hiking his leg and pissing. I step off the porch and approach. At least it looks more normal than what Katrina and Jackson are doing. “What're you doing?”

“Good morning,” Nathan says, and I notice a bulge against his jacket under his left shoulder. A cross draw shoulder rig, sweet. “I am teaching Maverick his new territory. Great Danes were bred to be companions and protectors to nobility. While Maverick is not a trained guard dog, he is naturally protective, and I am showing him his new area to protect.”

“Why?” I ask, curious. “No offense.”

“None taken. It's simple, really. With Peter getting out of jail today, I cannot be here around the clock. Still, while I trust and have faith in Katrina and Jackson, I know the men that owe favors to Peter DeLaCoeur. Their resources are vast, and I cannot guarantee that someone wouldn't check of this place if the search goes on long enough. Especially since you called Andrea's phone. I know for a fact she kept that line on purpose, even though she should have changed it. Andrea, as focused and intelligent as she is, made some mistakes in disappearing. I found her quickly, and have been keeping an eye on her for weeks prior to contacting her with her brother and Katrina.”

“So you're leaving Maverick to help.”

Nathan nods and leads Maverick to our mailbox, where he pisses again. “He likes baby Andrea, and will protect that little girl with his life if need be. But I am going to help set him up in the meantime.”

“Speaking of Andrea, where is she? The older one, not the baby.”

Nathan gives me a knowing look, then points back to the house. “They are together, actually. She offered to watch the baby while her parents got a workout in together. From what I understand, it’s a rare treat for them, working out together during a decent hour. Since Andrea was born, they have been mostly swapping training times back and forth, making sure she is taken care of. Babies are stressful.”

Later on, over lunch after Nathan leaves, I have a hard time not staring at Andrea—the woman, not the baby, although Baby Andrea is very cute in her own way. Watching her eat is poetry, the way her lips wrap around every forkful of her salad, and the way her eyes sparkle as we exchange glances. But it's those glances that worry me. Melissa is my sister. How am I supposed to be a good brother to her when I have thoughts like this? More importantly, I can read what's barely contained in Andrea's glances, and she's thinking along the same lines I am. She has that same hunger inside her, and it threatens to destroy all my self-control before I can even begin to understand it.

I don't know if Jackson notices, but I can tell Katrina is still aware, and while she doesn't say anything, she gives me looks from time to time that make me feel even more self-conscious. Thankfully, Melissa is so excited today to have our new family here that she doesn't notice, and I'm able to rush through the rest of lunch. “Excuse me everyone, I'm feeling like some exercise after watching Katrina and Jackson this morning. 'Lissa, are you doing okay?”

“I'm fine, Carson. Thanks,” Melissa says, giving me a grateful smile. “Are you going to go do archery like you planned?”

“Maybe later,” I tell her, shaking my head. There's no way I can focus on archery right now. I'd probably end up shooting myself in the ass the way that Andrea has me feeling. Instead, I retreat up to my room and quickly change into my field pants, but skip the boots for some workout shoes, dashing through the kitchen dining area with barely a wave. I go to the barn, where I find my equipment near my weapons lockers. It's not much, just a simple suspension trainer and some elastic bands, but I go to work, pulling and pushing and trying to get my mind off of Andrea. I try, but I can't stop thinking about her beautiful eyes, or the way her shirt clung to her lean body, or wrapping that black silken hair in my hand and pulling her to me hard...

Shit, now I'm not only distracted, I'm stiff as a goddamn board. I groan as I grab the handles on my suspension trainer and start my extensions. It works my entire body from the waist up, although right now all my attention is concentrated from my waist down.

Thankfully the exercise is intense enough that I have to focus, or else I'm going to end up tearing up my shoulders and faceplanting on the dirt floor of the barn. It distracts me, and I'm on my fourth and fifth when I hear someone cough. I look up, stumbling to a knee when I see Andrea standing there. “Sorry,” she says, her eyes wide and her chest moving a bit fast. She steps forward, offering her hand. “I didn't know you were in here, I thought you'd gone somewhere else.”

“It... it's okay,” I say, taking her hand and letting her help me to my feet. Suddenly we're nearly chest to chest, and I can feel her hand still in mine, neither of us wanting to let go. She's angelic, enticing, and sexy, and I'm having problems thinking of anything other than pulling her to me and stripping her down right here in the barn. The handles on the trainer could bind her wrists just the right way... “I was just finishing up.”

“Please...” she says softly, her deep blue eyes looking up at me, and I feel the blood rushing back down to my only recently deflated cock. The way she says please further fans the desires inside me, and my fingers twitch, drawing her closer. She comes with almost no resistance, and we're barely six inches apart when the door to the barn bangs open again, and Melissa calls in.

“Hey guys! Katrina wanted to know what you guys want to do this afternoon?!”

The spell broken, Andrea quickly steps back, and I brush the dust from my pants. “I'll be there in a minute, 'Lissa,” I call, waving. “I've got maybe ten minutes left?”

“Okay, great! Carson, you should see Andrea, she's so cute!” Melissa says, closing the door. I look at the adult Andrea, who's blushing deeply, and think just how right my sister is.

“You were saying?” I force out, trying to turn away before Andrea can notice the tent in my pants.

“I was going to say please, don't stop on my behalf,” Andrea manages, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. It's only a facade though, she's scared by the desires inside her, just like I am. “I mean, I know you need those shoulder muscles for lifting all those heavy paintings and such.”

