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Noble Romance Publishing, LLC The Men of Sanctuary - Book One: A Strength of Arms ISBN 978-1-60592-316-1 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Copyright 2011 Danica St. Como Cover Art by Fiona Jayde Edited by Mary Harris This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing, LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. Blurb Special Agent Lorelei Randall is talented enough for the CIA to steal her away from the FBI, and recruit her into its National Clandestine Service program. When a covert mission goes wrong—very wrong—Lorelei awakens in the hands of a retired Marine scout-sniper team, with no memory of how she came to be at Sanctuary, a training camp hidden in the wilds of western omigod Maine. The cause of the car crash that nearly took her life takes second place to Lorelei's growing attraction to her rescuers—dark, brooding Adam Stone, former sniper, and his handsome, blond partner, former scout-spotter, Lucian "Radar" Duquesne. Lorelei's devotion to duty is hampered by fast-rising erotic desires—but toward which man? Unable to choose, she spirals out of control and into their arms—two men who swapped lovers before, but never shared the same woman. Two men not only determined to fulfill her fantasies, but also determined to deal with the would-be assassin who already tried to take her out. Now, if she only had all of her memories back . . . .

Prologue Baby, this ain't the Beltway. NCS Special Agent Lorelei "All-work-no-play" Randall might have enjoyed the lush green woodlands of western Maine if she didn't have a critical timeline and a tight schedule, and if she could keep her eyes open. Gravel-topavement-to-dirt-to-gravel-to-paved dusty-shouldered seasonal roads were not features with which she was familiar. D.C. driving encompassed the well-known competitive events of gridlocks and bumper cars—that, she understood. Out here in the boondocks, Bambi and family browsed in open meadows. Shaggy brown, hugely antlered, living, breathing billboards for Moosehead Pale Ale grazed in ponds, soggy vegetation hanging from their jaws. Flocks of genuine wild turkeys, images previously seen on bourbon ads, forced her to stop as they crossed the road with a sense of entitlement. All critters comfortable on their own turf. Since crossing upstate New York, through Vermont, then New Hampshire, the Appalachian mountains had been undeniably fabulous, awe inspiring, soul renewing. Maybe return for a for-real vacation, one of these days. I’ve probably accrued nine hundred personal days that I've never taken. Maybe Russell—never mind, I wouldn't waste the wonders of primal Mother Nature on that asshole. She refused further contemplation of the recently dumped; the fresh air and soothing scenery imparted a calmness, a serenity, to Lorelei's soul. At times, the overlapping tree branches formed tunnels over the narrow road, giving the countryside a surreal quality. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Little Red Riding Hood skipped across the road, her basket brimming with goodies for dear ol' Grandma. For now, even belting out a rousing rendition of "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights" in collaboration—but not in tune—with Meatloaf, wasn't keeping her awake. The orange mirrored disco ball rising in the East blinded her through breaks in the heavy canopy and even her Ray-Bans weren't helping. Okay, the next wide spot in the road and I'm pulling over for a nap until the sun isn't frying my eyeballs. After shutting down the music, she fussed with her seatbelt again. Since she'd signed the Chevy Tahoe out of the

motor pool and climbed in, the edge of the belt had been rubbing against her collarbone. Time when I get back to D.C. to have the mechanics look at this stupid thing. As she passed between a set of steel guard rails—intended to protect travelers from the deeply gouged ravine below—the sharp report of a rifle, then a second shot, annihilated the serenity and echoed through the cool, thick morning air. "What the—?" The Tahoe pulled hard left, then lurched right—the bucking vehicle refused to submit to her handling. Trees flashed by as the SUV fought her, sliding, plowing through heavy, dead-leaf ground cover. She sucked in her breath to scream as boulders and trees converged—then, hasta la vista, baby. Chapter One

Adam Stone pressed the throttle lever with his calloused thumb. The all-terrainvehicle rocketed along the rough two-track trail, through the trees and up the rocky slope. Reaching a clearing, he parked and shut down the engine. Lucian Duquesne pulled up alongside, took off his goggles, and continued the morning's debate. "It's not like we need to wire the whole camp. Let's say, a thousand feet out from the buildings. Cut me some slack here, hoss. With our clientele, we should increase the efficiency of our perimeter alarms. Civilians, hikers, misdirected vacationers, poachers, don't need to be crossing the line of demarcation into our range of fire." A loud crack reverberated under the heavy canopy of tall trees, followed by a second, forestalling Adam's response. Gunshots. Then a third sound, dull and metallic, like the slamming of a heavy door. Lucian arched an eyebrow at Adam. His expression radiated cocky vindication. He reached for the rifle stowed in the weapon carrier on the rear deck of his fourwheeler, and rested on his lap. "Shithead poachers." Adam reached for his own rifle. He jacked cartridges into the chamber, aimed toward a slope away from the direction of the sounds, and fired two quick rounds.

"People here, private property!" His strong voice echoed after the rifle shots. He cranked over the ATV, headed toward the original shots. Lucian brought up the rear. The men reached the road and were immediately enveloped in the cloud of dust obscuring an eastbound vehicle. Adam gave chase. As the gritty powder settled, Lucian spotted two long black patches of tread marks. The acrid odor of vulcanized rubber lingered in the air. Adam returned. "Someone was in a damn hurry." Lucian frowned, but not at Adam's curt remark. "Yo, hoss, tracks at eleven o'clock." Both men dismounted and carried their rifles. Experienced trackers, they didn't disturb the terrain more than necessary. The trail of churned earth led them to the edge of the clearing. Before the ground broke and dropped into the ravine, their way was blocked—the forward motion of a dark blue four-door SUV had been abruptly halted by a rhino-sized boulder and a giant tree. As they approached the wreck, Lucian took photos of the scene before either man touched anything. Then he hurried to the driver's door. "Driver still in place, window is pebbled from the inside, looks like blood. Door is jammed. Try the other side." Adam checked out the front passenger door. "Not gonna happen. Truck's wedged tight. See if the back door opens. If not, we'll go through the tailgate." The driver's side passenger door creaked and complained loudly, but Lucian managed to force it open by bracing a leg against the side of the truck and yanking. The car alarm sounded. From the back seat, he stretched past the driver to switch off the ignition, silencing the alarm. The driver hung forward, suspended by her seat belt. "Female, unconscious, has a pulse. That's all I can tell from here." Adam manhandled the opposite door wide enough to maneuver into the truck's back seat with Lucian. He hung over the passenger seat, flipped a lever, then jerked the seat back into full recline mode. "I'll cut the belt, you support her, I'll lay both seats down. We'll slide her backward onto the cargo deck."

Lucian held his finger up. "Wait two seconds. Let me see how fast MacBride can get an EMT unit here." He stepped outside the Tahoe and punched numbers into his satellite phone. He leaned back in. "No good. Some big-deal accident at the lake. All available personnel are at the site." "Then it's us or nothing. Can't wait. Let's do it." Lucian stripped to the waist, laid his holstered Colt .45 model 1911 semi-auto on the cargo deck next to his rifle, and spread out his waterproof canvas hunting jacket. In a few minutes, they had the woman lying flat in the cargo area, the coat under her. Lucian folded his T-shirt and tucked it under her head, then covered her with his flannel shirt. "I'll deal with Jane Doe. Bring the Suburban and let's get her to the lodge." Adam secured his own weapon and mounted up, taking the faster route by road back to their camp. "All righty then, let's see what we can see." Lucian crawled next to the victim. Her pulse was slow but steady. The laceration on her left temple still oozed. It didn't look deep, the edges already crusted and bruised. He spread the collar of her silky brown blouse open and catalogued the abrasions on her left jaw and neck. Seat belt must not have been snug. More bruising around her throat. Maybe a heavy necklace? A scarf? Lifting blood-matted blonde hair from the woman's face, Lucian took more photos in the hope of identifying the victim. "Bet you're pretty when you're not all banged up." He did a quick recon of the SUV. He grabbed the pen and pad he always carried in the quad for what he referred to as his 'scathingly brilliant' moments, then used his handkerchief as he checked so he wouldn't leave fingerprints. Out of habit, he talked to himself while he worked. "Airbag deployed. Driver's side window glass pebbled, blood on the glass, which lines up with the scalp injury. Hmm, that's odd. No registration or insurance documents over the visors or in the glove box. No purse or luggage. Empty coffee container and breakfast sandwich wrapper on the floor." He took photos of everything he felt might be pertinent, looked around again, made final notes. "What woman wouldn't have a handbag stuffed with all kinds of shit?" Lucian checked her breathing again, which remained unimpeded. He crawled out of the cargo space,

walked a distance from the Tahoe, and snapped more photos of the scene from all angles. With nothing else to investigate, Lucian slid back into his shoulder holster and secured it, then pulled on his hunter-orange vest. He sat on the Tahoe's open tailgate to watch the victim—and kept both eyes peeled for the possible shooter. "Here I am, displaying this season's most stylish hunting ensemble, and you're missing it," he told the unconscious woman. "Some first date." ***** Adam backed the Suburban up to the rear of the Tahoe. He dropped the tailgate and pulled a folded canvas first aid litter from the back of the truck. "She awake?" "Not yet." "I tried MacBride again on the landline. Dispatcher put me through. Everyone is still out of the office. No ETA for assistance." The men laid the blanket-covered litter next to the woman. They hoisted the edges of Lucian's jacket, and carefully slid her onto the litter. Lucian snugged the blanket around her, then secured the straps. "There ya go, Burrito Baby." He nodded to Adam. "Okay hoss, let's do this." Jane Doe remained totally unaware of the heroic efforts of her personal pair of Paladins. ***** During all the years of their youth, during their long years as an efficient Marine scout-sniper team, Adam and Lucian had trusted each other without hesitation. Sniper and spotter, their lives depended upon that partnership. They rarely argued—but they were arguing now. They'd reached the lodge and had carried their charge into the great room. "I think she should be in bed, not on a sofa." Fists on hips, Lucian felt exasperated. "I called Catamount dispatch again. There's a whopper of a boating accident on the other side of the lake. Multiple casualties. All available units responded.

Cops and paramedics won't be available for who knows how long. We should make her comfortable. She'll probably wake up any time now." "Fine." Adam scooped the woman off the leather sofa and headed up the stairs to the line of bedrooms set against the outer side of the second floor balcony. Lucian followed his partner to the far end of the gallery. "Why your room?" "Stop yapping like a Chihuahua. Do you want the lady comfy, or are you gonna keep houndin' me to death? My bed is the biggest. More room to maneuver." Adam responded to Lucian's lifted eyebrow. "For first aid and possible medical treatment, horn-dog." He laid the woman on his California King bed. "Might be evidence on her clothing. Good test for the new fingerprint scanner—send the photos and prints to Garrett. I'll grab something for her to wear, get her out of those bloody clothes." "Oh golly gee," Lucian razzed, "why didn't I think of all that good NCIS stuff? You are so definitely my hero." Adam threw a hiking boot, barely missing his buddy's head. "Kiss my ass." He rummaged in his wardrobe, then returned to the bedside holding a dark blue nightshirt with The Few, The Proud, The Marines emblazoned in bright yellow script under the Marine Corps logo. The garment appeared new, with crisp creases at the folds. Lucian settled at the edge of the bed. "Ooh, sexy. Never saw you wear that." "Never did. Never will. Rachel." "Ahh." Rachel, the youngest of Lucian's four sisters, the fashionista of the pack. She persisted in her efforts to update what she referred to as Adam's caveman wardrobe. He tossed the nightshirt at Lucian. "Need help?" "Nah, I got it." Adam grunted, and hit the bathroom to wash up. Lucian moved the woman as little as possible to prevent further injury, which made his task difficult. He hadn't made any headway by the time Adam returned. "Hoss, help me get her out of these and into that."

The men were surprisingly awkward at their task as they tried not to notice—or touch—the sexy body beneath their hands. They removed the woman's bloodstained blouse and matching brown-with-orange-poppies skirt, finally her satiny brown bra. They left her wearing the matching panties, which did not appear to be bloody or damaged. Lucian carefully folded the garments and placed them in a clean laundry bag. He wrapped her sparkly summer sandals in plastic and added them to the bag. Adam straightened up. "What's with the blotches on her neck?" Lucian took a few more photos of the bruises, which had darkened. "No idea. I thought maybe some sort of clunky necklace or a scarf, but I didn't find anything. MacBride's boys will do a better search. Stuff might have fallen on the front floor, under the seats." He stood back from the bed. "She sure is pretty. I wonder if she'll marry me out of gratitude. My mama, the aunts, my sisters—they would all love it." Adam grunted and shook his head. "No problem, Man of Steel, Lord of Delusion." Lucian flipped his buddy the bird. After pulling a lightweight quilt over their houseguest, Lucian dragged a chair next to the bed. "Luce, she's not going anywhere." "Yeah, I know. But she's concussed, at the very least. Someone should be here, in case. She's adorable. Can we keep her?" Adam shook his head. "She's not a puppy. Look, I'm hungry. I'll grab something, then take my turn babysitting." As Adam clomped down the stairs, Lucian heard a small weak whimper. He checked their patient. She'd gone paler, and the pulse in her neck fluttered rapidly. He pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. Her skin felt chilled. He could feel her trembling. "Damn it hoss, she's going into shock, get your ass back up here, now!" Adam took two stairs at a time. "Blankets?"

