Guilty Pleasure

11

Dinner went surprisingly well as far as Khalid was concerned. Marty and Shayne had a slow, easy rapport, an awareness of each other that, in Marty’s case, only revealed itself in Khalid’s presence.

A new tension seemed to fill Marty, however, as they ate and then lingered over drinks to discuss a variety of subjects. It was as though she knew the significance of easing into this evening, of establishing a level of comfort within the arousal that flared throughout the evening.

She was ready for this, he assured himself. But one thing was for certain. If she weren’t ready for it, she would have informed them of it long before now.

Khalid had never understood the reason his sexuality had grown so dark, why the hunger to share a lover had grown so deep. It was something he had stopped questioning years ago. It just lived inside him, like an entity all its own.

As dinner came to an end, Khalid invited Marty back to the estate, as well as Shayne. Anticipation fed the fire, and that anticipation would amplify her pleasure if the night included the sexual pleasures he had been withholding from her. He wanted her more than ready for both of them. He wanted her wet and wild for it, ready and willing to accept whatever pleasures they bestowed upon her.

As they stepped into the limo, the vibration of his cell phone in his jacket pocket caused him to clench his teeth in irritation. Pulling it from his inside jacket pocket, he glimpsed the caller ID and wanted to curse in anger.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Get to the club,” Zach ordered, his voice tight, brisk. “We have a situation.”

“That could be a problem,” he said carefully, aware of Marty watching him with a hint of suspicion.

“I know Marty’s with you,” Zach growled. “I have permission from Ian to allow her into the parking area only. Tell her to keep her ass in the limo. Hopefully you and Shayne shouldn’t be long.”

So much for seducing the seductress tonight, he thought mockingly, as he disconnected the call and fought to hold back the aggravation growing inside him now.

“Problem?” She leaned back in the seat and watched him almost knowingly.

He glanced at Shayne. “We have to make a stop,” he informed the other man.

Shayne watched him curiously. “A stop?”

“At the club.”

Tension filled the limo as he turned his gaze back to Marty.

“You will stay in the limo, Marty. You know the rules there. Do us all a favor and please refrain from trying to slip in as you have in years past.”

During the last two years she had been following Khalid she had made several attempts to slip into the club to see who he was meeting with, what he was doing. According to Zach, the orders to do so had come directly from her boss, Vince Deerfield.

She had no such orders tonight.

“Of course.” That sweet smile didn’t fool him.

Lowering the window between the driver and passenger areas, he made a decision he prayed would hold her in check.

“Abdul, we’ll be stopping at the club for a while. You’re to make sure that Miss Mathews remains in the limo while we’re there. Should she try to leave the car, then you’ll notify me immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” Abdul’s tone reflected his hesitancy to upset Marty.

Over the years Marty and Abdul had developed a friendship that had caused Khalid more than one headache.

“Slip from the car, and Abdul will be the one who pays for it,” he warned her.

Her brow lifted. “You like to play dirty, Khalid.”

“Sometimes it’s the only thing you understand.” He sighed almost wearily.

No doubt he’d be taking her home after this meeting rather than back to his bed as he’d hoped.

She smiled again. That sugary sweet smile never failed to cause his neck to itch.

Silence filled the limo as Abdul navigated out of town toward Squire Point, the exclusive area filled with tree-shrouded estates and oceanside mansions.

Marty crossed her legs and stared at the two men sitting across from her, almost rubbing her hands together in glee.

As a babysitter, Abdul sucked. She had him wrapped around her little finger better than her fathers were.

“Stay put, Marty,” Khalid warned her, as they turned into the Sinclair property and drove along the well-lit tree-lined lane that led to the estate house that held the exclusive men’s club.

“Of course.” She smiled back at him innocently. “I’m on vacation, remember?”

Both men eyed her dubiously. As well they should, because once she was actually on the estate grounds, getting in was going to be child’s play. What she would find after actually breaching those hallowed halls, she had no idea. But she was going to have fun finding out.

She sat silently as Abdul parked in the area Khalid directed him to, a securely lit, well-guarded area of the parking lot. If Ian Sinclair knew Khalid had her in the limo, then she had no doubt extra security guards were in place.

“Be good, precious,” Khalid warned her again, as Shayne pushed the door open and stepped out.