“Not the paintings, but the sculptures can be hell on your low back,” I shoot back, giving her a grin. Yeah, I may not normally do sarcasm and smack talk, but I learned how in sticking up for Melissa, even if it's been a few years. And it's distracting me, showing me another part of Andrea that's nearly as appealing as the sexiness oozing from her pores like the sweat that's dotting her skin in the warm barn. “Gotta be harder than what, lifting textbooks?”

“Don't forget taking down Peter DeLaCoeur,” Andrea shoots back, giving me a smile. “That takes brains as well as muscle. I'll let you finish.”

She turns to walk away, and I call out. “Hey, so what were you doing here anyway?”

Andrea looks over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling in the dim lights. “I was looking for your archery equipment. If you've got a spare bow that's under fifty pounds, I might be tempted to join you when you do decide to try it out again. It's been a while, but I do have some hobbies of my own.”

* * *

I sleep like hell that night, my mind swirling with images of Andrea. Andrea in the barn, Andrea eating dinner, Andrea with me in the back area, trying out one of my oldest bows, an old Hoyt target model I'd bought when I was trying to get 'Lissa interested a few years ago. The way her arm and back muscles tensed as she pulled the thirty-six pound Kevlar string back, her eyes focused in the evening light, the fletching caressing the soft skin around her luscious, bow-shaped lips...

“Fuck,” I mutter, sitting up in bed. I look over at my clock, and see that it's twelve thirty at night. Sighing, I pull a t-shirt on with my pajama bottoms and head downstairs. Maybe I can grab some milk in the kitchen or something, calm my nerves.

I hear movement as I reach the lower landing, and am only slightly surprised when Nathan reaches over and turns the table lamp next to the sofa on. “You're awake still?”

The man shakes his head, his face solemn, but at least he's not wearing his suit any longer. He's changed into black cotton pants and a plain gray t-shirt, but plain on the table next to him is his pistol. It's within easy reach next to the light switch. I don't see Maverick, but if I remember right I last saw the giant dog sleeping in the dooryard just as the moon came up.

“I am a light sleeper,” Nathan says quietly. It's strange how his voice can change from deep and intimidating almost to quiet and contemplative in an instant. “I decided that if I am going to sleep lightly, this is the best place to do it. I can cover the main entrance and the access to the second floor from here. I can’t cover external direct entrance, but there is no need for that level of paranoia yet.”

“Paranoia?” I ask, questioning. “Is that the right word?”

“It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you,” Nathan says, lightly joking. “Actually, I know Peter is. He already had someone track down Andrea's apartment in the French Quarter. Thankfully she brought her laptop and anything else containing sensitive information with her. From what I heard, the place was ransacked, and most of the interior torched to cover it up. However, starting tomorrow I will need to talk with Katrina.”

“Why?” I ask, taking a seat in one of the chairs. “You don't have to go back there, do you?”

Nathan shakes his head, but his face is still solemn. “No, but Peter knows that Andrea has her cell phone. He can use some of his connections and maybe crack the phone company database. He will be able to find there was a phone call from your number. If he has good people, he could even get your address from the database itself.”

“Then shouldn't we look at getting out of here?” I ask, worried. “You're telling me the Don of the Delta is coming for blood. I doubt he cares if 'Lissa and I are caught in the crossfire.”

Nathan shakes his head. “We can discuss it with everyone in the morning, but my vote is for no. First off, your sister cannot handle it. I would rather try and defend a location that you are familiar with, with your sister in her best mental state, than to try for a moving defense while on the run. It would be tough even if I had a squad of trained operators with me. Right now there is only me, Katrina who is a new mother and isn't trained for this, Jackson who is still learning, and you. All I know about you is that you like shooting, and have a heart to protect Melissa. Andrea's strengths are more suited for intel and strategy, not this. Oh, and a dog. With the resources we have available, a static defense is the best option.”

“And you were going to break this news to us when?” I ask, slightly pissed off.

“In the morning,” Nathan says quietly. “I got back too late, and you were all too tired to trouble your minds tonight. Don’t worry, Carson. I know for sure that Peter doesn’t know where you live, or that you even exist as of nine o'clock this evening. And I promise you, as long as I am here, you and Melissa will be safe.”

I'm about to answer when I hear a familiar rustling in the bedroom directly above our heads, and I know that Melissa's having a nightmare. Damn, I was hoping they'd hold off a little bit longer. “Okay. We'll talk in the morning. In the meantime...”

Melissa calls out in the night, her voice barely audible through the ceiling, but I know if I don't get up there soon, she'll scream, waking the others. Nathan notices my look, and points to the stairs. “Go. Take care of your sister.”

I nod gratefully and make my way upstairs. As I make my way to Melissa's room, I see the door to Jackson and Katrina's room swing open, and Katrina sticks her head out. “Need help?” she offers.

“No. Nathan's downstairs, watching guard. Get some sleep. I'm used to this,” I whisper, and Katrina nods once, closing her door. I go inside, and see that Melissa's wrapped herself in her sheet, and is already starting to cry in her sleep. I go over and sit next to her, placing my hand on her forehead, letting her feel my presence.

“It's okay, 'Lissa. I'm here,” I whisper softly, just loud enough that I think she can hear me, hoping she'll hear me even in her nightmare. It works, sometimes. “I'll protect you.”

This time my words do work, and Melissa relaxes back into peaceful rest. I lean back against her headboard, closing my eyes, and hope that between myself and the other people in this house, I didn't just lie to my sister.