"I'll get them. She's shivering like crazy. Body heat works best. Lay next to her, close." ***** Adam knew enough not to waste time when Lucian kicked into "do it now" mode. He untied his boots, kicked them off, stripped down to his jeans, then crawled into bed. His weight rocked the woman slightly, as he slid his arm under her and cradled her against his chest. Adam settled in as Lucian added a couple of heavy blankets over the comforter, stripped down to his boxers and crawled under the layers. He snuggled up to the woman's back. Her whimper upgraded to a moan. Her arm traveled up and across Adam, brushing his crotch—commando under his jeans—before it settled across his torso. To complicate his life further, her leg slid over him. The outline of her sex pressed against his leg—the thin fabric of her panties and nightshirt didn't do anything to alleviate the situation. Adam sucked in his breath, but remained still. That is, most of his body remained still. His cock—having its own agenda—grew firm and interested. He closed his eyes and tried breathing deeply. Feeling the mattress dip again, Adam raised his head and saw Lucian slide his arm over her waist. Her bottom shifted under the quilts and settled snugly against Lucian's groin. "I think it's safe to assume," Lucian whispered, his voice cracking, "that our girl did not suffer any spinal damage." Adam had his own issues, and did not respond. He knew Lucian's thoughts echoed his: It's gonna be a long damn night. Chapter Two

Lorelei opened her gritty eyes with a what the fuck? and a booming headache. It took a moment to untangle herself from an octopus of a blanket, then tug at the

nightshirt bunched around her waist. She read upside down. Marines? Yeah, okay, whatever. Squiggling her butt to the edge of the wide bed, a total spinner of a headache shot a spear of pain through her left temple. The world stabilized after she sat quietly for a moment, and her surroundings came into focus. Keeping her head movements slow and deliberate, she checked out the room. Spacious, nicely decorated in blues, browns, and creams. Everything neat and tidy, almost Spartan. Hmm, a man's room, I'll bet. And how, pray tell, did I get here? Sliding off the high mattress, she stood flat-footed on the area rug until the wobblies passed. Indoor plumbing proved to be the first order of business. The toilet, the whole bathroom, was as clean as the bedroom. Maid service? After she washed her hands, she splashed water on her face. Damn, that stings. She finally took a good look at the woman in the mirror. Holy shit, that's nasty! The reflection wasn't pretty. Streaky blonde hair tangled with dark blood. Multiple lacerations covered her left temple. Toffee-brown eyes were surrounded by white sclera cobwebbed in red. Abrasions discolored the left side of her neck and chin, and splotchy bruises ringed her throat. More dried blood from her head mingled with the cool water, and pale red rivulets dripped down her face and neck. "Well now, aren't you a sight?" The words rasped out. Surprised, she touched her throat. Damn, what's that all about? Lesson learned: speech caused pain. Bruised inside as well as out. What the hell happened to me? She rinsed the red-tinged tracks until the water ran clean, then gingerly patted her face and neck with a hand towel. Yuck, that will need stain-buster. Suddenly, she leaned her thighs against the sink for stability. To avoid panic, she focused on the rules her mother taught her—number one, take charge of the situation; number two, fear cannot win. Since it worked so well against monsters in the closet and beasties under the bed . . . . She closed her eyes and mentally pulled up an inventory. What do we know? I've obviously been bashed around, but I’m alive. Good. Not too badly damaged. Better. I have some sort of cognitive function or I wouldn't bloody well be talking to myself. Better yet. Another thought occurred to her. I

could also be dead and imagining all this. Nah, dead people don't have blasting headaches and scratchy throats. She finger-combed her hair as well as she could, wincing when she touched her damaged temple. Aside from a bar of soap in a tray on the sink, all other toiletries— men's only—were neatly tucked away in the medicine cabinet. Toothbrush and toothpaste, one of each. Hairbrush and comb, also one of each. Razors, disposable. Cologne, aftershave, deodorant, all sporting a jockey's cap and saddle logo. A phrase popped into her head: My men wear English Leather, or they wear nothing at all. Continuing her recon, she tried the bedroom door. It opened freely. So, I'm not a prisoner—at least not that I can see. Someone took the time to move me from wherever I was, clean me up, and care for me while I was unconscious. I need to call in. She glanced back into the bedroom. Where's my stuff? Where is my phone? I need my damn phone. How the hell long have I been out of action? Rooms were arranged along the outer wall of the second floor gallery—she counted seven doors. Wow, check out the digs! The gallery, with a staircase at each end, overlooked a gigantic great room with a humongous fieldstone fireplace against the far wall. Damn, a tribe could roast a wooly mammoth in that sucker. The walls, floors, and ceilings were comprised of various woods in soft golden hues. Nice. Rustic, but not overwhelming. Overhead, marvelous cathedral ceilings supported simple wrought-iron chandeliers and awesome skylights. The great room exuded a totally masculine aura. There were half a dozen sitting areas, each consisting of heavy, brass-studded chairs in various styles, oversized sofas, and heavy planked coffee tables. Each seating arrangement was defined by an Orientalinspired area rug, and each set covered in different color leather: brown, black, olive green, soft blue, cream and burgundy. Smaller colorful oriental carpets lay scattered over the wide planked floor. Someone has good taste. Judging by the light streaming through tall multi-paned windows, Lorelei guessed it could be morning. She didn't know which morning. Boy oh boy, how long was I out of it? How much time did I lose? Leaning on the railing, she regrouped. None of my stuff

is handy, and the only thing I currently own appears to be my panties. Details were sketchy. The last thing she remembered? Fast-food coffee and a breakfast sandwich, then heading east, into the sun. Still wonky, she held on to the banisters and worked her way down several short flights of stairs, each flight separated by a wide landing. An oriental-type carpet runner on the stairs felt soft under her bare feet. She was halfway to the main floor when the odor of cooking bacon tickled her nostrils. Her stomach roiled with hunger, then gurgled. Yeah, Special Agent, let's think about this: who's doing the cooking? She spotted fireplace tools next to the huge hearth, considered her choices, and chose a fire poker that had a nice heft to it. Lorelei toted her weapon and followed her nose. She reached an oh wow kitchen, a spacious area that departed from the honey-gold color of the lodge. Whitewashed beadboard walls and cabinets complemented over-sized stainless steel appliances, reminding her of a professional kitchen. A large dark-haired man had his back to her. Large—as in tall, broad, and muscular. He turned bacon in a skillet. Oh great. I'm Alice in freaking Wonderland, and I've fallen down the rabbit hole. She cleared her throat. "Hullo?" Croak. Shit. The man turned with fork in hand, but not in a threatening manner. No surprise in his eyes, but possibly a hint of interest. "Princess. At last." "Don't call me Princess," came out again as a croak. She grabbed her throat. In a bright blue Hawaiian shirt and faded denim shorts, dark-lashed crystal blue eyes and a serious mustache, he looked like a slightly more weathered version of Thomas Magnum, P.I. "Enjoy your nap?" Hey buddy, don't you see my weapon here? She spoke slowly to keep the frog-voice to a minimum. "Nap? Is that what it was? Where am I?" Oh man, that hurts. Hand back to throat.

"Sanctuary." "Oh dear God, I am dead." "No, not dead." "A church? The underworld? Are you sure I'm not dead?" To be safe, she began to recite under her breath: Bless me, Father, for I have definitely sinned . . . . I wonder if this will work since I'm not Catholic. "Not hardly. Sanctuary Lodge." "Oh shit, I've been kidnapped by a bizarre cult to be one of your nineteen wives." Her voice really crackled as her level of agitation rose. "No. Summer camp." "Okay." Croak. "And where is this amazing camp?" "At the outskirts of Catamount Lake, Maine." "What am I doing at the outskirts of Catamount Lake, Maine? And for the sake of discussion, where the hell is Catamount Lake, Maine?" Croak. The man transferred the bacon to paper towels, and wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. "Western Maine. Boondocks. Middle of nowhere. Don't you remember?" He turned back to the counter, broke eggs into a bowl, poured in cream. "Would I ask if I already knew?" Tired of holding the fireplace poker—and not seeing any immediate danger—she leaned it against the wall. "What time is it? Better yet, what day is it? How did I get here?" Croak, croak. He glanced at his watch. "Tuesday. 9:02 Zulu. Car wreck. We brought you here. You've been unconscious since yesterday morning. The sheriff will get here when he can. Anything else?" He poured her glass of orange juice, handed it over. "Drink, it might help." Zulu time? Hmm, military. Taking a careful swallow, she sputtered a bit, then drank again. "Thanks." That wasn't so painful. She looked around as she put the glass on the spotless counter. Did he have a cat? "We?" At precisely that moment, she heard someone behind her. Feeling a touch on her shoulder, she twisted like a ferret, grabbed the offending hand and flipped whomever it

belonged to face-first onto the floor. She straddled the man's body, forcing his left arm behind his back. Her right hand flew to her side, grabbed nothing but air. The dark-haired man shot out a big booming laugh. In silky Southern tones, the man beneath her said, "Ma'am, in other circumstances, this might be considered foreplay." He lifted his head, strands of long, sun-streaked locks pulling loose from their leather band. "Who the fuck are you?" she tried to growl. Croak, croak, croak. Catching the inflection amidst the croaking words, the blond guy spoke. "Must be a Yankee. We rescued you, ma'am." He let his body relax, didn't struggle. "Is this your warped way of sayin' thanks, y'all?" The woman glanced at the dark guy, who nodded. "Yeah. We're the rescue team." "I'm so sorry!" Croak. Cough. "Did I hurt you?" "His redneck pride, no doubt." Not missing a beat, the big man poured the whisked eggs into a pan, tossed in a handful of diced vegetables. All of a sudden she lurched forward, lost her grip on the guy's wrist. "Omigod, my freakin' head!" She rose, stumbled backward against the wall. She pressed her right hand to her head, left hand to her stomach. "Shit." The longhaired man rolled to his knees. "Are you gonna throw me again if I get up? If you do, are you gonna get pissed off if I enjoy it?" From his low vantage point, he checked out the fireplace poker that she'd leaned against the wall. "Hostess gift? You shouldn't have. Really." Grabbing a kitchen chair, he slid it next to her. "You're concussed. Sit." She sat, tried another sip of juice. "Sorry, when I felt your touch—" The tall man smirked at his friend. "That could explain your lack of second dates, buddy." He slid an omelet onto a plate, added bacon, set the plate on the counter in front of Lorelei. "Women aren't comfortable with you unless you're thrown down and hog-tied."

The blond man got to his feet. He re-tied his hair into a neat ponytail. He ran a hand over his trimmed mustache and neat goatee, stroked his chin as he observed their guest. "So, who are you guys, like Tweedledee and Tweedledum?" Rasp. Better, not so frog-like. "Adam Stone, cooking your breakfast that's getting cold. And our intrepid warrior, rising from the ashes of humiliation, is Radar." "Radar, really?" The blond responded. "No, not Radar really. Lucian Duquesne really." "Nice name, it's different. I like it. Why Radar?" Adam answered before Lucian could. "You'll find out soon enough." Both men stared at their houseguest long enough for her to become uncomfortable. "What?" "Your name?" prompted Adam. She stared at him, her brow furrowed. Ah, screw it. I didn't even concoct a cover story. I must really have bonked my head. How much do I let these guys know? "Cat got your tongue?" Lucian massaged his shoulder. "I don't know about her tongue, but she sure can twist her body like a damned cat." Both men continued to stare. She needed to say something. "Lorelei. Lorelei Randall." Adam motioned. "Eat, Lorelei Randall. Hot food, hot—cold food, cold. Don't waste my good cooking." He continued preparing breakfast. Lucian poured orange juice for everyone. He refreshed Lorelei's glass, then slid a bowl of sliced honeydew melon toward her. "Here, this might sooth your throat. Where do you call home?" She gave them another blank look, then sucked on a piece of melon while she considered how to answer. Ooh, that does feel good. Mmm.

Adam turned to her and spoke slowly. "Do . . . you . . . know . . . where . . . you . . . live?" She paused, a second chunk of melon poised at her mouth. "D.C." "I suppose a job description, phone number, or next of kin would be out of the question." Adam returned to the stove. I need a safe response here. "I'm awake, so it's not necessary to notify my next of kin. Now we're good, right? I can finish breakfast?" Her throat wasn’t as scratchy or croaky now. After serving Lucian, Adam fixed a plate of food and settled across from Lorelei. Adam Stone made her feel very uncomfortable. His expression was unreadable. I feel like lamb-chop-on-the-hoof, waiting for the big hungry lion to pounce. It felt odd—usually she made other people nervous. She laid her fork down, lined it up precisely with her placemat and napkin. "Okay, so what's the deal? Why am I here? Where the hell are my clothes? Where's my stuff? I’m sure I must have stuff if I was driving somewhere." She plunked her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hand. I need to deflect these two. "I have a killer of a headache." And that's not even a lie. ***** Inexplicably, Lucian's heart went out to their foundling, the strange woman swamped in Adam's Marine nightshirt. He'd reacted strongly to her from the first. He fought a bizarre urge to rush over, hug her, wrap his arms around her, tell her that she was safe—even though he had to admit that she didn't actually appear to be a weak damsel in distress. Still, he would keep her safe. They would keep her safe. From whatever. She surely is a mystery, as my Daddy would say, and Lucian surely wanted to plumb the depths of that mystery. He stretched out his hand to touch Lorelei, comfort her—until her warning glare stopped him. "Ma'am, need a couple of aspirin?" Duquesne, that was pitiful. He knew Adam would presume nothing. Adam was the sniper, the shooter—he took situations at face value, not speculation. There were too many unknowns, too

many variables. Adam will assume she's not telling the truth. Until they learned what the game was, Adam would keep his own counsel. Lucian knew his own strengths. I'm the spotter, the planner, the strategist—I get to play the good cop. Adam will wait.

*****

The trio retired to the great room with coffee in hand. Actually, two coffees and a carafe of orange juice. Lorelei guzzled orange juice and seltzer over crushed ice as if she'd crashed in the desert. As a bonus, her throat felt better. "Probably a reaction to being unconscious for so long," Lucian said. "Your body will rehydrate soon enough." He plunked down in a chair, hanging a long leg over the arm like a teenager. Lorelei couldn't help but smile. Damn, he is easy on the eyes. Adam sat across from them. His stare made her edgy again, not a feeling to which she would admit. "I called the sheriff's department again—" Loud beeps from the second floor interrupted Lucian. "Incoming." Adam headed for the stairs, vaulted up two steps at a time. Lorelei schooled her face into impassivity, but Lucian must have read her anyway. "Not to worry. We're finding out who you are." "How? Why? Who are you guys?" "The who and how is easy. United States Marines at your service, ma'am, scoutsniper team, retired. Currently offering training platforms to law enforcement and military personnel. All on the up and up. The why is so we can notify whoever needs to be notified, and so you won't worry." He touched her hand—she pulled back. "It will be okay, really."

Fuck, what is the astronomical probability that I would land here? I don't need a pair of Marines sticking their noses into my business. I need a safe phone and a couple of minutes’ privacy. Damn. Bellisario will not bloody well believe this. Adam emerged from a room on the second floor, braced his brawny arms on the railing, and peered down from his vantage point like a raptor. "Luce, you're gonna love this." "What?" "Guess who Princess is." "I already know who I am. Stop calling me Princess." "Meet Lorelei Anne Randall. As in CIA Special Agent Lorelei Anne Randall. Currently assigned to the Washington, D.C. office." Lorelei covered her eyes with a hand. Oh shit, this is so not good! "Whoa, Nellie. Hoss, are you shittin' me? CIA?" "All true, according to Garrett. Not even the plain, garden variety CIA—she's NCS." Lucian perked up even more. "NCS?" Oh hell, all the cats are out of the bag now! Time to regroup and do damage control. "Yes, I'm stationed in D.C. I told you that. I took a bit of a holiday, do you mind?" Adam shook his head. "No, we don't mind. National Clandestine Service. Your onboard GPS went offline when you crossed into Maine. Present whereabouts unknown. Tag on the SUV is not yours; it's CIA motor pool. Unusual, if you're on vacation. For the sake of accuracy, by the way, from D.C. is not the same as work in D.C." Oh boy, these boys are trouble. Lucian rose from his seat. "Wait until MacBride gets his teeth into this one. Damn." He folded sinewy arms across flat-muscled chest. "CIA training, and NCS to boot. That would explain how she flipped me. Her training took over." "She flipped you, dumb shit, because you're a Marine who wasn't paying attention."