Khalid surprised her as he leaned forward, his fingers curling around her neck to hold her in place for a brief, hard kiss. His fingertips stroked the back of her neck as he lingered only moments, then slid away as he moved from the vehicle.

She sat silently and watched as Khalid and Shayne disappeared through the entrance to the club that had managed to keep itself secret from the general public for more than two centuries. The very fact that its true purpose had never come to light was a bit surprising. The club was more secretive regarding its membership than the Secret Service was in protecting the president. And that was saying a lot.

Once the doors had closed and silence filled the night once again, she turned to where the window had been lowered between the driver and passenger areas.

Propping her arms on the back of the front seat, she smiled back at Abdul as he turned and watched her warily. He knew her, and he had known the moment he had been given his orders that he would be breaking them.

“I guess you’re honor-bound to contact him if I leave,” she stated to the bodyguard who had befriended her when she first began following Khalid.

Abdul was older, perhaps nearing fifty. Gray sprinkled his closely cropped black hair, and wrinkles were marring his dark face. He reminded her of a loving, benevolent grandfather, though she knew he had no wife, no children. He had pledged himself to the Mustafa family, and to Khalid, as a young man and had allowed nothing to come between himself and the task he had taken on to protect his charge.

Abdul stared back at her quietly for long moments, his expression reflective as he watched her. Abdul was what she liked to call a “thinker.” More than likely he had already considered this problem at some point in the past. He was a man who liked to think ahead while he was deliberating.

“He is like a son to me,” he stated in his halting English, before sighing deeply.

“And he’s like a thorn in my ass,” she shot back in disgust, more to watch the incredulity that shot through his eyes than to simply be crude. Though there were times it was definitely the truth. But she did so love to shake Abdul’s little world up.

Abdul was a friend, but one who could be rather prudish at times.

“You are a very naughty little girl,” he laughed, after nearly choking on his shock. “In my country your tongue would be cut from your mouth.” And he was probably not joking.

“In your country I’d have already been stoned for my smart mouth,” she informed him. “Be honest about it, Abdul.”

He shook his head as a lighter laugh passed his lips.

“You keep him on his toes; this is a good thing sometimes. Not many women give him the challenge he oftentimes needs.”

“Women are supposed to be a challenge?” She batted her lashes back at him. “I thought we were supposed to be submissive and properly trained.”

Abdul was an enigma to her sometimes. He could laugh at himself as well as at the many misunderstandings concerning his country and his religion. When it came to Khalid, though, he took his responsibility to watch over him very seriously.

“A woman is to know her place, no matter where that place is,” he finally said, sighing. “Khalid never fit into the life his father would have given him. Had he done so, he would have been a leader that our people would have died for.”

There was no doubt in her mind. She would have followed that conversational line if she didn’t know from experience that the answers she wanted wouldn’t be given.

“So, as to my question.” She smiled sweetly, tilted her head, and gave him her best innocent look. “Are you going to tell on me for leaving the car?”

“Are you going to leave the car when you were warned to stay in place?” he asked in turn, giving her a mock frown of disapproval.

Was she?

“Pretty much,” she answered as she pursed her lips and nodded firmly. “Come on, Abdul, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. You know that.”

Abdul sighed heavily, though she could see the grin he fought to hold back in the twitch of his lips.

“If you made the promise to me that you will not leave the car, then I would take my nap.” He yawned hugely, as though genuinely tired, before his white teeth flashed in his aged, sun-bronzed face. “Are you making that promise?”

She nodded quickly, all the while giving him a deceptively innocent grin. She really did love Abdul. The best thing about him was his willingness to conspire, in small ways, against his employer.

“Go to sleep, Abdul. I’m sure Khalid will be back soon.”

She doubted it very seriously.

Remaining quiet, she watched as his head disappeared and listened to the sounds of him getting comfortable.

Like hell he was going to sleep, but neither was he willing to face the full force of Khalid’s wrath. At least he would have an excuse if Marty got caught. That was a comfort she would have to do without.

Hell, it wasn’t like he was going to kill her, she thought, as the sound of the first false snore came from Abdul. She may wish she were dead. She may scream like she was dying, and that was a very real possibility, but he wouldn’t actually hurt her. Well, at least not a pain that she wouldn’t enjoy.

