Christine Feehan - Street Game

“Don’t you dare, Kane.” Jaimie caught the receiver, slammed it back in its cradle.

“I told you, I know Joe.”

“How could you know him, Jaimie, really know him?” Kane demanded. “It’s our job to look out for you.”

“She serves him beer in her bedroom,” Mack muttered helpfully.

“Go make coffee, Mack, and stop harping on the beer in the bedroom.” Jaimie flung herself into one of her deep, comfortable armchairs. “You two have given me a rip-roaring headache.”

Mack was immediately repentant. “We’re only teasing, honey. We aren’t really going to shoot him.” Semi-teasing. They were going to investigate Joe Spagnola so thoroughly they’d know what kind of toothpaste he used in the morning. The phone rang. Before Jaimie could move, Kane snagged it. “Dr. Fielding’s residence.” He sounded curt and inhospitable.

Jaimie rolled her eyes, and slid farther down in the chair. Why did she think she had missed them? They were totally impossible. She raked a hand through her thick mass of tangled curls. Even her hair had gone wild and primitive with them around. They thought they were a combination comedy and protection team.

“Your friend Joe,” Kane announced, handing her the receiver, his eyes eagle sharp and slightly condemning.

The smile fading from Kane’s eyes left Jaimie with a knot in the pit of her stomach. She had remembered all the good things about having Kane and Mack watching out for her and forgotten about this part. She never knew exactly how they were going to react to any given situation, and when it involved a man, they never reacted very well.

She glanced at Mack, who stood by the coffeepot. His hands stilled in midair, his head coming up alertly. His black eyes went ice-cold, a graveyard reflected there. His rugged features went completely expressionless, perfectly still, as if carved from stone.

Great. She’d seen that expression before. Mack wasn’t taking this well. She forced a smile into her voice and greeted Joe.

Kane winced at the sweetness in Jaimie’s voice and glanced at Mack. The last remnants of his humor drained away. He had known Mack McKinley every year of his life. They had done it all together, watching each other’s backs along the way. Mack was the coolest, most easygoing, ice-cold bastard Kane had ever met. Unless Jaimie Fielding was involved. From the first moment Mack had laid eyes on the forlorn little girl, he had been crazy about her. She’d been so intelligent and courageous and Mack had always admired her. Mack was also the most dangerous, lethal human being Kane knew. And no one brought out that side of Mack like Jaimie did.

Jaimie seemed oblivious, laughing into the phone, reassuring Joe she was just fine, that her family joked around a lot. Kane watched Mack, wishing he could read that implacable mask. Mack never once took his eyes from Jaimie’s face, obviously assessing her tone, her expression and body language. There was no mistaking that Jaimie had affection for Joe. There was even a flirty note in her voice. Kane sighed. He had known Mack was in love with Jaimie long before Mack had even realized where his feelings for the girl were heading. They had both loved her for years, but Mack with a fierce, unswerving possessiveness he didn’t seem to realize was unnatural. In those days, when they were kids, Mack thought he just wanted to protect her. As she’d gotten older, Mack refused to acknowledge what he felt for her, calling it “need,” not “love.” Kane suspected Whitney had made that need for her much stronger. Mack didn’t look at other women, yet he was stubborn when it came to Jaimie. He was used to her unswerving devotion and when she’d left, he’d been blindsided. Kane had tried to warn him, but even Kane hadn’t expected her to really leave.

Mack had always made their decisions, dictated their moves. Falling in love with her hadn’t helped matters, especially when he couldn’t acknowledge the emotion to himself, let alone to Jaimie. His feelings for her were too intense, too uncontrollable. He didn’t handle her very well. Right now his face was as dark as thunder and his eyes had become a turbulent storm.

Kane let out his breath. Hang up the phone, Jaimie, Kane entreated silently, giving her a little push. Whitney had made the men more aggressive and certainly more dangerous when it came to their women. He had wanted to ensure there was a strong pairing, but as Kane had found out, he didn’t always give the woman a choice in the matter.

Jaimie had always loved Mack, but Kane didn’t know if she still did, or if the chemistry between them was genuine or manipulated. And how long could something like that last?

Jaimie’s gaze met his and she hung up the phone and flashed a heart-stopping grin. “He thought maybe you two were desperate criminals holding me hostage. See, I told you he was sweet.”

Mack dumped the coffee into the filter, a controlled violence in his movements. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Yeah. Real sweet,” he muttered.

His black gaze leapt to Kane’s, a clear order in that look. Joe Spagnola was going to be so thoroughly checked out, they would know when he sneezed last. Kane’s nod of agreement was nearly imperceptible, but there was satisfaction in the set of Mack’s mouth when he poured the water into the pot.

“So, did you say there was only one bathroom in this place?” Kane took matters into his own hands to defuse the situation. He snatched up clean clothes and began edging toward the only walled-in room on the floor.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Mack took the bait, hurrying to cut him off. “The shower’s mine. You always fall asleep.”

“Halt.” Jaimie’s clear command stopped both of them in their tracks. Looking very haughty, she took a stack of fluffy towels from the linen closet and marched purposefully across the room. “I can’t believe your manners. This is my house.”

“Hey,” Kane protested. “We’re honored guests.”

“Who told you that lie?” Jaimie asked sweetly. “I’m a lady, in case you hadn’t noticed, and ladies go first.”

“I’ll bet some woman made up that law,” Kane groused.

“Haven’t you ever heard of women’s lib?” Mack asked.

Jaimie stuck her head around the door with a butter-melting-in-her-mouth kind of smile. “Of course I have. You two can cook.”

The two men stared at each other. Mack flexed his muscles. Kane cracked his knuckles. They grinned at each other. “So, what does she have in the refrigerator?”

Mack asked.

“Well,” Kane drawled, “we know she has beer.”

Jaimie shook her head as she listened to their combined male laughter. She was smiling again for no apparent reason. Her men were crazy and having them back was so familiar and comforting when she could hear them from a distance. She relaxed, letting the tension drain from her. All the rest of it would come with time, but for now, these few moments, she was going to savor being with them. She stepped into the shower with its intricately tiled encased space. Both men looked good, both of them physically fit as always. Better than always. Kane had startling coloring with his blond hair, green eyes, and black lashes, brows, and bluish jaw. Even from a sisterly standpoint, Kane was good-looking. There were signs of strain on his face-lines that hadn’t been there before. And shadows in his eyes. He smiled, but it wasn’t all the way, never quite reaching his eyes. Jaimie allowed the hot water to run down her face, over her full breasts, soaking the aches from her muscles. Mack. Just looking at him could make her weak. She’d loved him for as long as she could remember. It had taken a great deal of strength to pull away from him, to realize he wasn’t compatible with her. She didn’t have his adventurous spirit. For a long time she felt inferior because of it, but somewhere along the way, she’d come to learn that people were different. She wasn’t wrong or inferior because she had a different makeup.