"Excuse me, hello, the agent is in the room." Lorelei leaned back against the sofa cushions, shook her head, and sighed. How did I lose control of this situation so quickly? Where are they getting their intel? Someone on the inside? This is ramping up to complicated at warp speed. "We scanned your fingerprints, ran them." Adam's mustache twitched. "We backed it up with facial recognition software." "My prints. My photos. Facial recognition. You did all that?" My data should not be accessible from outside the Bureau, unless requested directly by a law enforcement agency with more than adequate clearance. Shit, these guys are trouble. What—or who—is their connection? Lucian chimed in. "For your own benefit, ma'am, in case you had family that needed to be notified, or critical medical history. Y'know, helpful stuff." "I know you guys are doing the Good Samaritan thing, but this sounds more like an invasion of privacy, if you ask me." Her eyes followed Adam as he strolled down the stairs. He parked on the sofa, stretched one arm over the back of the sofa, settled himself so his thighs were widely spread. Oh yeah, definitely the alpha male, leader of the pride. Randall, your goose is so cooked. "Ma'am, you landed on our doorstep, unconscious, bruised, bloody. No purse, no ID, no cell phone, no luggage. Nothing, zip, nada. You crashed along a seasonal road, with a possible unfriendly in the area. We needed some sort of identification, a.s.a.p." "Seasonal road?" Be careful here, let them take the lead. "How the hell did I get there?" What unfriendly? Shit, what else do these guys know about the wreck? "We're checking," Lucian said. "We adapt, modify, adjust. That's what Marines are trained to do. No LEO available at the moment, so you have us." Lorelei forced herself to relax, placed her empty glass on the coffee table, and tried not to fuss with her napkin while she considered a suitable response. Lucian chatted it up. "Closest law enforcement officer is Sheriff Brian MacBride. Good guy, former Navy SEAL, lots of smarts and common sense. Huge areas to cover, not enough manpower. The local LEOs do what they can. MacBride will get here. Meanwhile, he knows you're safe with us."

Lorelei raised an eyebrow. "I see. So, I haven't conveniently landed in the laps of a pair of axe-murderers?" Oh goody, even the local law knows I'm here. Rats. "Nah." Lucian grinned. "We save that for ski season tourists who annoy us." "Glad to hear it." She attempted a smile in return. Let's be friendly to the natives. "So, who is this clever fella who tattled on me?" And how did he infiltrate classified data? Adam cut Lucian off before he could get wound up. "Close friend. Security and surveillance. Top shelf, good man." Lorelei considered that for a moment. "Won't your LEO, that MacBride person, be offended if he thinks you interfered with his investigation? Jumped the gun? Stole his thunder? Probably not someone you should alienate." Adam shot her a quick look. "We'd like to keep what we suspect close to the vest—at least for the moment. Can you deal with that, Princess?" "Why should I agree to that? And stop calling me Princess." "Because someone else was at the crash site, ma’am, either with you or after you, someone who bailed out in a goddamned hurry when he heard us." Adam sounded irritated. "He apparently wasn't going for help." "Someone with a rifle," Lucian filled in. "Which is what led us to the crash site. Nothing concrete to make the connection between gunshots and crash, but it seems likely." "Gun shots? I don't remember any gunshots. I didn't miss the part about the possible unfriendly—that doesn't sound promising." Lorelei suddenly put her hands over her face, elbows resting on her knees. "My head is splitting down the middle and this is all too freakin' much." She began to shake. Damn it, what's wrong with me? Lucian moved to wrap his arms around her, but Lorelei pulled away. Taking the hint, he stepped back. "It'll be all right, darlin'. We'll sort it out. You're with the best of the best at sorting out weird stuff." The last thing I need is a pair of Boy Scouts trying to do good deeds. At least, one blond Boy Scout paired with Vlad the Impaler.

***** The security alert at the front gate chimed early the next morning. Adam checked the remote camera screen, pressed the button on the wall unit in the kitchen, which allowed the gate to open. Minutes later, Sheriff Brian MacBride wandered into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, exhausted. The Marines had stayed in touch, informed him that the accident victim was safe, and finally conscious. Adam poured the sheriff a mug of hot fresh coffee. There were no normal-sized coffee cups at the lodge, only hefty mugs to accompany the twenty-cup coffee pot. Caffeine junkies, all. "I'm really impressed with the security setup you added since my last visit. Very snazzy, out here in the middle of nowhere," MacBride said. "Very fancy. Expecting an invasion or something? Let me know how it works out, with all your little forest friends running through the microwave beams, will ya?" Lucian walked into the kitchen and flipped MacBride the bird. Surveillance was Lucian's baby, the new security system hi-tech and tweaked to the max. MacBride grunted, settled back with his coffee. "Thanks, pal. I love you, too. A deputy is bringing in gear, and the paramedics are a few minutes behind us. Two more deputies drove out to the crash site." He parked his long body at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around the hot mug. "Man, that's good. A legal addictive stimulant— hot coffee, breakfast of champions. Thanks." "How's the recovery going?" Adam asked. He and Lucian had become good friends with MacBride; he'd earned their respect as well. And Adam had never seen MacBride look so beat up. The sheriff heaved a deep sigh. "It's been a sonofabitchin' couple of days, fishing bodies out of the lake. I guess the tourists had a need for speed as well as a need for beer—two speedboats collided." He rubbed his eyes. "So far, four didn't make it, and six are in the hospital. Two more are unaccounted for, presumed dead. I almost called you

two crackerjacks to see if you would help spell our SCUBA guys, but you had your own little emergency goin' on. The State boys took over. They still have dive teams out." Deputy Joe Collins came through the kitchen, lugging a pair of large black cases. Adam motioned him to the great room, the better to spread out his paraphernalia. Lucian poured another mug of high-octane coffee for the deputy, and followed. ***** MacBride's sleepy eyes opened wide when Lorelei entered the kitchen. He stood abruptly, his coffee mug shimmying on the table. She looked down. What did I do, forget something? Sleeveless camo T-shirt and a pair of baggy camo drawstring pants. And my very own freshly laundered panties. Adam addressed her. "Princess." "Don't call me Princess." Lorelei offered MacBride her hand. "Lorelei Randall." "Ma'am. Brian MacBride, Sheriff of the Catamount Lake district." He remained standing until Lorelei settled in a chair, then resumed his seat. Chivalry, in this day and age. Who woulda thunk? I wonder where he fits in this conclave of nosy ex-military men with suspicious contacts. According to the bathroom mirror, her hair still showed traces of bloodstains on the left side, she now sported a real humdinger of a black eye, and her bruises had upgraded to Technicolor. Lucian had tucked her into Adam's bed after her body mutinied and collapsed, and she'd pulled a Rip Van Winkle through the night. Apparently, Adam had sacked out on one of the oversized sofas in the great room, and Lucian slept in his own room. An armed Marine on the first floor, an armed Marine on the second floor—strategically sound. These guys don't leave anything to chance. The security alert at the front gate buzzed again, then the paramedics swept in. Lucian fired up his laptop and showed them photos of the scene, read from his notes, gave them times and findings at the crash site, a guesstimate of how long the victim was unconscious, how they transported her from the site to the lodge—anything that

could prove useful. Except for the part about both men lying skin-to-skin with Lorelei in Adam's bed. Lorelei declined to look at the photos. The paramedics motioned her into the great room, and she followed with coffee mug in hand. The EMTs worked quietly and efficiently, but she still felt off balance, having no desire to be the center of anyone's attention. This is really screwing with my assignment. When they finished with her, she resumed her seat at the kitchen table. I need to get to a secure phone. The lead EMT popped into the kitchen. "Sheriff, your gal is in surprisingly good shape as far as we can tell, other than being bruised and concussed. She doesn't recall the accident itself—which is not that unusual with head trauma—but she seems to have cognitive function. If Ms. Randall's head bounced off the side window with enough force to fracture the glass, as Mr. Duquesne stated, short-term memory loss is our best guess. Memory may return spontaneously, or in bits and pieces. I strongly recommend that she see a neurologist or head trauma specialist, maybe arrange for a CT scan. She'll have a monster headache for a while. Cough drops or hard candy might help that raw throat, or honey in hot tea. We suggested transporting Ms. Randall to the ER for observation and possible testing, but our suggestion has been . . . ah . . . declined. Since the patient appears lucid, rational, reasonable, and in possession of decision-making faculties, we can't force the issue. Boss, she's in your hands. We've been called back to the lake—gotta go." Politely touching forefingers to caps, the two EMTs departed the lodge. MacBride and his deputy consumed several refills of coffee, plus a round of Lucian's trademark grilled goat cheese and tomato sandwiches, before Deputy Collins received the hot breaking—to the sheriff's department—news. "Boss, wow! Check this out." Collins read from his notes. "It seems that our gal here is NCS Special Agent Lorelei Anne Randall, out of Washington D.C." Before anyone could interrupt, he added, "Her unit chief is Harry Robson—who is very perturbed."

Lorelei's gut flipped over. Oh, for fuck sake—can't anyone in this godforsaken Catasomething backwoods wasteland mind his own bloody goddamned business? Bellisario is going to have a total shit fit by the time I get to a freakin' secure phone. The men glanced at one another. "Perturbed?" MacBride asked. "Yessir. That's a direct quote from Robson." He flipped to the next page. "'I am quite perturbed by this news, Deputy,' is exactly what he said." Lucian piped up. "So, you already contacted the NCS?" "Yes sir. Swapped photos for confirmation. That's usually what we do. Well, this actually the first case of CIA, uh, NCS involvement . . . ." "I wasn't busting your balls, Joe," Lucian said. "You did quick work." "Well, I am also perturbed, to say the least." Lorelei left her chair, paced the kitchen, leaned back against the sink. "I don't remember the crash." She was truthful on that score—no recollection of the accident, of the time immediately before the wreck and before she awoke in Adam Stone's bed. How the fuck am I supposed to handle damage control if everyone already knows about me! "So you know, I prefer not to be referred to as Lorelei Anne." She threw a harsh look at Adam, and made a face. "Or Princess." MacBride's eyebrows rose. "Damn, and you guys aren't even married." The logistics of dealing with the NCS and the State Police consumed the men through another round of coffee. "So, what's the game plan?" Lorelei directed her question to the handsome sheriff with the tousled hair. I don't know how they manage to collect them up here, but I've yet to see an unattractive man since my baby browns fluttered open. "Ms. Randall—Special Agent Randall—we're doing everything we can at the moment. The NCS has determined that our little podunk police department doesn't need to know any details, which makes our job a bit more difficult. Being on vacation, you were off the radar. Not technically missing in action."

Lorelei cocked her head. "So, I was on vacation? Up here?" Careful, kiddo. Don't overplay the amnesia. The Marines know too much already, and the sheriff isn't stupid. "That's the official word so far." He glanced at his notebook. "Your section chief is sending an agent to debrief you day after tomorrow. And probably escort you back to Washington. The NCS will coordinate from my office. A wrecker will collect your vehicle and flatbed it to our garage. I'm not sure if the State boys will handle that end of the investigation, or if NCS will take over. They don't have much of a presence up here. Maine law enforcement deals mostly with the DEA." He reacted to Lorelei's expression. "Drugs crossing the borders, motor launches coming into the bays and inlets, fun stuff like that." MacBride closed his notebook, stuck his pen in his pocket. "While the big dogs are busy circling each other, trying to decide who's gonna win the pissing contest over jurisdiction, the SUV will be at our impound lot. We'll take the evidence back to the lab and get to work, at least until we hear who has authority. We don't want to lose any time processing evidence, even if the Feds end up taking over." He glanced at Adam and Lucian before addressing Lorelei. "Ma'am, there really isn't any lodging close by, unless you develop an undying urge to squat at a hunting cabin with no indoor plumbing. There are a few hotels in town, about half an hour east of here. Right now they're filled to overflowing with emergency personnel because of the boating accident. The ski lodges close for the summer for repairs and renovations. If the guys don't mind keeping you for the moment, you'll be more comfortable here. Trust me." Lucian grinned. "We have plenty of room. Special Agent Randall is welcome to stay for as long as she feels inclined to do so." The men all looked at Lorelei for confirmation of the plan. Might as well stay put while I check out the situation. Too many people already know I'm up here. She nodded. "That's great, guys," MacBride said, "I appreciate the assist. Special Agent Randall, I'm sure you'd like to finally shower after your ordeal. Sorry about your clothes. We took what your guys bagged and tagged as evidence."

Lorelei opened her mouth to correct him about your guys. Lucian jumped in. "Women's clothing shouldn't be a problem." MacBride nodded. "Rachel—number four sister. I forgot. Ma'am, believe me, you're in good hands." "Sheriff, thanks. Sorry I washed up and brushed out my hair, but I didn't realize that I carried evidence on my person." Me, the walking, talking crime scene. "Joe seems pleased with the evidence he secured, so it appears that you didn't compromise too much." MacBride settled his hat, touched the brim in farewell, and took off. Great. Now I'm on the other side of the desk. Now I'm the case. In Adam's bathroom, Lorelei stood under the almost-too-hot shower spray until she finally felt clean. The fluffy bath sheet was sinfully soft, as was the T-shirt and faded Marine Corps gym shorts laid out on the bed. Checking the mirror, she made a face at the bruises that were becoming more colorful by the hour. Still, it felt great to be clean and smelling nice. Human again at last. Without warning, the nervous energy that had kept that human functional drained. The effects of the concussion swirled her brain like a whirlpool, and she crashed to the floor. Chapter Three

Awareness reared its head as the mental fog cleared. Lorelei seemed to be cozy on Lucian's lap, in Adam's room. She didn't remember the Marines rushing in. She didn't remember Lucian pressing a cold wet cloth against the new bruise on her forehead. Nor did she remember being scooped up in his arms and carried from bathroom to bedroom. Damn it, I don't get weak-kneed—and I've done it twice already. Shit. This is so not good. "Lorelei, hon, better now?" Lucian lifted a strand of hair away from her eyes. She pressed her face against his shoulder. The smooth, warm skin of his neck smelled delicious.