She opened the door quietly, the metallic click causing her to grin as Abdul gave a heavy sigh.

Okay, she could be quieter but she didn’t bother, simply because she knew she didn’t have to.

Within seconds she was sliding out of the car, keeping low.

She knew the movements of the security guards inside the grounds, and she knew that the area this close to the house was much less secure, other than additional security guards, compared to the one leading directly here.

Still, she closed the door quietly and kept low.

Watching the security personnel moving about the front of the house, she took extra time to study their patterns and the gaps in their rotations.

Long minutes later, certain she had a handle on the security weaknesses, she moved.

There was no low music, no activity that could be heard or seen from the house. The sprawling estate was like a sanctuary of some sort, carefully guarded and intensely secretive.

The parking lot was filled with limos and the drivers who accompanied many of the members. Lexuses, Mercedeses, Jaguars, and Bentleys were parked on the opposite side. It wasn’t easy to stay in the shadows and out of sight of the drivers as well as the security guards.

It took more time than she liked to work her way through the parking lot, as she kept to the few shadowed areas available.

Moving slowly, carefully, she practically crawled through the evergreen and flowering shrubs that lined the parking area.

She’d already decided on the best entrance into the house months before. She’d watched every angle that she could see from a vantage point high above the main grounds.

Every angle but the parking lot and back entrance to the club could be viewed one way or the other. Security cameras and personnel kept a careful watch and secured the house grounds against all intruders.

Until recently, there hadn’t really been a weak point in the house-until the owner, Ian Sinclair, had built his main residence on the other side of the property. What had once been a wide window in the back of the house had been converted into a service door.

With just the right amount of luck and a little bit of skill, she had a chance of slipping in there when one of the employees stepped out for a cigarette. They didn’t always close the door well, and beside the door was a dark, shadowed area of foliage that would be perfect to use as a cover.

She just had to get in place.

After slipping into the shrubbery at the door, it was just a matter of waiting. There were security cameras in this area just as there were in the others, but the landscaping here was more a hazard than a help to security. It surprised her that Sinclair hadn’t cleared this out yet, though it did make an effective screen for those employees with the need to light up.

She had no idea what she was facing once she actually got inside. She knew the layout of the house from a few historical documents that she had managed to uncover. The Sinclair mansion was considered a historical landmark. It had been built well before the Civil War, and even before then had been known as a gathering place for certain like-minded individuals.

Men who shared their women. A place for such a man to find a third who shared his values as well as his beliefs.

It was a wonder it hadn’t been burned to the ground centuries ago.

As a mocking smile tipped her lips, she suddenly tensed at the sound of the lock disengaging inside. It was simple enough to wait until the door opened and a dark figure passed. Using several leaves folded together, she quickly slid the foliage into place over the lock as the door closed.

As the employees passed by, Marty reopened the door and slipped inside. She flattened herself to the wall and ducked quickly behind a huge antique armoire that stood in the hall.

There were no security cameras in the hall, which surprised her. She wondered just how well the inside of the club was policed. She’d expected much more than she found at the moment.

Drawing in a slow, deep breath and checking the area quickly, she began advancing up the hall and found it to be an interloper’s dream. There were wall insets in places, providing small, comfortable areas for work or conversation. Large antique pieces of furniture sat throughout interconnected rooms that were for the most part shadowed and private.

Getting to the stairs that led to the second story, and to many of the private meeting rooms as well as the bedrooms, wasn’t nearly as hard as she had expected.

It sounded as though most of the activity was downstairs in what was rumored to be a bar and several rooms providing billiards, television, or a place for gatherings.

She hadn’t seen Shayne or Khalid. At each room she’d managed to find a place to duck in to that allowed her to see inside as doors opened. It took awhile, but she managed to eliminate the chance that they were downstairs.

That meant a private meeting, and those rooms were upstairs.

As she slipped up the steps, she watched and listened carefully. Rounding the upper portion of the steps, she ducked to the side and hid by a heavy sideboard at the landing.

This was simply too easy.

Farther ahead she could see a light spilling from beneath only one closed door. There were no guards outside, no one patrolling the floors. Evidently Ian Sinclair had never had anyone slip in undetected before. It was a gross lack of security that had allowed her to get this far.

