First, she ordered her dogs out with a barked “schnell.” Then Dez laid Bukowski’s gun on the side table and calmly walked into the room. She walked up to the four men in her kitchen.
Mace had her gun, a sweet little .38, shoved up against Vinny’s neck. Vinny had his Glock .45 against Mace’s temple. Jimmy and Sal had their semiautomatics—no way legal in this state—trained on Mace’s back. A Mexican standoff, and she could only hope to keep these four idiots from killing each other.
First, she focused on Jimmy and Sal. “I need you two to stand down.” When they ignored her, “I need you two to stand down…now.”
Their eyes shifted to her and, so slowly she thought they were completely ignoring her, lowered their weapons. She wasn’t out of it yet. Vinny was one of the best Marines she knew. Mace a government-trained killer.
She moved until she stood right next to them, her feet nearly touching both men. Slowly she crouched beside them and carefully placed her hands over each man’s, pulling their weapons away and up. Mace and Vinny never looked away from each other. They finally released their hold on their weapons, and Dez quickly stepped away. After one glare, both Sal and Jimmy handed over their guns as well. They knew better than to fight her when she got like this.
They also knew she had no qualms about putting all their asses in prison for illegal weapons possession and forced entry.
She walked back toward the table where she placed Bukowski’s gun and dropped the weapons there. She fought to control the shaking of her body. The thought of anything happening to her best friends or to Mace almost too much to bear.
She faced the man she held responsible for this bullshit. “Get in the living room,” she spit out between gritting teeth as she handed him back his gun. “Now!”
Mace slowly stood, the dark-haired man following. They heard Dez leave the room with her partner, but they still hadn’t looked away from each other.
Mace glanced over the men. The blond one sported a tattoo on his inside wrist. The Eagle, Globe, and Anchor. Marines.
“So…you guys interested in a job?”
Dez dragged Bukowski into the living room. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”
“You’re sleeping with some scumbag whose sister you’re investigating for murder and you have the nerve to ask me that?”
“I’m not investigating her anymore. I’m off the case. As of now.” Why should she pursue the case? She already knew the answers. “And I can’t believe you dragged the guys into this either.”
“They were as worried as I was.”
“You could have gotten them killed. In my house! The man’s a goddamn SEAL. He eats entire tactical units for fuckin’ breakfast!”
Bukowski shook his big, shaggy head. He often reminded her of one of her dogs. “I thought you were smarter than this, Dez.”
“Smarter than what? What is your problem with him?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.” She sighed. Here came the big brother syndrome right on schedule. “No. Really. A guy like Llewellyn, all he’s going to do is use you.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“And you haven’t seen him in more than twenty fuckin’ years, but you went ahead and hopped right into bed with him.”
“I don’t hop.”
“Dez, I don’t wanna be cruel. But come on. A guy like that with somebody like you?”
She wasn’t as hurt as she probably should have been. She knew exactly where she stood with Bukowski and, in his own brutish way, he wanted to protect her. Still, that seemed a little harsher than necessary. And she was about to tell him where he could stick that particular comment when the swinging door to her kitchen exploded open, the wood banging off the wall and coming off its hinges.
Mace stormed into the living room, amazingly pissed off in just his jeans. It didn’t help his fly was only halfway zipped up, reminding her of what Bukowski forced her to miss out on. She could still taste Mace in her mouth.
Dez stepped aside as Mace strode angrily across the room. Usually the man didn’t let anything get to him. Not with that military-trained feline personality. Yet here he was, protectively pushing Dez behind him as he faced off against Bukowski.
Great. Another male protecting her. How did she keep getting into these situations?
“If you’ve got something to say, why don’t you say it to me?”
Dez glanced behind her. No sign of the other three. They must have left once they realized she was fine. They knew better than to stick around for her wrath. They’d seen the damage she could do when that MacDermot temper made its rare entrance.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Bukowski barked angrily.
“Well, ya are now!”
Mace towered a good six inches over Bukowski, but both men refused to back off. Idiots. God save her from protective men.
She sighed. “Would you two just—”
“Shut up, Dez!” They both said it at the same time, never once taking their eyes off each other. It took all her strength not to grab the gun she kept hidden under her couch cushions and shoot both of them in the head.
Instead, Dez turned on her heel and headed back upstairs, her two dogs trailing faithfully behind. At least there were some males in her life that obeyed her. “When you two are done pissin’ around me, feel free to let yourselves the fuck outta my house!”
Mace watched that cute ass walk away from him and he didn’t like it one bit. Well, he liked the view. A lot. But he didn’t mean to push her away. Not when all his future plans involved her.
“I swear to God, you hurt her—”
“Shut up. And get the fuck out.”
“She told both of us to leave.”
Mace ignored him, heading for the stairs. Bukowski stopped him with a hand on his arm. Mace looked at it, then at the man it belonged to. At least, the man it belonged to for the moment.
“Get your hand off me or lose that arm.”
He didn’t know what the little man saw, but his startled expression would be funnier if Mace wasn’t already so pissed.
“Jesus Christ.” What is this idiot’s name again? Bukowski? “You do care about her. I can see it on your face.”
Sometimes full-humans are as dumb as dogs.
“That’s brilliant deductive reasoning there, Sherlock. I’m surprised you don’t run the whole fuckin’ precinct. Now leave.” With that, Mace followed Dez up the stairs.
Chapter Seven
Dez snuggled under the covers, her face buried in her pillow. She should have remembered her Grandmother Fiona’s words to her when she turned ten. “Honey, all men are idiots.” As always, the older generation called it.
She didn’t know Mace was in the room until he laid his long body out on top of hers. A heavy, muscle-laden man, his weight still felt good against her.
“Are you and Bukowski meeting at dawn for a duel with pistols? Or you going the Brooklyn way and using a couple of two-by-fours?”
He nuzzled the back of her head, licked her neck. His tongue dry and rough. Well that’s damn distracting.
“Are you even listening to me?” she demanded as she turned over, pushing his big body off her. With a sigh, he rolled to his side and watched her. She ignored his obvious annoyance, wanting to get a few things straight before he started distracting her with that big dick of his.