"I never faint. This is embarrassing." But not embarrassing enough to move from his lap, nope. "You have a hell of a concussion, and your body needs rest to recuperate." Adam carried in a steaming mug. "Orange spice tea and honey." "I don't—" "Drink it. It's been a ratmotherfucker few days." "Nicely put, hoss." "I won't lie to her. It's not over yet." Lorelei sniffed the tea first, then sipped. "Thanks, that is better. Sorry this landed on you guys." Lucian rested his chin on her head, lightly. "No worries. We weren't doing anything special at the moment." "You need to choose a room," Adam said, suddenly. "A room of your own." "I didn't mean to put you out." Lorelei started to slide from Lucian's lap. Adam stopped her. "No. Stay. My bed is yours." Lorelei lifted both eyebrows at that. "You know what I mean." He parked himself on the matching chair. "You need your own room, and new stuff, y'know, woman stuff." He looked uncomfortable. "Girl clothes and things." Doing it badly, he stopped trying to explain. Lucian saved him. "Ignore him. I have four sisters, but he's the only son in a long line of macho military men. No couth with women. He's right, though. Since you've moved in—sorta—you need your own space, clothes, girly-girl things." He grinned when he saw her mouth twitch. "Choose any of the guest rooms. Number one sister, Julia the Designer, did the decorating. I promise you won't feel like you're stuck in a biker bar. My room is at the other end of the hall, so you'll be sandwiched between Adam and me, snug as a bug."

*****

The bedrooms were large and airy, each with a pillow-top queen or California King bed, each with its own sitting area. One, graced with soft shades of pale green and creamy yellow, caught Lorelei's fancy. No ruffles in sight, but definitely a cheerful room. Lucian's sister did a great job on this enormous man cave. Two rooms on either side separated Lorelei from the Marines. The room next to Lucian's had been turned into a communication center filled with high-tech electronic goodies. By the room's Star Wars appearance, it looked like a geek paradise. Lorelei dangled her feet off the edge of the high bed. Lucian left for a moment, returned with pad and pen. "Okay, tell me what you need. Clothes, shoes, styles and sizes, toiletries, whatever you need." She tucked her legs under her with the boneless ease of a six-year-old or a professional dancer. "Can't I go with you? Wouldn't it be easier?" Adam fielded that one. "I want you under wraps for as long as possible. Lucian will shop. He's sister-trained, which is another way of saying he's been fair pussywhipped all his life." "Asshole," Lucian threw back. "Princess, you look like a train wreck. Your bruises will attract attention, especially the black eye, and you're not dressed for appearing in public," Adam reminded her. "No shoes. No clothes that fit." In deference to the common sense approach, she nodded. Lucian took off, a vague list in hand. After he left, Lorelei opted to stay in her new room for a nap. The pounding headaches sucked her energy into a black hole. Settling under the comforter, she slipped into slumber land in a matter of moments.

*****

Lorelei's eyes fluttered open, and she returned to the land of the living. She yawned, stretched, and felt somewhat less battered. The LED numerals on the clock set

on the nightstand indicated about two hours had passed. Investigating her room, she peeked in all the nooks and crannies, closets and dresser drawers—then wandered down the hall to Lucian's room to do the same. She sniffed the bottle of cologne sitting on his dresser and read the label. Mmm, Versace Pour Homme. No wonder he smells so yummy. Finishing her explorations, she went downstairs. Meeting up with Adam in the kitchen, Lorelei followed when he motioned her to the great room. He carried a mug of coffee for himself, and another mug of hot orange spice tea with honey for her. Lorelei accepted the tea, and settled in the middle of a large burgundy leather sofa. Adam sat across from her on the matching sofa. They faced each other like chess opponents, from opposite sides of a squat burled oak coffee table. It was the first time Lorelei had been alone with Adam since she'd regained consciousness. Might as well jump right into the deep end. "You don't like me. Why?" "I don't know you," Adam countered. "All right, fair enough. You don't believe me?" He shrugged. "Head trauma is tough to predict." "Also fair enough. So, you think I could be faking it? Maybe the clever woman is looking for sympathy, or has some other nefarious purpose?" "Save your breath, Princess; stop trying to psych me out. A closed mind means trouble, misses clues, loses focus. I keep my options open. Lucian isn't as circumspect, but he's no less vigilant. Trust me—it's how we survive." "Lucian doesn't have a hard shell guarding him. You do. And don't call me Princess." "I prefer to think of it as being cautious, ma'am." "Ma'am? When did I become ma'am again?” “Princess." Lorelei glared at him. Adam shifted on the sofa. "This is the way it is. You're here, under our protection. We need intel. In the meantime, we'll keep you safe."

"So, you really think I need protection?" Not to mention privacy and a secure phone. Adam hesitated, then responded to the no-more-bullshit expression in her eyes. "My gut says yes, you need protection. If the wreck was caused by a blown tire or mechanical failure, why is your gear missing? What were you doing before your supposed holiday trip? NCS is highly classified. I suspect something nasty. Someone tried to take you out." Lorelei felt her cheeks heat up. "Really? Tried to take me out? As in, tried to kill me? As in, dead?" Oh boy, this guy doesn't miss anything—and I don't remember enough to checkmate him. "Best guess, with current intel? Yes. Confidence is high. Our guy Garrett is beyond genius at top-level security and surveillance, and Lucian isn't far behind with his own technical geek talents. We'll find out." "Wow, I suppose I should feel safe then, you being Marines and all?" She was impressed; Adam didn't react to the sarcastic bait. "As safe as you can be at the moment. You're off the beaten track. Being in the boondocks has its pluses and minuses, but the security here is tight—and it will get tighter. Lucian will see to it." Lorelei shook her head and settled against the soft sofa back, unconsciously flipping the ends of her hair. Adam suddenly shifted forward in his seat. He looked at her. Really looked at her. His eyes narrowed. "Sit up." "What?" "Sit up. Pull your hair back." "Stop bossing me around." "Can't you do what you're told without questioning every damned thing I say?" Annoyed, Lorelei twisted the handkerchief she'd been carrying into a scarf, then corralled her hair into a ponytail. "Here ya go, sir. As ordered, sir." She gave him a halfassed salute.

"Pull your collar down. Carefully. Don't touch your skin with your nails." He leaned forward to get a better look. "Damn it to hell." Lorelei released the collar of her shirt. "Want to tell me what you're looking at, oh Fearless Leader?" Adam walked around the coffee table. "Stand up." Lorelei gave him a squinty-eyed look, but shrugged and rose. She wasn't all that short, and Adam towered over her. He brought his big hands to her face. She took half a step backward. "So much for trust." Adam dropped his hands. "Wait, no, I'm okay. Didn’t know what you wanted, that's all. Jeez, El Capitán, lighten up." Adam placed his hands around Lorelei's throat, not actually making contact. He tried to line up the pads of his fingertips with the bruises. "Damn." "What?" "Don't move." "Why?" "Stay, dammit." "I'm not a dog. Quit giving me commands." Adam left, returned with a magnifying glass. "Do the neckline again. Carefully." Lorelei sighed, but didn't argue. He peered closely at her neck and throat, taking his time. "The bruising, the hemorrhaging in your eyes. Shit." "Adam, please, you're beginning to worry me—and I don't worry easily." He straightened up. "Someone tried to strangle you." Lorelei's eyes grew wide as her hands flew to her throat, pressing all around with her fingers. "Tried to what?" "Stop it! Don't compromise evidence." Adam grabbed her hands, placed them at her sides. Then he quickly pulled away. "Evidence? What freakin' evidence?"

"Possible prints. Hard to tell. My gut tells me that someone tried to take you out, but he fucked it up. You didn't die in the wreck. He tried to strangle you to finish the job, but he fucked that up, too." "B-b-but the deputies took all their s-s-samples and s-s-slides and s-s-stuff from me, and didn't s-s-say anything." Lorelei felt her heart pounding like a trip hammer, heard her own blood surging through her veins. "I don't feel so good." "Sit down." Adam guided her backward to the sofa, then brought a tumbler of orange juice from the kitchen. "Low blood sugar. Drink, it will help." Shaky, she took the glass and managed a couple of swallows. "Bruising develops over several days; damage isn't always immediately apparent. This is stuff you already know, but you're not looking at yourself as a victim." She nodded, kept a tight grip on the glass. "The impressions circle your throat." He shook his head. "Your hair covered the pattern. I'm guessing a man's hands, but not as big as mine. They don't line up right." "What did you mean about my eyes? What's wrong with my eyes, beside the shiner?" "Petechiae. A pattern of contusions and abrasions caused by strangulation. Again, stuff you know. Eyeballs inflamed, bloodshot." He leaned forward, pointed. "Blood spots on the skin around your eyes. Scratches on your neck, probably from your nails when you fought back. The spacing looks wrong, but you have solid finger pad impressions on either side of your throat. Lucian may be able to pull something useful. Doesn’t need to stand up in court, as long as whatever he finds gives us more clues to work with." Adam's gaze roved the room, returned to her. "TV is bullshit, where evidence is processed in thirty seconds or less. We'll check with Garrett, he'll get it done a.s.a.p." Garrett—is he the guy who's been ratting me out? Will Bellisario know who he is? I need a freakin' safe phone! "Bloody hell, I really am a crime scene. Okay, it's official—you're scaring the bejesus out of me." She laid her hands lightly against her collarbone. "I've

had forensic training, and I'm good at it. I missed clues on my own body. How do you know all this?" "You're kidding, right? It's what we do. Take basic Marine sharpshooter training, ramp it up to the nth degree to become a very efficient Marine scout-sniper team. And, believe me, we are very efficient. Then add more specialized training." He glared at her. "We understand forensics, Princess, leave it at that. You don't really need to know how or why." Lorelei did her best not to leap at him and do a rip-and-tear about the Princess remark and the condescending tone. Yes, I really do need to know how and why. What are the odds of me landing in a damn nest of ex-military specialists? She refused to let him goad her. "I follow what you're saying after you state the obvious, but I still can't put it together. Damn it, this is frustrating." She put the palm of her hand to her forehead. "I have a pounding headache again." "Concussions take their toll." "Can't say I ever had one before." Adam crossed his arms tightly across his chest and stared at her, barely blinking. "You still don't trust me, do you?" He looked away. Even though she found him to be annoying, Lorelei became hyper-aware of Adam's mesomorphic musculature, how the big man radiated vigor and strength. Every inch of six-foot-four, hard as tempered steel, darkly tanned and scarred where his skin was visible. Tough. Capable. One of her two heroes: the hero who didn't like her. She fought the urge to place her hands on his hard muscles, to feel those muscles flex, to brush over his bronze skin, to run fingers through the sprinkling of jet black hair on his body, to lay her forehead against his chest. This was not a Lorelei moment—it had always been her job first, personal life second. Yeah, right, why don't I be honest? I don't actually have a personal life. If she wasn't on assignment, she might allow herself to learn more about this man. About both men. In a business where physical fitness was a must and attractive men were commonplace,

these guys were incredible physical specimens. Lucian was beautiful. Adam was . . . well, Adam. Whatever it was about these guys, her nerve endings were all jacked up and her sex tingled. Maybe even . . . . A truck door slammed and jumped Lorelei back into real time. What the hell was I thinking? She pulled herself together. Lucian—Lucian is back! Thank God, Lucian is back! Like the cavalry of the Old West, Lucian arrived in time to save her from doing something stupid. She saw Adam's eyes narrow before he turned away. No, he doesn't like me. Probably the best for all concerned. ***** Adam had folded his arms across his chest to avoid pulling Lorelei to him. What the fuck is going on? His life was settled, comfortable. He didn't need to hunt for diversions, he didn't want any diversions. Lucian protected damsels in distress. Not that NCS Special Agent Randall was necessarily helpless on a normal day—unless she'd pulled a trick, a ruse, a set-up. Nah, probably not a set-up, not with the crash, the real bruises around her neck, the real concussion. And the edge of fear in her eyes that she covered so skillfully. He told her the unvarnished truth—someone tried to kill her. He and Lucian interrupted the hit. Confusing emotions were roiling around in his brain, and he did not do confusion well. Nor emotions. He had experienced, first hand, what living with a career Marine could do to a beautiful, vibrant woman. Too young to remember the gorgeous Rita Hayworth, Adam had checked out the actress on the Internet—and immediately realized why everyone referred to his mother, Eva, as Rita Hayworth. From the time he was about ten, he remembered her as a silent, colorless woman who hung on his father's every word and action. Young Adam had been sure that his father loved his mother, but even then he had sensed his father's drive: Matt Stone had a job to do. Adam learned that not every woman was cut out to be the wife of a career Marine. And a Marine sniper, at that. Everything in Adam's life marched in order, clear and concise, cut and dried. But that woman, that Special Agent—his body reacted to her, every time she spoke, every

time she moved. His heart pumped harder, his pulse quickened. She didn't even need to be in the same room. He knew what she was doing, even when she was out of his sight. The image of Lorelei stretched out in his bed, the thought of her being naked in his shower, of soaping up her smooth skin . . . . His cock stiffened immediately. Maybe he should bite the bullet and go to her. Make the first move for once. Take her in his arms. Shit. Why had Lucian come back now! Shit. Shit. Shit. ***** Lucian arrived bearing gifts in fancy bags. Loads of fancy bags, and even a couple of boxes. After appreciating Lucian's amazing taste in women's clothing—he reminded her that he had four sisters—Lorelei added her vote to a simple late supper of cheeseburgers and baked French fries. "Luce, more evidence to support our hit man theory." Adam chugged down half a bottle of birch beer. "The finger pad marks appear distinct, but they don't line up. I'm not the techno-geek." He motioned to Lorelei. She stopped dragging a French fry through a blob of ketchup. Wordlessly, she tied her hair back again, and stretched the neckline of her shirt. Lucian examined the bruises. "Hmm. I can give it a try. Lorelei, hon, are you up for it?" Staring at her plate, she shrugged. What else can they possibly find out? Lucian scaled the stairs, two at a time. He returned in a few moments with his tech kit and a laptop. He worked quickly and efficiently, the new scanning program automatically sending the images. He repacked the kit, placed everything on a step, then returned to the table. Ignoring his food, he appeared to be somewhere in Oz for a few moments. "Lorelei, would you stand up again? Let me try something." Might as well. She stood, and pulled her hair aside.