She let a small grin of satisfaction tilt her lips. She could say she was one of the few women to ever breach the hallowed halls of this elite establishment.

Sliding around the antique cherry bureau, she made her way cautiously to the spill of light reflecting from the glistening wood floors.

She could hear voices from inside, and if she wasn’t mistaken, one of those voices was Khalid’s. It was a rumble of sound; no actual words could be heard. Even as she stopped at the side of the door and strained to hear, she could catch no more than bits and pieces of words.

She couldn’t be certain who was in the room, though it sounded as though there were several engaged, not so much in an argument but in a heated disagreement.

Biting her lip, she gripped the doorknob, meaning to turn it slowly and subtly, and hopefully to crack the panel open just enough so she could be certain of who was speaking.

As she tightened her hand on the brass knob, a familiar click and the press of cold metal against her head stilled her.

Marty felt adrenaline spike in her veins. An icy veil of pure survival instinct raced through her.

Would the person wielding the gun actually pull the trigger? She doubted very seriously that Ian Sinclair would employ anyone who wouldn’t use every other means at their disposal before actually killing an intruder.

The press of the cold steel against the back of her head felt pretty damned convincing, though.

“Release the latch.” The thick, heavy Middle Eastern accent kicked those survival instincts into overdrive.

This wasn’t one of Ian Sinclair’s security guards. This was someone else, someone who shouldn’t be here either.

Marty moved. A lightning-fast flick of her wrist against the latch produced no results, but the quick duck of her head as she swung around, gripped the wrist, and swung her knee into his groin brought a definite response from him.

He was huge. A murderous mountain posing as a man. He shifted just enough to keep her knee from slamming into his cock, and at the same time his hand flew out, the back of it connecting with the side of her head and slamming her to the floor.

Simultaneously the door flew open, the mountain came over her, and the gun was pressed beneath her jaw as behind him, enraged, Shayne and Khalid each held a gun to his head.

“Mohammed!” a strong voice with a thick accent rasped from the door.

A spate of Arabic followed from the mountain called Mohammed as the gun was pressed tighter against her jaw. Hell. She was in trouble now.

“Abram, he has two seconds before I kill him.” There was no accent, no inflection in Khalid’s voice. There was cold, hard, steely death instead.

Marty met Mohammed’s eyes and saw pure black fury as Abram barked another order in Arabic.

“You risk your life needlessly, woman, as well as mine,” Mohammed growled, like a bear that had to fight to find the words. Even his voice was scary.

The weapon moved from beneath her jaw slowly as the giant lifted from his knees and came away from her. Marty stared up at the men who had rushed from the room and had to fight not to swallow tightly.

Abram el Hamid-Mustafa stood at the door, dressed surprisingly in jeans and a black T-shirt. He was all but an exact replica of Khalid. The same black eyes, the same thick black hair, except Abram wore a closely cropped beard and mustache that gave him a more rakish, disheveled appearance.

It was enough to have her glancing quickly from Khalid, to Abram, then back again as her imagination began to take flight and she wondered what it would be like… Oh no, she was not going there.

Khalid had his third, and she was fine with the decision he had made. No way in hell did she want, or need, another Khalid for a third. Her life was complicated enough as it were.

Khalid and Shayne eased slowly back as Mohammed came to his feet, and to the side of the door, where-watching in equal amounts horror, anger, and perhaps a glimmer of pride-stood her fathers.

“Someone should have told me it was a serious meeting rather than simple playtime,” she remarked, as she jumped to her feet and eyed the six men warily. “I might have taken a nap instead of slipping in to see what all the interest was here and whether or not I should be jealous.”

“Whether or not she should be nosy,” Shayne snorted. “I’d say not, if she had asked my opinion.”

“But I didn’t ask you opinion, did I?”

She didn’t dare meet Khalid’s gaze. She turned to her fathers instead.

“Really, Dads, you should have warned Khalid about leaving me in the limo. You two know me much too well.”

Joe covered his mouth with his hand as though wiping at it in frustration. He was actually fighting a grin-she hoped. Zach continued to stare at her as though he had no idea who the hell she was or from where she had come. Strange, he had helped trained her. He should have known better.