Instead of approaching her head on, Lucian surprised her by moving to her back. "Hoss, check out my finger placement." "No shit." Adam retrieved the digital camera from the stairs. "Do it again." Lucian placed his hands in a chokehold—from behind Lorelei. "Well?" "That's it." Adam took photos as Lucian pantomimed various chokeholds. "Smaller fingers, probably smaller hands." Lorelei returned to her seat. "Not for nothing, guys, but it's my neck. Care to share before I get cranky?" "Adam noticed inconsistencies in the finger pattern, but we couldn't figure out what it meant. Well, we couldn't get you out of the vehicle by the normal route—we had to lay the seats down and pull you from behind. I'll bet someone tried to choke you from the back seat, around the headrest. Much tougher to do unless one uses a garrote. Bad angle, much more strength needed to either snap your neck or strangle you." Lorelei stopped playing with her food. She felt her gut ramp up from calm to highly annoyed. "Damn it, why can't I remember what happened? Who did this?" "It's the concussion, hon. Everything will come back to you. Why don't you go on to bed," Lucian said, his tone kind, soft. "There's nothing else to be done here. If any news surfaces, I promise to wake you. Go to bed, get some sleep." Adam leaned forward, with his elbows on the table. "Unless you happen to miraculously remember something that might actually prove useful, Princess. Anything constructive would help." Adam's gruff voice and sarcastic words knocked Lorelei off her emotional pins. She thought they had at least reached some sort of truce before Lucian's return. And why the hell should I care? The issue clarified: she had an assignment, and they were interfering. She needed to check in with Bellisario, her real boss. But how? He'll be apoplectic by now. Her head pounded again. She didn't feel strong enough to take Adam on in verbal combat. "Look, I know I disrupted your lives, and I'm beyond grateful for everything you guys did. I'd still be trapped in the wreck if you hadn't found me. Probably dead. There

are no words to thank you enough. I think it would be best if I contact Sheriff MacBride in the morning to see if he can arrange alternate lodging until I can catch a ride to D.C." Lorelei nodded good night to Lucian, included Adam—and left the kitchen. ***** Lucian gave Lorelei enough time to reach the second floor, listened until he heard the faint sound of her bedroom door close. His smile and his happy-go-lucky surfer dude persona disappeared in half a heartbeat as he turned on Adam. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man? Someone tried to take her out, she lost part of her memory, all her possessions, she's majorly concussed, and she's worried shitless. What are you trying to do, finish her off?" Adam, silent, rose and walked to the long granite counter. He turned and leaned back against the sink. "Does it bother you that much, her being here?" Lucian ranted, almost snarling with the effort to keep his voice down. "Damn, you can be such a fuck-head when you want to be. What has she done to deserve this? What the hell is your damn problem?" "I want her." ***** I want her. Those three small words were all Adam could manage. He could not give voice to the maelstrom of conflicted feelings and words swirling around in his brain. Not even to his best friend. I want her. "What?" Lucian stopped bitching and faced his partner. He placed his palms flat on the table. "Say that again—slowly." "Luce, I want her. I want her so much I can't stand to be in the same room with her and keep my hands off." Not knowing what to do with those hands, he folded his arms tightly across his massive chest again, his biceps bulging. "This is fuckin' nuts. I don't need this shit." "Well, that's not what I expected." Lucian stood, tucked his hands into his pockets, and stared at his friend. "She's been here barely three days, and unconscious for one of them. What happened when I wasn't looking?"

"I don't know. Maybe if you hadn't forced me to sleep with her . . . ." "Oh sure, blame me. I forced you into an act of kindness. Like I could force you to do anything. You, the Terminator cyborg." "Luce, don't fuck with me, I'm not in the mood. When MacBride said an agent would arrive to take her back to D.C., my immediate plan was to take the agent out before the guy got anywhere close to the lodge." "Whoa, big fella. This isn't like you, hoss. You sure nothing else happened when I left the room? Did you try to jump her or something?" "Don't be an asshole." "Hey, I need to ask. I went to town to buy clothes for her, so she could get out of your jammies. No pun intended. What happened while I was gone?" "Nothing, man. I swear. She had a headache, conked out for a couple of hours. She woke up. We talked. I saw the pattern around her throat. We talked about that. Then you came back." Adam looked down at his feet. And I know she likes you, she's really into you. I watch her with you. You're good with women, you know how to make them feel comfortable. Every time I say something, I scare the hell out of her or piss her off. She wants to be with you, I can see it, and it's tearing me up. Nothing can come between you and me, man, nothing can break up the team. Especially a woman. A woman I want. He couldn't give voice to the words. Adam finally met his friend's gaze. "Luce, she can't leave." ***** Lucian pulled the chair out again, and settled himself. He took a swig of nowwarm sweet tea and made a face. In all the years he and Adam had been absolute best friends, closer than brothers, during all the years that they had been a kick-ass no-holdsbarred Marine scout-sniper team, he had never heard anything like this. During their occasional dalliances with the opposite sex, Adam would invariably be polite; yes ma'am, no ma'am, thank you ma'am. Their dates knew the drill: he and Adam swapped partners, but never shared the same woman. The men enjoyed themselves; the ladies were always well fucked and satisfied. Then everyone went

home. No muss, no fuss, no bother. No entanglements. But this—this was so totally not Adam. Since Lucian felt equally as taken with their guest, he understood the problem. He sat, quiet, for a long time—and Lucian was never quiet for a long time. Lucian finally rose, and helped himself to a cold iced tea. "Well then, there's only one solution. We share her." He said it calmly. Like it made all the sense in the world. "You're fuckin' with me, right? That's your brilliant solution?" Adam dropped his arms to his sides, his big hands fisted. He shook his head. "Luce . . . . " "Hoss, listen to me. Pull your head out of your ass. If you think about it for more than a nanosecond, it makes perfect sense. We both want her. We want her here, we want her safe. You know and I know that we're the best thing that could happen to her. We need to convince her to stay here, with us, while we sort out whatever mess she's in. So she gets comfortable with us." Lucian could only watch as Adam paced the kitchen. "Hoss, we share women— that's what we do. Never had an issue, right?" "Luce, that was different. Just sex, y'know? We swapped partners, we never took the same woman at the same time. I mean I want her—all of her." For as long as they'd known each other, Lucian knew that Adam never had the luxury of feeling comfortable in his own skin. Adam managed to be housebroken and civil for a few hours, whenever Lucian arranged dates—but he never stayed with a woman, never spent the entire night with a woman. Now a woman lived in their home—and Adam didn't want her to leave. Lucian placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know, chief, I know. But we can do this. Trust me, we can do this." "Yeah? What about her? Can she do this? Will she want us? Will she stay with us?" "Hoss, I don't know. There's only one way to find out."

Chapter Four

Lorelei stared at silhouettes on the wall made by the tall evergreen trees looming beyond the windows. She imagined animal shapes, as if the shadowy forms were fluffy clouds. This is downright pitiful. Tossing a pillow at the shadows didn't help. Attractive room, comfortable bed, more than enough pillows. The open windows and the ceiling fan kept her cool. Her new satiny nightgown felt sensuously smooth against her skin when she wriggled under the sheet. It wasn't her situation that caused her restlessness—although, how many people lost their memory, and then discovered someone was trying to kill them? Enough for most people to lose sleep. It's them. The guys. The Marines. The men who rescued her from probable death. Her heroes. Fer Chrissakes, get your head on straight, you daft silly bitch. Throwing the sheet off, she flopped over on her back, a position she hated for sleeping. Stretching out her arms and legs, she imitated da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. She made snow angels on the bed. She tried to meditate, but the deep breathing exercises made her headache worse. She turned on her side again. For fuck sake, what's wrong with me? What’s wrong with me is that I’m attracted like a magnet to two men, one of whom doesn’t even like me. Every time she closed her eyes, images flashed of being sheltered between two powerful, sensual bodies, feeling their heat, their hard muscles, feeling safe and secure. Then more images, of wild uninhibited sex, with both of them. Sex had always been an activity that she could take or leave—usually leave, especially after her ex Russell's bullshit—for longer than she'd care to admit. Russell Marshall had been a major disappointment. Worse than major. What's worse than major? Catastrophic? Tall, blond, blue-eyed, GQ eye-candy in designer suits, definitely over-qualified in the looks department for a Secret Service detail. She figured dating a Secret Service dude would be safe. He was technically government issue, but not CIA or NCS. Good, right? No fraternizing in the workplace, no uncomfortable situations. No drama if the relationship went south. Russell had pursued her for months. He’d hung out with her after they were introduced at a favorite watering hole of D.C. security types, Dunnigan's Steak and Ale.

She was a club-soda-or-tonic-water type of gal, but her Fibbie and CIA and NCS pals hung out at the local taverns. To be sociable, she’d learned to blend. Her social activities included watching normal people get stupid when they drank to excess. She was always available as the designated driver, if necessary, although nothing in the D.C. area was too far for a cab ride. Lorelei reached the why-the-fuck-not stage with Russell after being on duty for ten days straight. She caved, and agreed to a dinner date. Agent Marshall was, as usual, resplendent in a dove-gray suit with a black cashmere turtleneck. Lorelei felt dowdy, although she'd put some effort in her appearance: a sequined top, bought for the occasion to show some boobage, combined with skinny black slacks, and kick-ass glittery high-heeled sandals. Nice, but no one could out-shine Russell Marshall. Some of his fussy mannerisms annoyed her a little, especially when he talked down to the excellent wait staff. She attributed her annoyance to the fact that he was prettier than she. Back at her brownstone for a late-night coffee—she did not keep liquor on hand—Russell made himself right at home. She ignored that as their physical activities heated up and they stumbled to her bedroom. It had been a long time since she'd engaged in any sexual activity. So, why the hell not, right? Wrong. Russell Marshall morphed from Male Runway Model into the Date From Hell, right in front of her eyes. His GQ-inspired clothing was, indeed, specially tailored for Secret Agent Man. His clever jacket padding hid his wimpy pinched shoulders. A Lycra body shaper enclosed his flabby, baby-soft flesh. A hidden elastic waistband kept his overhanging gut in check. Perfect blond hair, courtesy of the Hair Club for Men. Sparkling blues eyes, à la colored contact lenses (after he lost one, revealing a mudbrown iris and a myopic, shrew-like expression). Ever the polite hostess, she did her best to ignore Russell's—as she referred to them—inconsistencies. However, when he flopped onto his back in her bed like a trout sucking air, he also displayed less-than-adequate male equipment and mentioned the need for "indispensable foreplay for the sake of arousal" regarding poor little Mr.

Winky before they could proceed. She proceeded to get him off with a hand job, and left him gasping for breath in her bed, the air in the bedroom shortly permeated by chainsaw snoring. Lorelei had changed into her jammies and nestled in her comfy reading chair until morning. She passed the hours in a heightened state of pissedoffness and wishing her service piece was not locked securely in its box. "Aha, there you are, my sweet." Russell faced her well after the sun rose, fully dressed, with one blue eye and one brown. "Last night was the best time I had in, well, I can't even remember when." Yeah, buddy, I have no freakin' doubt that's true. "Li-Li, look, would it be okay if I left an overnight bag here? Like, since I'll be sleeping over, you're about half an hour closer to the office than my place . . . ." The neighbors admitted later that they nearly dialed 9-1-1 when they heard Lorelei's scream of what could only be described as rage and saw a handsome man run from the building. However, they also knew she was armed, and more dangerous than anyone they could call. Before Russell, there had been the very nice D.C. police detective. Attractive, seemingly normal, and reasonably adequate in the sex department. His issue? He neglected to mention his wife. His third wife. Sigh. Never in her wildest fantasies had Lorelei ever considered having sex with more than one man at the same time. Now, a constant loop of such images paraded through her brain. Maybe I really did permanent damage when I cracked open my head. Now, the idea of engaging in marathon sexcapades with two big hard-bodied Marines consumed her. However, as she continued to remind herself, she had a damn job to do. Being attracted to Lucian was easy as sin. Tall, whipcord lean, and muscular, tanned and handsome in a blond California surfer-guy sorta way. Smooth, relaxed, comfortable in his own skin. He seemed to enjoy life. Lorelei's parents were nice people, good people, but fully ensconced in the world of academia. A peck on the cheek counted as the ultimate sign of affection, and the only hugs she received were from the nanny—until Lorelei was old enough to attend school

and didn't need a nanny—and the housekeeper. As a child, she had enjoyed a stable upbringing, the best care, the best schooling. In her formative years, she'd observed the occasional expressions of confusion, the looks of vague surprise from her mother and father at the presence of the small person who lived in their home, shared their meals, and participated in their conversations. As if young Lorelei, a polite guest, had somehow forgotten to leave. Tactile and affectionate, Lucian had touched and hugged and kissed and held her, totally natural to him. She found it strange, but pleasurable, to be touched so casually, so frequently, by a handsome, hard-bodied man. Such were activities she wished to continue exploring. Adam. Adam was another story. She didn't understand why she even cared. Intelligent, certainly attractive enough, but a hard man. His personal space took up enough room for a man and a half. He kept his distance, didn't share. She felt strongly drawn to the taciturn bastard, but he wasn't her type. Do I even have a type? Lorelei couldn't separate the men in her mind, couldn't separate her feelings for one or the other. They each seemed to offer something she needed—and she hadn't known she needed anything. The combination of their strengths, and their overt masculine sexuality, was heady stuff. Catnip to a Siamese. Lorelei finally drifted off to sleep. She dreamed of being sandwiched between two hot and hard and sweaty bodies, remarkably the same images she had when she thought she was dead, as the men did their utmost to please her. Mmm, yes, please me, fellas, please me indeed . . . . *****

Lorelei woke feeling somewhat refreshed, and with less of a pounding headache. She dressed and found the guys already in the kitchen, doing whatever they usually did. Apparently Adam handled breakfast, Lucian did lunch, and they alternated cooking dinner.

Without a word, Adam set a plate of French toast, honey butter, and sliced strawberries in front of Lorelei, and returned to the stove. Lucian poured the coffee and juice. In a few minutes, all three of them were seated and eating. Breakfast rolled along, quiet, peaceful. Domestic. Okay, so maybe I don't need to find another temporary domicile. Yet. Lucian pushed his empty plate away, and centered his coffee mug in front of him. "If you feel up to it, I thought we'd show you around Sanctuary. You haven't seen much of the place." "I'd love to." Without being asked, Lorelei cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the dishwater. "Delicious breakfast, thanks." Adam didn't respond. Lucian took on the role of tour guide. "This began as a big-deal summer camp for spoiled kids whose parents had loads of money and didn't want to deal with the brats during holidays. Then the bottom fell out of the dot-com market, and the place sat empty for years." Adam opened the French doors at the far end of the great room and led the way through an atrium filled with huge pots of lush greenery and flowering plants. They continued through a set of heavy glass doors etched with images of playful dolphins into a pavilion that enclosed a heated Olympic-sized swimming pool. Windows rose from knee-high sills to top out three feet below the ceiling. Seascapes etched in the glass to the height of Lorelei's shoulders gave her the impression of being submerged in a giant aquarium. Lucian continued his narration. "While Catamount Lake Camp rocked along in full swing, nothing was too good for the little monsters. Pool, tennis courts, a dozen cabins, a full mile of par course fitness stations, hiking trails. No expense was spared for the initial start-up." They walked along the wide edge of the beautiful aqua- and white-tiled pool, with its slight odor of chlorine. Adam pushed through a second set of glass doors at the end of the room, and headed for a black granite staircase, flipping light switches as he walked.

"Wow!" "Well said," Lucian responded. Lorelei stopped in her tracks when she reached the bottom step. "Unbelievable!" Beyond the boxing ring, gym equipment and wrestling mats stood a fully functional shooting range, with what looked like an archery lane on the far side of the six shooting stations. "Please tell me that was not for spoiled rich kids! They weren't armed, were they?" Lucian laughed. "Nah. The boxing ring and other equipment were here, with a bunch of storage rooms. We opened up the unused space and had the range built." She took in the array of equipment. "The perfect setting for over-aged juvenile delinquents, a place for the big boys to play." Adam spun around, his expression hard. "Juvenile delinquents? Yeah, Princess, Lucian and I get to play Miss Louise in our own great big personal Romper Room in the woods. To keep the boys amused." His face tight, he stormed off, taking the stairs two and three at a time. "I'm outa here." Lorelei started after Adam with fire in her eyes. "Jeez, what's your problem? Don't walk away from me! What has your jockeys in a bind?" Lucian caught her by the arm, held her back. "Let him go, he needs to work out some issues." "Work out what issues? I don't understand, and he's making me nuts." "He'll be fine, really. Let's finish the tour, okay?" *****

"Lucian, I never rode on anything like this before. Are you sure it's safe?" Clad in new jeans, a bright yellow polo shirt and leather hiking boots—all of which fit her remarkably well—Lorelei sat astride a large red four-wheel-drive ATV, selected from a

collection of various colors, makes, and models in the giant, steel-paneled equipment shed. Lucian laughed as he swung onto the saddle of a bigger camo-dressed machine. "This, from a woman who tried to fit her SUV between a boulder and a tree. Yeah, it's safe." Lorelei was a quick study. She took a moment to learn which controls did what, and off they drove. They left the equipment shed; she followed Lucian past the huge rustic dining hall building and a row of a dozen log cabins, each of which could accommodate eight people. They continued past the tennis courts, the outdoor firearms and archery ranges, the baseball diamond, and the basketball court. They cruised along a complete outdoor fitness trail, two miles in length, with twenty fitness stations. Lucian signaled a stop at the end of the trail to check on Lorelei. "The par course trail was a mile, with ten stations. We expanded the trail to two miles, and twenty stations. No wimps here. There are other hiking trails and rock climbing areas. I'm guessing that if each cabin had its own squad, there must have been good team competition for the kids." On the return trip, Lorelei stopped the quad in front of the last cabin and shifted into park. "Okay, without beating around the bush, what is it that you guys do? Are you planning to take over small countries or something? Are you insane survivalists? I asked about axe-murderers, but I forgot to mention insane survivalists." With easy grace, Lucian dismounted. He perched on top of a picnic table with his feet on the bench seat and motioned for Lorelei to join him. She straddled the bench seat. "We made good investments over the years, and we do security consulting on the side with our friend Garrett. We were able to buy this place for a song. It had been abandoned, really run down, an overgrown shit-hole. We planned to offer the facilities for reasonable fees to military and law enforcement guys. Guys who need to get away from it all, to take a break from the stress of their jobs, to have somewhere safe to hang

out, decompress. After listening to the guys during bullshit . . . ah, brainstorming . . . sessions, we realized that they needed more. They wanted what we wanted." "I'm almost afraid to ask." Lorelei tucked the "Garrett" reference away for later as she noted the change in Lucian's voice. When she looked at him, he seemed older, more worn—a warrior. "Yeah, sure, they wanted a place to unwind. But they also needed somewhere secure, somewhere they could practice their crafts, sharpen their skills, cross-train with guys from other disciplines. A place where everyone understood the drill." "And they can find that here?" "Yeah, they can find that here." Lucian looked away. "They also come here to escape the insanity, like we did. The only people who understand the hell we live with are other people like us. The Persian Gulf, Bosnia, Afghanistan, Iraq, other places. Places no one speaks about. People who serve our country—their countries—without reservation." "Isn't there any government help for veterans?" "You've been in the intelligence community for what, five or six years? Sorry— but when you have more time in, you'll realize what total fuckin' bullshit that question is. Bureaucrats don't know dick about what we need. They don't know what to do with us after we're trained to be perfect weapons. Some of our politicians would prefer to shoot us like rabid dogs when we finish the assignments they give us, and bury us in unmarked graves." "Oh my God, Lucian, you can't mean that!" "Darlin', you're a highly trained NCS operative, snatched away from the FBI because you're that good at your job. The government has a huge investment in you— but don't think for a fucking minute that if you were involved in, shall we say, a potentially embarrassing situation, the higher-ups wouldn't hesitate to throw you under the bus to save their pitiful careers and their retirement packages. It's a giant game of cover-your-ass. Think about it. You know I'm right."

She sat quietly for a long moment. "Okay, for the sake of argument, let's say you're correct. Let's take your assessment one step further—who wants me dead, and why? Could it be our side?" Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Lucian stared at his hands. "Honest opinion?" "Yes, of course. It's my existence we're discussing here. It would be helpful to have some idea regarding the possible length of my lifeline. Or lack thereof." "Okay, here it is. If you were seriously in the way, you'd be dead. Your termination would not be left to amateurs. Adam and I—even Garrett—are convinced that a newbie, or a wanna-be, tried to take you out. The weird thing is that there's been no scuttlebutt, no intelligence traffic chatter, nothing that leads us to believe you're on anyone's radar. We don't have enough intel yet. Glennon Garrett is the best, and he's working on it—but we're flyin' blind. That's the numero uno reason we want you to stay secluded. As far as we can tell, the incident has been contained between your section chief and MacBride. Officially, of course." "I see." Lorelei took in their surroundings. "This is such an amazing place. Beautiful. Quiet. Peaceful. Is that why you and Adam came up here, to get away from it all?" "Yes, ma'am. We needed someplace calm and quiet, to heal." "To heal?" He couldn't meet her eyes. "Yeah." "Physically or mentally?" "Both." Lucian stared into the trees for a moment. The timbre of his voice changed again from Surfer Dude to Semper Fidelis. "No one can do what we do—what we did for years—and come out of it in one piece. A sniper and a spotter. Think about it. The mind takes as many hits as the body. Sometimes more. But the body heals faster." "Did it work, moving up here?" "Yup."

"Is that why you renamed the camp Sanctuary?" "Yup." "I'm glad." Lorelei rose from the bench, and insinuated herself between Lucian's thighs. "You've both endured so much. For others. I never considered what happens after—after we're no longer needed. Maybe that's why I keep working. To avoid thinking." She cradled his face in her hands. Then she leaned in and kissed him softly, full on the mouth. Lucian froze, then cleared his throat. "Lorelei, be careful here. Don't play games. Don't start something you don't intend to see through." "Fair enough." Moving closer, she put her arms around his corded neck. "No games." She kissed him again, and this time he responded in kind, taking care not to press against her bruises. He whispered against her skin. "And not out of pity." "I'd have better luck pitying an avalanche or other force of nature." His body reacted instantly to her touch, and his physical reaction kicked her response into a higher gear. Her pulse shifted into overdrive as his lips brushed her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, the side of her neck. "Lucian, baby . . . you're making me crazy. I want you so much." "To the house," he whispered. Her senses heightened and her heart raced. Lorelei followed Lucian. They parked the ATVs and hurried to the house. His hand spread heat along her skin as he escorted her to the back door, through a mudroom and laundry room, then into the kitchen. Lorelei reached the inner door first, opened it—and lurched into a solid wall of muscle. Adam, in from the pool, toweling his hair. He took her arm in a firm grip to steady her. "Whoa, Princess, what's the hurry?" Startled, Lorelei's eyes grew wide.

Lucian came up behind her. "We took a spin on the quads. I showed her the rest of the facility." Adam draped the towel around his neck. "Still think it's a place for juvenile delinquents?" His voice retained its harsh edge. "No, of course not. I'm sorry if I sounded flippant." The bow of her lips pinched. "And stop calling me Princess." "Then quit acting like one." "I don't act like a Princess, I'm an agent in the NCS. And a Special Agent at that." "Oh yeah, you're special, Princess." He looked past her to Lucian. "Are you planning on lunch anytime soon?" Lorelei scanned the room for something to throw at Adam—then finally took a good look at the man standing in front of her. A light blue Speedo fit him like a second skin. First noticing the dark hair on his body, her eyes traveled from strong jaw to solid neck, from awesome arms to wide chest, from sculpted washboard abs to omifuckingod! How the hell did he tuck all that in his suit? The image left her speechless. "Luce, lunch?" Adam asked again. "A simple yes or no response will suffice. A nod will work." Lucian placed his hands on Lorelei's shoulders, his thumbs gently rubbing. "Our guest is feeling a bit tired, all that fresh air wore her out. I suggested a nap before lunch." "Yes, very tired, need a nap, sorry, food later, going to my room, yes, napping would be good, going . . . like now." Lorelei flew out of the kitchen, her cheeks hot, her boots pounding out drumbeats on the stairs. ***** Adam leaned against the counter. He took a long drink from a tall glass of lemonade, the condensation leaving a puddle on the polished granite top. "I suppose you'll tell me what that was about. I assume lunch wasn't the issue." Lucian placed a cork coaster under Adam's drink, then pulled out a chair and sat. "She wants sex. She nearly did me on a picnic table. I suggested the house."

In the process of picking up his drink, Adam returned the glass to the coaster. His posture morphed from casual to alert. "And?" "And . . . now we give her what she wants." "We?" "Yes, we. She may not be aware of it yet, but she wants both of us—and both of us she's going to get." "And you're sure about this, how?" "Hoss, trust me, okay? Have I ever been wrong about these things? I know what she wants better than she does. Let Radar O'Reilly Duquesne do what he does best." ***** Damn it all to hell, what was I thinking? What's wrong with me? Lorelei lay prone on the bedspread wearing a little bit of champagne-colored-teddy nothing, her heart still racing. I would have let him fuck me, out in the open, on a damned picnic table, fer chrissakes! Even worse, back here, in this very room, with Adam in the house! What the hell? Yes, with Adam in the house. Her heartbeat skipped again at the thought. Is that what she wanted? To have sex with Lucian, knowing Adam could be somewhere near? Hoping Adam was close? And then what? Would they call her bluff? Is that what she really wanted? She grabbed a folded blanket from the foot of the bed, then turned over on her back so her head rested on a bank of large soft pillows. Pulling the blanket over her body, she covered her eyes with her arms. Oh man, this is getting totally out of control. What the hell am I doing? An agent will be here tomorrow, from my own office. What will he expect from me? To go back to D.C.? To answer questions which I cannot answer? I have an assignment to complete, and time is getting shorter by the freakin' minute. She replayed the feeling of Lucian's warm lips on her own, her hands on his hard shoulders, overlaid by the image of Adam in his skintight swimsuit. Her nipples perked up, and it wasn't from a chill in the air.

Fuck the NCS. I'm so sunk. Chapter Five

Lorelei finally nodded off into a light doze. She didn't realize anyone had entered her room until she felt the mattress dip. Still hazy, she was barely conscious of someone lifting her arm from across her face. A soft mouth pressed gently against her lips. She refused to open her eyes and spoil the dream. It is a dream, right? "Lorelei, honey, open your eyes. Look at me." Lucian's voice, soft, seductive. "Look at me, sweetheart." She responded, her gaze locked into his soft hazel eyes. Lucian slid beneath the blanket until their bodies touched. "Hey you." "Hey you, too." She closed her eyes again. Okay, still dreaming. Nice dream, though. Something moved on her other side, and that got her brain humming. Lucian whispered, "Easy, baby doll, it's only Adam." Whoa. Adam? What the fuck means "Only Adam"? Lorelei screwed up her courage and turned to the other man, the man who didn't like her, the man who even now kept his distance so he didn't actually touch her. She opened her eyes. According to her concussed brain, she had never in her entire life seen such an intense expression on a person's face. Rather than anger or antagonism, she was stunned to see longing, confusion, maybe even desperation. Her brain might not be firing on all cylinders yet, but she knew instinctively that the wrong move, the wrong words, and she could emotionally devastate this big tough man. In the microsecond of hesitation it took her to respond, she saw disappointment replace hope in Adam's eyes. She reached for him, outlined his mouth with her fingers. "Hey." "Babe." Adam moved closer and pressed against her. He placed his open hand on her belly, his fingers splayed to cover as much of her as he could.

Lorelei's rational brain shut down, and her instincts switched to autopilot. She clasped Lucian's hand, then pulled Adam's head down with her other hand, pressing her lips against his. He brushed his lips over hers, then dominated her mouth, a sound vibrating deep in his throat. He flipped the blanket off their bodies, and tossed it to the foot of the bed. When his fingers slid over the slinky fabric of the sexy teddy she wore, he groaned against her mouth. Lorelei felt Lucian's hand tighten, and she hoped he understood. Then he raised her up so he could unsnap the teddy and pull it up and over her head. He kissed the side of her throat, softly, avoiding the bruises, his warm breath raising goose bumps on her skin. As Adam's mouth devoured hers, Lucian moved his head down and rubbed his slightly raspy cheek against her breast. She released his hand, and guided his mouth to her nipple. He softly suckled the little bud—that simple act caused her muscles to quiver, and her body arched off the mattress. Adam's hot, rough hand stayed stationary on Lorelei's belly, making her crazy. She covered it with her own, pushing down until his fingers rested against her fastheating mound. "Adam, touch me." The foundation of her emotional being sensed the turbulence in his pounding heart, as Adam mouthed the nipple that Lucian wasn't attending. He moved his fingers to the outer lips of her pussy. Lucian's hand replaced Adam's on her belly, his fingers moving over her torso like a trained masseur, his touch as light as hummingbird wings on her skin. Lorelei laid back, her eyes closed again to capture the tactile sensations without visual interference—then she spread her legs apart. Wanton. Brazen. She touched each man, her fingers tracing their bodies from face to waist. They wore only drawstring pajama pants—her fingertips identified some silky material for Lucian, a soft cotton weave for Adam. Lorelei's hands itched to dive under their pants to touch their cocks, to fondle them, tease them, but she decided to leave the best until last. She swirled her fingertips

around their nipples—rewarded with groans from both men—then worked her way down again to their waistbands. Lucian's body hair felt soft, silky; Adam's was coarser, thicker. Neither man was heavily furred. Their sucking action on her nipples intensified as she continued to explore. Adam's fingers finally penetrated the inner folds of her pussy, hotter and wetter, a direct result of the consummate dual breast suckling. Adam pushed deeper. Lorelei squeaked with pleasure, and pushed her pelvis to meet his busy fingers. He and Lucian pressed their hips against her. Lucian slid his hand down to cover hers, guiding her palm until she caressed Adam's cock through the pajama pants. "Sweet holy Mother of God!" Her eyes flew open. "Is it real?" Adam took her hand from Lucian and showed her how to stroke the entire length of his huge sex. The cotton fabric slid sweetly over his shaft. "Oh my freakin' Jesus sweet holy Christ, it is real!" It's real, and it's for me. Lorelei explored Adam's erection, sighed as Adam penetrated her with two fingers. Lost in sublime sensations, it took Lorelei a moment to realize that Lucian had rolled away from her. "Don't leave me." "Be right back, hon, not to worry. Something needs doing." Trusting Lucian to return, Lorelei became braver. Untying the drawstring, she slid her hand under the material. She gripped Adam's cock—the crown itself huge, and already slick with pre-cum dew. Lorelei began to stroke him, slowly, lightly, her warm fingers smooth against his flesh, investigating the newness of his immense organ. She finally reached his balls. They shifted and tightened under her touch, pleading for the release of his seed. Lucian, true to his word, returned quickly. "Luce, man, I can't hold out . . . ." Adam growled, his voice low and raspy. "Got it covered, hoss."