Khalid and Shayne were staring at her with the promise of a certain confrontation in their gazes as Mohammed glared at her. Abram Mustafa was the only one who appeared unfazed, in fact, a bit amused. She flashed him one of her deceptively sweet smiles as she pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and wondered if her face had started bruising yet. Evidently not, because Khalid hadn’t murdered Mohammed yet.

“Shall I assume we have an addition to our little meeting, gentlemen?” Abram glided to her, a grin tugging at his well-molded lips. The short black beard that covered his lower face gave him a piratical look, as the twinkle in his deep, black eyes encouraged her to join in whatever joke he was having at her expense.

As she watched Khalid and Shayne cautiously, Abram gripped her arm and urged her into the room.

“Come, my dear, let’s not loiter in the hall where this slight confrontation can be witnessed, shall we?”

Marty followed, albeit reluctantly, as she watched Khalid and Shayne slowly slide their weapons back into the holsters beneath their jackets. How Khalid had managed to wear that holster without her knowing it, she couldn’t explain. He had to have placed it there after entering the club.

“Inviting me in now?” She glanced at her fathers, noting Zach’s grimace as all but Mohammed stepped back into the room.

“I do hope Mohammed didn’t leave bruises on your delicate flesh as he pressed the gun into your neck.” Abram flashed another grin at her, as his wicked black gaze raked over her face. “I’ll be certain to ensure that he never makes such a mistake again.”

“Abram.” Khalid’s voice held a warning note.

“Ah, little brothers can often be quite intense, can they not?” Abram grinned at her again as he released her arm and moved to the bar. “Would you like a drink, perhaps?”

She glanced back at Khalid as Abram laid his hand against the small of her back and led her to the bar.

“This isn’t social hour,” Khalid snapped. “Stop pretending it is.”

Oh boy, he was pissed. It would have been amusing if the air of danger surrounding him wasn’t so thick.

“I never pretend such things.” Abram was clearly amused as he poured two drinks. “You have been so reluctant to allow me the chance to meet your beautiful woman over these many years, that I have decided to take this chance that has been presented so beautifully to me. I am certain Ian will forgive me for allowing this slight bend of the rules.”

He handed her a drink as he toasted her with his own.

Marty lifted the short glass to her lips, gave a little sniff, then narrowed her gaze on Abram as she realized it was indeed one of her favorites. A splash of expensive whiskey over ice. She toasted him back before sipping. She continued to gaze at the other men warily.

“She’s going to get herself killed,” Zach muttered to Joe, as she glanced at them.

“And you’re just figuring that one out?” Khalid glared at her fathers before stalking to the bar and pouring himself a stiff shot of whiskey and tossing it back; he continued to glower at her.

“I’ve been warning both of you,” Zach snapped as he glared at her father and her lover. “But have either of you bothered to listen at any time?”

“And all of you seem to be forgetting exactly what her career is.” Her father, Joe, surprised her as he snapped at all of them. “She’s a trained agent, and you were all warned that she wouldn’t sit back lightly once she became suspicious. For God’s sake, Zach, you helped train her. You should have known she would slip in here.”

That was her thought exactly.

She stared back at Zach, not really surprised at his anger. He hadn’t wanted her to join the Bureau to begin with, and she was aware that it was his influence that had kept her from the assignments she had sought. “How did you convince Abdul to allow you out of the limo?” Khalid pushed his fingers through his hair before propping them on his hips.

“He’s sleeping.” She shrugged, covering for her friend. “I promised him I’d stay put.”

“And he knows better than to believe you,” Khalid barked.

“And you knew better than to think the four of you can slip in here for one of your little covert meetings. And since when does the FBI work so closely with spooks?” she shot back, keeping her voice low rather than yelling as she shot Shayne a hard look. “Give me a break here, Khalid. You and my fathers have been conspiring against me from the beginning. And you.” She turned on Shayne. “You have to be sick. I’ve been following you for days and you didn’t spot me once. Where’s your head? Up your ass?”

The small grin that curled his lips assured her that he wouldn’t forget that remark. Not that she gave a damn. He could have gotten his head blown off if she had been the enemy.

“Touché,” Shayne murmured. “Though, I do recall that you excelled in subversive maneuvers during your training.”