Adam removed his fingers from Lorelei's hot pussy, to be replaced by Lucian's. Lucian fingered her deeply, twice, then pulled out again. She groaned in disappointment—then her breath hitched as she felt a cold sensation against her hot flesh. "Lucian, what--?" "Shh, darlin', trust me, okay?" He worked the lubricant, his hand warming the gel as he moved over her skin. Lorelei hummed with pleasure, in perfect counterpoint to Lucian's attentions as his fingers glided across, over, and around her sex. Her flesh became engorged with desire, her hips moved to match his rhythm. She didn't see the exchange of looks between the men. Lucian moved to the side. Adam slid over her, his heavily muscled legs pushing her thighs further apart, then settled between them. Lorelei gasped as Adam's cock head pressed against her clit. His heavy shaft slid up and down the cleft of her vagina, as the gel warmed up. He did not try to enter her. Lorelei basked in the feel of Adam's thick cock as he rubbed against her sex, feeling his warm skin glide over her clit. He lowered himself so his massive chest pressed against her breasts, and kissed her. With his cock teasing her clit and his mouth possessing hers, she moaned against his lips and gave a quick snap-twist of her pelvis against his shaft. Small whimpers of need escaped from Lorelei as she grabbed Adam's sculpted ass cheeks. Lifting off her slightly, Adam took his cock in hand and slowly began to penetrate. Lorelei didn't know whether to thrust upward to meet him, to play possum and hope for the best . . . or totally escape the onslaught of the tree trunk he called a cock. Lucian made the choice, coming to her from the side, his mouth covering hers, as he tongued the inner lining of her lips. She gasped as the electrified nerve endings in her body responded, but in response to which man, she couldn't tell.

Lucian captured her wrists in his strong hands, pinning them on either side of her head—but gently. She knew she could pull away. "Lucian?" Adam silenced further words as he crushed her mouth again with his. Not soft and sexy like Lucian. Not slowly as he did earlier. This time, hard, demanding. As her brain disconnected and her sexual transmitters kicked into overdrive, Lorelei could no longer identify which man was causing which incredible sensations. His kisses still rough, Adam continued to work his cock into her. Lucian held her wrists lightly to the bed, as he tasted the flesh from the inside of her wrists to the inside of her elbows, the tip of his tongue flicking her skin like a serpent’s. Lorelei purred, a soft growl low and deep in her throat in response to the sexual attentions from both men. She gave another little twist of her hips against Adam. "Damn it, girl—take it easy, babe." His cautious movements came to an abrupt end when she grabbed one of his nipples in her teeth. He groaned, loud and raw. Sliding his hand from his shaft, he penetrated her so deeply in one smooth move that his cock head dead-ended against the mouth of her womb—and had nowhere else to go. Supporting himself on locked arms, he threw his head back and growled as his pelvis ground into hers, his cock buried in her welcoming haven. Lucian's mouth replaced Adam's and he kissed Lorelei's face, throat, shoulders. Her moans became louder, combined with small whimpers of need, of want, coming closer together. Adam slid his big hands under her writhing hips—drove into her, fucked her until her senses overloaded and a cry caught in her throat. "Oh God, yes . . . ." Lucian whispered to her. "That's it, baby, do it, sweetheart, come for us . . . ." His lips brushed her ear, urging her on. "C'mon, baby doll, let us in, come on Adam's cock for both of us . . . for all of us." Lucian's warm breath urged her on. The feel of his lips against her skin cranked the heat in her sex up another notch. Lucian's hands still held her wrists; prevented

from wrapping her arms around Adam's hips, Lorelei got her heels under her ass and thrust against his body with as much strength as she could manage. She hung there, right at the edge, filled to overflowing with Adam's remarkable cock. She rocked to his rhythm as his pace quickened, from cautious to insane. Her brain dimly knew the burn she felt came from the delicate flesh of her pussy stretching and tearing. She didn't care. So close, every cell in her body screamed, forheavenfuckingsake, so close . . . . Lorelei nearly flipped out when Lucian's mouth suddenly grabbed her nipple and suckled it hard. When he swirled his tongue around the areola, its flesh became so tightly puckered it was almost painful. "Omigod, omigod, omigod, oh, Jesus-fucking-Christ Adam, omigod, Adam, yes baby, please-please-please come, please, I need you . . . !" He slammed against her, pinned her body to the bed with his hips, roared as he came. Lucian released the grip he had on Lorelei's wrists, moved away from her body and that of his friend. Lorelei's consciousness, consumed by the feel of Adam's cock pulsing inside her, stretching her even more, was unaware that Lucian had left her. As her breath came in sobs, she threw her arms around Adam's brawny neck, whispered his name over and over as she kissed his face. Tears raced down her cheeks, unbidden and unnoticed, as she felt Adam hold her tighter and lock himself in her throbbing, pulsing womanhood.

*****

Lorelei hadn't the faintest clue how long they'd slept. Adam was wrapped around her, one of his legs draped over her thighs. Her head nestled against his shoulder. His hand, once again, rested on her belly. She read everything in that touch. The territorial male. Proprietary. Primal. His. Lucian snuggled against her other side, his arm across her breasts, his chin on her head. One of them had pulled the blanket over them.

Too satisfied to consider moving—even if she could untangle herself—Lorelei marveled that she lay so completely at ease in the arms of two such incredible men. Damn, if that's what an orgasm truly is, I've been missing out for my entire life. Her trained, logical brain demanded that she contact her boss without further delay—her real boss. Her trained, logical brain also demanded that she form a plan to expedite her assignment. At the moment, her softly illogical brain basked in total contentment in the arms of two guys. Her guys. She drifted off again. ***** Half awake, Lucian listened to the deep, steady breathing of his best friend—and their woman. Strange, waking in the same bed as Adam. During all the years they'd been together, after all the horrendous situations they’d survived, he and Adam had never been naked and peaceful in the same rack. Definitely never peaceful, usually beat up, bloody, exhausted. Lucian knew his comrade, even when Adam slept, never totally rested—the big man could launch into full fighting mode between one breath and the next. They saw each other every day, yet this was the first time Lucian actually saw Adam. When they had doubled with women in the past, they'd never co-mingled, never shared the same woman, never engaged in a limb-tangling foursome. Adam, always gone before dawn's early light from whomever's bed he shared, always restless to leave. Now, with a burly arm and muscular leg draped over Lorelei, Adam appeared completely at peace, his body relaxed. Well, hoss, that's definitely a first. Lucian careful untangled himself from the other two and slid off the bed. Lorelei twitched, beginning to wake. He returned with a warm washcloth and a tall glass of water. Fully awake now, Lorelei tried to shift so she could reach the glass, but she was still captured in Adam's embrace. "Hoss, lighten up. You're half squashing the life out of the poor girl. Ease up, partner." Adam opened one eye. "Babe." He rolled onto his back, giving Lorelei room to breathe. "Sorry."

"Is okay." She took a slow, deep breath, lifted up on one elbow and sipped the water. "Whew, thanks Radar, I needed that." Lorelei passed the glass to Adam, who drained the water in a single long swallow. "Slob," Lucian snarked. Adam rolled off his side of the bed. "Drinks. Be right back." "Scrounge up some snacks, too, would ya? We missed lunch and dinner." Lucian moved closer to Lorelei again. "Are you all right, hon?" She closed her eyes, and didn't appear to have the energy to form words necessary for a coherent reply. She did manage a sigh. Lucian used the washcloth on Lorelei. He wiped her from chin to toes, paid special attention as he gently laved between her thighs. His reward: the pleased humming sound that seemed to be part of her. He noticed the too-rosy tissue of her labia, definitely inflamed. "Stay right here, don't move." "Oh, yeah, like I'm gonna spring out of bed, do handstands and cartwheels, then jog around the compound." Lucian returned from her bathroom. She gasped to full awake as he applied a palm full of soothing lotion to all her sexy bits. "Ooh, that feels nice. Thanks." "My pleasure." "What feels nice?" Adam came through the doorway with a tray. "Babe. Sit up." "Why torture me? My muscles have turned to jelly and I can't feel my fingers or toes. Why would you make me move? You're mean." "I’m not mean. Drinks and food. You should eat." "I should sleep for a week, that's what I should do." Lucian chuckled. "Sit up and eat something, or the grizzly bear will get all sorts of growly and short-tempered." "Oh, you mean in contrast to his usual sweet, cuddly, delightful self?" Adam grunted. Lucian helped Lorelei to a sitting position, plumped pillows behind her.

"Y'know, Nanny Nursemaid, because I currently have the strength of a newborn kitten does not mean I'm an invalid." She glanced at Adam, then back to Lucian. "We're naked. We can't sit here and eat while we're all naked." Lucian looked at Adam; they both shrugged. "Yeah, but since we're all naked, there's no reason to feel out of place." Lucian moved off the bed, and struck a strongman pose. "The Emperor's New Clothes." "Look guys, if you want me to keep up my strength, throw me the blanket and at least pull your pants on." Adam tossed the blanket, which she caught and pulled up over her breasts. Lucian stood flat-footed on the area carpet. The height of the mattress proved perfect for showcasing his sex. ***** Wow. Lorelei sat up a bit straighter. Not as large as Adam’s—she doubted anyone’s, other than a Budweiser Clydesdale, grew as huge—Lucian's cock was, well, beautiful. Long, thick, straight, rising from a nest of dark blond curls that looked as soft as his chest hair. At the moment, it settled for being at half-mast—interested, but not pushy. She liked that in a cock. "There, you have your blankie. Feel better now?" Lucian asked. "Not exactly what I had in mind, since the both of you are still totally buck nekkid." She took a long swallow of cold orange juice. "Give me a moment to ponder the situation." Adam placed the tray of food on the blanket over her lap. While Lorelei searched through the offerings, he explored her. He touched her hair, her collarbone, her shoulder, ran his fingers down her arm. His touch slid along her skin, so sensual, so electric—she closed her eyes to better enjoy his exploration. She popped a strawberry in her mouth. "Mmm, good. I guess I am hungry." She opened her eyes and looked for more fruit.

Lucian climbed back onto the bed and sat cross-legged, so his knee made contact with her. He sucked down a chunk of cantaloupe, followed by honeydew. Sequences swirled around the inside of Lorelei's brain, visions left over from her unconscious time. That brought her bolt upright. Oh hell, it wasn't a dream! It was them, the Marines, in my bed, before I woke up! "Hey, guys . . . ." She popped another big fat strawberry in her mouth. Trying to speak around it, the juice dribbled down her lower lip and chin. She fumbled for a napkin. Lucian reached for her hand. "Let me help." He leaned over and licked the juice from her face. He unfolded his long legs so he could move more freely, sans pajama bottoms. Her eyes widened as she felt his cock—now ramrod hard and pushy, no longer polite—pressed against her. He captured her mouth with his. "Mmm, sweet, delicious." ***** Not breaking contact with Lorelei, Lucian glanced at Adam. His friend's corded forearms immediately tensed, his hands tightened into fists. Adam closed his eyes, took a deep slow breath, then opened them. He gave Lucian the slightest nod. Sliding the tray off Lorelei's lap, Lucian kissed her with increasing hunger. He flipped the blanket off and insinuated himself between her thighs. When his cock head rubbed against her bruised flesh, she opened to him. She wrapped her arms behind his neck in welcome, rather than warning him off. His voice was soft. "Sweetheart?" "Yes." "Are you sure, darlin'?" "Stop talking." Intellectually, Lucian knew she must be tender and achy from Adam's attentions, if not in downright pain. Physically, his body didn't give a damn. He didn't care that another man, even though they were best friends, had been with her first. It didn't matter. There could be no him or me between them, only us.

Reaching for the tube of lubricant, he added enough to the soothing lotion to ease his hard straight cock into Lorelei’s warm body. He buried himself until his firm balls rested against her flesh. His eyes closed and he became quite still, unwilling to move and lose the sensation. JesusfuckingChrist, I'm home. Lorelei apparently had other ideas. When Lucian's cock plumbed rock bottom, she waited for him to drive into her. When he didn't, she angled her hips up, grabbed his taut buttocks. "Easy honey, or this isn't going to last. I don't want to hurt you, and it's gotta be feelin' mighty raw right now." "No, not easy. Fuck me now. Hard. Lucian—now! I mean it!" She bit his shoulder, and dug her nails into the cheeks of his ass. Whoa, she's not kidding! His balls got tighter as his body reacted to her unexpected need. He pulled out slowly, until only the crown stretched her, then plunged deep. He pumped with pile-driving strokes, swiveling his hips to bottom out in her depths. "Holy shit, yes-yes-yes-yes, omigod . . . just . . . like . . . that . . . ." Lorelei's voice was deeply husky; her nails raked him. "Omigod, Luce baby I'm coming again, dear sweet God-in-heaven baby I'm right there!" Lucian could only oblige. He forced himself even deeper as his cock exploded. "Ahh, hellfire, fuck me runnin'!" He groaned, his mouth seeking her nipples as he drove into her, his organ pulsing in time to the hard spasms of her smooth inner flesh. Eventually, the sensations began to subside. The only sounds in the room were of their labored breathing as the pair pulled air into their lungs. Lucian braced himself on shaky arms, and moved to lift from her body. Lorelei reached across his shoulder with one arm, and held him to her. "No, don't leave me." She found Adam's thick wrist and pulled him close. She slid her fingers into his hair and brought his mouth to hers, with Lucian still buried deep inside her. Adam kissed her deeply, accepted their bonding.

Lucian finally lifted off Lorelei to ease her aching sex. He rearranged himself to rest his head against her belly, wrapped his arm around her hips. Adam slid closer and anchored her to his body. Lorelei heaved a single, huge, sobbing sigh at the incredible emotional assault, and went limp as all the adrenalin left her body. Lucian was the last of the exhausted trio to collapse into sated sleep. Sated, peaceful, dreamless sleep. Chapter Six

"Hoss, is that you?" Lucian's voice was low, but carried. Adam woke suddenly. "Yeah." "According to my Mickey Mouse watch, it's midnight. Our third Musketeer seems to be missing." Adam came up on his elbow. "Damn. Didn't feel her leave." "I don't know about you, hoss, but I wasn't sleeping—I was comatose." "Fuck it, that's not good. Some security team." "Extenuating circumstances, hoss, extenuating circumstances." "Not acceptable." "I know, I'm bullshittin' ya. Shall we hunt her down and throw a rope around her?" "She's in the kitchen. More of your damn orange tea." Long ago, Lucian stopped wondering how Adam's sense of smell worked. "I swear, hoss, you're part coon hound."