“I’m sure there are terrorists out there who excel in it as well,” she informed him. “You haven’t been watching your back. I could have kicked you more than once, and you never knew.”

“Protecting her has suddenly become work here,” Khalid told her fathers, the anger thick in his voice now. “And I am growing tired of this constant tug-of-war between my lover and the men who like to pretend to be my bosses.”

“I don’t need your protection.” Her chin lifted as she faced them all, not in anger now, but in confidence. She knew her training and her limitations, she knew her job, and if there was a single one of them who thought they could change that, then it was time they learned better.

“And if we hadn’t been there to get Mohammed’s gun out of your face?” Khalid raked his fingers through his hair again as his black eyes glowed with anger. “What then, Marty? What the hell would you have done then?”

“We’ll never know, will we? But, he was only seconds from losing his balls when he had that gun in my neck,” she answered, careful to keep her voice cool. “Which raises the question, does Ian Sinclair know he has a rabid mountain roaming the halls pretending to be a man? Or is our fair Mohammed a member here, too?” She stared back at the men glaring forcefully at her. “Last I heard there was some kind of rule against members striking women. Or is that just women who are sneaking in the doors?” She rubbed her jaw. “Can we get him thrown out for backhanding me, do you think?”

She couldn’t have expected what happened next. The second the words seemed to connect in Khalid’s brain that Mohammed had struck her, his fist flew and landed in his brother’s face. A second later his fingers were gripping the other man’s neck as he threw Abram into the wall. Pure rage bled from his pores as an animalistic growl seemed to tear from his throat.

“I will kill him,” he snarled in Abram’s shocked face.

And Marty had had enough. It was like dealing with a bunch of high school jocks. None of them had the good sense to actually face her with the truth, all they could do was hit each other, beat around the bush, and try to pretend they weren’t attempting to hide things from her.

It pissed her off. No one actually lied to her, but they sure as hell did their best to make certain she stayed in the dark whenever possible.

As the other men rushed to pull Khalid back her teeth snapped together as she turned and left the room. Slamming the door closed behind her she was met by an entire security force rushing up the stairs, headed by the formidable and much too handsome Ian Sinclair.

He came to a dead stop and stared at her in shock, as if the sight of a woman in the testosterone-laden halls of his club was too much to take in, which was far beyond the truth. His wife, Courtney, actually managed to sneak in often when she had lived in what had once been Ian’s private wing of the house.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” she informed him coldly. “If I were you, though, I’d get some cameras in these halls and the shrubbery trimmed from that back doorway. Getting in here was as easy as taking candy from a baby while it sleeps.” She brushed past him before taking the stairs quickly, aware of all the eyes turning, watching her.

Below were more men. All security. The doors were closed securely to the rooms downstairs, but a few of the members watched curiously from their positions leaning against the walls.

There was Cole Andrews, Tally Conover’s husband, Lucian, her rumored cohusband Devril, and several others of the social elite, who seemed unconcerned by the fact that she had seen them. Men she had danced with at balls, whose wives she had gone to school with or sometimes lunched with.

It wasn’t surprising. She had known this crowd stuck together, but this should have been ridiculous.

“Sorry to intrude.” She flashed them all a tight, falsely sweet smile. “See you at the next party.”

With that she strode down the hall and out the double doors that a scowling doorman was holding open.

She had no intentions of returning to the limo. She would have walked home first, but, thankfully, a black Lexus that drew to a stop in the driveway was very familiar to her.

Former FBI agent Mac McCoy. That really shouldn’t have surprised her, though it did. Mac was married and supposedly living on some farm several states away.

He stepped out of the vehicle, his gray eyes meeting hers as the breeze played with his thick black hair.

“Marty?” Incredulity filled his voice, affirming her sudden suspicion that he knew exactly what this club was all about. Of course he did; he was here, and that meant he had to be a member.

“I need a ride.” She moved quickly to the passenger door. “Please, Mac, kinda quick, if you don’t mind. Take me to my parents’ place.”

He slid back into the car as she opened the door, and jumped in. A second later he was speeding away from the front doors as Khalid and Shayne stood framed by the light behind them, their expressions filled with varying degrees of anger, concern, and frustration.

The Lexus sped from the club grounds as silence filled the vehicle. Marty felt the heaviness in her chest as it expanded, filling her, sinking into her muscles and tendons, making the depths of her soul ache.

She was a trained agent, just as she had stated. She had learned not just to look for lies, but to live a lie if she needed to. She had known Khalid and Shayne were hiding something, but she hadn’t really expected her fathers to be involved in it.

“Strange, I can’t remember ever seeing a woman walk out those doors,” Mac commented, as the car turned toward Alexandria and her parents’ home.

There was a note of curiosity in his tone. Mac had been a formidable agent during his time in the FBI. Strange, she had never imagined that he could be a member. There were times he had seemed so straitlaced and aboveboard.

“I’m sure you’ll never see it again,” she reassured him, as she crossed her arms and rubbed her hands up and down them quickly.

She felt chilled to the bone despite the summer heat. Emotion had forced her to flee, but she knew she should have stayed. She wanted to know what the hell was going on, and why Abram Mustafa, a suspected terrorist sympathizer, was meeting secretly with her fathers as well as with Khalid and Shayne.

She had known Khalid was involved with whatever Shayne was up to. She should have realized it went much deeper than she had suspected. She had assumed he was helping Shayne with his operation, but she hadn’t expected her fathers to be in on it as well.

Khalid could claim her. He could fuck her. But he couldn’t sleep through the night with her, and he sure as hell didn’t bother to talk to her. God forbid that he should have to lower himself so far as to explain his actions to her.

“Shayne and Khalid didn’t look happy,” Mac commented a moment later, when she said nothing more.

“That so bothers me.” She shot him an instant glare. He was a man, a member of the club, and therefore most likely in on whatever conspiracy was currently ruling her fathers’ lives.

“I can tell.” He nodded seriously, as though he weren’t being completely facetious.

“You’re a member of the club,” she stated.

“Not me.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice now. “I was meeting friends for drinks.”

“Only members enter.” She glared at him for lying to her.

At that, Mac shook his head. “Or former members. I was truly meeting friends for drinks, Agent Mathews, nothing more. And ended up playing white knight.” He flashed her what she was certain he thought was a charming grin.

Marty clenched her teeth at the humor. Amusement wasn’t high on her list of priorities tonight.

“Let it go, Mac,” she warned him. “I’m not in the mood.”

“A white knight’s job is never done.” He clucked his tongue as he shook his head and glanced back over at her. “Strange, I didn’t imagine Khalid could get himself in so much trouble with you. I think he’s been claiming you for so long that he’s forgotten what it’s like to realize that perhaps you don’t really belong to him.”

Marty turned and stared back at him in surprise and anger.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

For a moment, silence filled the car. Mac took the turn that led to her parents’ home and pulled slowly into the drive. Putting the Lexus in park, he turned to stare at her thoughtfully for long moments.

“You were eighteen,” he finally said. “Khalid let everyone who could possibly be a threat to his future relationship with you know that he considered your heart his own. He was a much darker person then, Marty. A man with a lot of demons. A man who even your fathers were wary of at that time.”

Marty shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Believe what you like. But this one you can take to the bank. Khalid will catch up with you. When he does, he’ll show you exactly why he waited until he couldn’t wait any longer to take you. He’ll show you the demons that fill him. I just hope you’re woman enough to accept them.”

“Woman enough to accept the third he wants in that relationship? How about woman enough to figure out when he’s fucking lying to me?” She sneered. “Do you have any idea just how pompous you sound right now?”

“Woman enough to see beneath the actions, and to accept the truth of the man who just might not realize that he’s given you his heart,” he said softly. “And that, Marty, takes a woman who’s not just strong but also understanding. I wonder if you can be both.”

She couldn’t be both, she thought, as she prepared to get out of the car.

Turning from him, she threw the door open and stalked to the house as the front door opened and her mother stood framed in the doorway.

Her mother was home. Her father must have called her, must have told her what was going on. Virginia looked well rested, but concerned and angry. Her gray eyes locked on Marty as a frown marred her still smooth brow.

Marty wouldn’t discuss this with her. Not yet. But she could hide here until her fathers arrived and she found out exactly what they were up to with Khalid and Shayne.