*****

Lorelei sat at the kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a mug of steaming mandarin orange tea. A jar of orange marmalade sat on the counter with an

iced teaspoon lying beside it, next to a bottle of Sambuca. She wore Adam's Marine Corps nightshirt, not one of the slinky pretties Lucian had bought for her. The tray of snacks sat in front of her. She hadn't touched any. "It needed more orange." She would not look directly at either man. She waited while Lucian put on a pot of coffee. No one uttered a word until he sat at the end of the table, so they formed a triangle. The men had pulled on pajama pants and T-shirts. At least they didn't come to the kitchen naked. "Guys, I don't know how to process this." Her voice cracked a bit. "This . . . whole thing . . . is beyond my scope of experience. Part of my memory is gone, but I would remember if something like that had happened before." "Hon, look—" Lucian started. "Wait, let me say what I gotta say. I may not be inebriated enough to try again." "All right, it's your call. We'll listen." "Tell me the truth. How did you know exactly what to buy? Okay, you had some sizes, but styles, colors, shampoo, soap, perfume. Everything." The men glanced at each other, their expressions clearly puzzled. "That's what's bothering you?" Adam said. "You're concerned because your clothing fits?" Lucian took a stab at it. "I told you. I checked the clothes you were wearing when we found you." "Yeah, okay. But I wasn't wearing jeans, boots, sneakers. My bras and panties are perfect. You bought me damned near an entire wardrobe that I would have chosen for myself, given the opportunity. Even my favorite lotion and scent. But they weren't on your list, and I wasn't with you." "I have sisters, remember?" "Lucian, don't fuck around with me. I'm majorly concussed, but I'm not an idiot." Adam leaned his elbows on the table. "Luce, tell her. She needs to know what's going on." "Yes, Luce, why don't you do that? Tell me."

Lucian walked over to the coffee pot, poured out mugs of strong steaming Rich Blend for himself and for Adam; his actions were slow, deliberate. He sat down again. "Lorelei—" "We looked through your brownstone." Adam again, his tone flat, all business. "Our contact had a team in D.C. go through your townhouse with a video camera, and stream the feed up to our plasma screen." Lorelei didn't scream in rage. She didn't collapse in tears. She didn't pitch a bitch. She nodded. But she continued to look past them. "So, the whole time I've been here, you've been orchestrating my life." "I wouldn't put it quite . . . ." Lucian began. Adam was blunt. "Yes, we have. Every bit of it. We know more about you than you do." Lorelei held her hand up to stop Lucian before he opened his mouth again. Her gaze focused on Adam, and she didn't flinch away from his blue eyes, which were flinty and hard. "Every bit of it . . . including what happened upstairs?" Her eyes were aching, but she wasn't giving in to tears. "Was that part of your master plan?" "No," Adam said, simply. "It was not." Lorelei took a long, slow drink of her doctored tea, taking precious minutes to consider her predicament. "So, what's the game plan now?" Lucian slid his chair back to go to her, but once again he met her upraised palm. "Stay right there, fella. I need space to think, and I can't think when you're near me. When either of you is near me." "You were unconscious. We needed to discover your identity, and notify the local authorities. We assumed you were a civilian, remember?" Lucian settled back in his chair. "I swear, that's all. At first. Until we realized that we . . . well, we . . . ." "Quick fuckin' around with it, Luce." Adam was abrupt. "We don't want you to leave. You need a safety net."

"That's it?" Lorelei's eyebrows lifted. "You were watching out for me? For my own good?" ***** Lucian heard the trap being set. He'd grown up in a house full of women, and he knew "for my own good" were fightin' words. He tried to cut Adam off, but it was too late. The trap door cocked and locked. "Exactly. For your own good." Adam, a single male, was oblivious. Lucian covered his eyes with his hand, and shook his head. He heard the trap door slam shut with a bang. Oh man, this is gonna be ugly. ***** Lorelei pushed her chair back, slow and deliberate, then leaned forward with both hands flat on the table. She turned a dark, ferocious glare on the men. Chock full of righteous indignation, she actually growled. "And what makes you thick-headed übermacho Neanderthals believe that you have the fucking right, the brass balls, to make personal decisions about me?" Her expression grew fiercer. "Who gave you fucking permission to bulldoze your way into my personal life, without so much as the barest notion, the tiniest hint, of what I might want or need? Did you even consider asking for my thoughts on the matter? On any matter?" "Lorelei, sweetheart . . . ." She turned on Lucian, a pissed off mongoose after a clueless snake. "Don't you sweetheart me, Lifeguard Boy. I fucking a-well need to know the truth, and don't bullshit around with me. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a woman on the edge. So, I'm asking you again—was what happened upstairs part of your freakin' master plan? Something else for my own fucking good?" Lucian didn't have a chance to open his mouth. "No." Adam shook his head. "No." Lorelei faced him, her eyes locked onto his like heat-seeking missiles. Expecting to see Adam's anger reflected back at her, her foundation tilted precariously when she

read confusion in the big man's eyes. Is that panic? She sighed; her anger instantly drained. Damn it to hell, he's breaking my fucking heart. She slumped into her seat, and sucked down the last of the Sambuca-laced tea. Her gaze swung back to Lucian. "Well, Cabana Boy, is it true, what the Marine Poster Child said?" She saw the tension in Lucian's shoulders ease up a fraction, as though he recognized the barest snippet of hope in her words, a possible reprieve. "Yes ma'am, it's true. You were alone and in trouble. At first, we wanted to help, like, y'know, professional courtesy. We were attracted to you. Now, we . . . care for you." "Both of you?" Care for me? What the hell does that mean? "Both of us. Darlin', we don't want to hurt you—or hurt each other." She made direct eye contact with Adam, didn't blink. He gave a single nod. "I see." Lucian tried again. "Lorelei, hon . . . ." "Luce, shut up for a moment, wouldja?" Then she scooped up her mug. "I need more tea." In the silence that followed, Lorelei realized that the men were smart enough to figure out their best response was no response at all. Both Marines sat at near attention, their mugs of high-octane coffee mostly forgotten. Lorelei nuked the water—Lucian, horrified, kept his seat when she cranked up the microwave, rather than use a proper teapot to prepare her tea. With Sambuca. Lorelei settled again with the steaming mug of doctored tea, glared at Adam. "Am I still under suspicion?" "You could tell us the truth." "I beg your pardon?" Now he's really pissing me off. "Princess, let's cut through the crap. If you weren't a top agent, you wouldn't be in the NCS. Through whatever chain of events, you're cut off, no cavalry to the rescue. We understand your position—you're protecting the integrity of your assignment. Tell it straight. Lucian told you right. We're good at what we do."

A dark cloud of silence overshadowed the kitchen. These boys don't give up. Lorelei tried one more time. "I was on vacation—" Before Lucian could respond, Adam stood so abruptly that his seat slammed against the chair rail with a bang. He slapped his hands on the table. "Enough! That's it with the bullshit. Either come clean or go back to D.C. with your agent. And we're through here. Your call, Princess. Trust us—or go." Lucian found his voice first. "Adam, damn it, hold on . . . ." "No, he's right." Lorelei shook her head. "I knew I was in trouble when I woke up in a nest of Marines." She stared at her tea. "You guys couldn't simply hand me off. You had to keep digging." Leaving her chair, she walked to the counter and leaned against it. Well, fuck it. I'm truly, royally screwed, either way. "Fine. Yes, I'm on assignment. Covert op. Vacation was a cover. Only my immediate supervisor knew—but he's not my real boss. Once in place, I was to wait for the green light, then connect with my contact at Loring Air Force Base and complete the mission. That's all I can tell you." "You do realize Loring is closed, right? That the base shut down years ago?" Lucian asked. "If the accident that almost took you out was deliberate, whoever caused the wreck took everything. How can you complete your assignment?" "Loring still has a functional air strip, if one has the connections. My contact flies in, I make the transfer while the transport is refueled, he flies back out." "If your supervisor was the only other one in the loop, you've been compromised." Adam raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "You knew that." "Yeah, I knew—well, I suspected. My real boss is, shall we say, upper echelon. A bit above Robson's pay scale. All indicators pointed to a bad seed in our ranks, but we couldn't find the leak. The transfer of goods is real. It would be a bonus if I enticed our sneak—or sneaks—into the open." "Where's your team?" Lucian gave her the type of hard look she'd come to expect from Adam. "You're looking at the team, darlin'."

Lucian pounded his fist on the table. The mugs jumped. "How could they send you in without backup?" "Clandestine, baby. I work alone. It's what I do." "So," he snapped, "this is a suicide mission? With you as bait? No back-up? JesusH-Christ-in-a-sidecar already. Standard rule of engagement: always have backup." Lorelei shrugged. "I didn't expect any trouble until I reached Limestone, outside of Loring." "What goods?" Adam asked. Lorelei blinked. "I beg your pardon?" "You said transfer goods. What goods?" Fuck, how do these guys do it, make me run off at the mouth? She hesitated for a moment, then heaved a big sigh. In for a penny, in for a pound. Bellisario is gonna have my sorry ass anyway. "A flash drive. My mission was to hand-deliver a flash drive to my contact. Since my belongings were taken, the rat must be one of my own section people. Only Robson knew about the meeting, but his chubby pink self wouldn't get his hands dirty. My guess is that whoever he sends—" "Is in on the game," finished Adam. Lorelei nodded. "Whoever shows up was here already." Lucian spoke up. "If the flash drive is gone, doesn't that cancel out the mission?" "Nope. The flash drive wasn't with me. I mailed it to myself before I left D.C., in care of Limestone General Delivery. I don't usually carry critical data." "Smart move." Lucian cocked his head. "So, the story about not remembering the crash is bullshit? Part of your cover?" "No. That part is true. Unfortunately. It's like a word or phrase being at the tip of your tongue but you can't quite get it. I really don't remember the morning of the crash." Adam returned to his seat. "What can we do?" "Honestly? I need a secure line to contact my real boss, relate what's transpired, and get the go-ahead to either continue or abort. Then I wait to see who Robson sends

for me." She downed her tea. "And I would appreciate the loan of a firearm. I feel naked." ***** It would be hours until daybreak, but Lucian moved around the kitchen with purpose. He grabbed English muffins out of the breadbox, cream cheese from the fridge. No one had eaten dinner. And Lorelei's tea refills—Lorelei the non-drinker— were nearly half alcohol. Plus, it gave him something to do. Lucian balanced on a tightrope. He knew in his gut that one misstep, with either Lorelei or Adam, could signal the end of life as he knew it. Life as he wanted it to be. He had no illusions about his place in the relationship. He was the anchor, the peacekeeper, and at times, the calm eye at the center of the hurricane. The linchpin in the relationship, he belonged between them, comfortable in his role. Now if I can keep everyone on an even keel until we sort this out. Lucian placed a plate in front of Lorelei, toasted English muffin halves slathered with cream cheese. He moved the jar of orange marmalade to the table, and kissed the top of her head in passing. He moved the plate of leftover fruit closer to her. "What else do you know about me? If your guys ransacked my townhouse, what else did you find out? I need to be on the same page, in a manner of speaking, if we're going to pull this off." "Hon, it wasn't like that, they didn't—" Adam cut through the bullshit. Again. "You're neat and organized. Professional. Everything in its place. Your security is tight. It wasn't easy for the team to break in." With one elbow on the table, Lorelei rested her chin on a fist. "Oh, thanks, I'm so relieved. All right. What else, Dr. Watson?" Lucian began to respond when Adam chimed in. "We know you can't get pregnant." Two pair of eyes zeroed in on him. Lucian looked toward heaven for help, covered his eyes with a hand, and shook his head. He dropped his hand and stared at Adam.

Lorelei covered her blushing cheeks with her hands, and lowered her forehead to the table. "Oh, dear God . . . ." "What? She asked." Adam responded gruffly to Lucian's look. "It's important. Considering that neither of us used condoms, it's really fucking important. We're both vetted and healthy—I thought she should know. Now we all know she won't get pregnant." He turned back to Lorelei, but avoided eye contact. "Stashed in your file drawer, in a folder labeled Medical. You have an I.U.D. Smart." The phrase, "Oh, dear God," repeated, muffled through Lorelei's hands. "Hon, really, it's okay. No need to be upset." Lucian's voice was calm, reasonable. "I have sisters, tons of nieces and nephews. I understand about woman stuff. Adam is an insensitive prick. Has no finesse." He matched Adam's squinty-eyed look with one of his own. "The bottom line is that we're all adults who work in life-threatening situations. Scoping out your townhouse was business, using the tools of the trade. You would do the same with an unconscious accident victim on your hands." Lorelei's voice was still muffled by her hands. "This is too weird." Lucian stepped behind her and wrapped her in his arms, kissed the back of her head. This time, she didn't move away. "You're tough, sweet cheeks. We'll get you through this." She sniffled. "Yeah, well, Volley Ball Boy, I don't feel very tough right now." Lucian chuckled. "Yeah, well, when push comes to shove, I don't think you'll go down without a fight." ***** Not knowing how to deal with Lorelei, Adam kicked back from the table and took his coffee into the great room. He paced in the huge open space in the center of the sitting areas. When that didn't help, he parked on the staircase nearest the kitchen. The wide landing was three shallow steps high; his feet were flat on the floor. Setting his mug next to him, he leaned back on his elbows, and closed his eyes. "I'd like to go to my room, please."

Surprised, Adam's eyes flew open and he sat upright. Buried deep in his own thoughts, he hadn't heard Lorelei come into the great room. She sounded like a little kid, her voice all scratchy and snuffly. With his elbows resting on his knees, Adam nearly suggested that she use the other set of stairs at the far end of the great room. He realized it would sound rude— even for him. He slid over to let her get by. Lorelei didn't move. She seemed to blank out for an instant. Taking a step closer, she didn't try to squeeze by. Maintaining eye contact, she took another step and placed her hands on his knees. She moved forward, forcing his legs farther apart. At her touch, Adam's strong heart raced and his breath hitched in his chest. His muscles tensed, and thrummed like taut violin strings. "Princess, are you sure this is what you want? To play hard and fast, to run with the big dogs?" "Baby, I am one of the big dogs." She pressed closer to him. "I can't get pregnant—isn't that what you said?" Her voice stayed low, but with a new husky quality to it. "Don't call me Princess." "Honey, calm down, that's not what he meant." Lucian came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist. He pulled her against his body, nuzzling her hair. "That's exactly what I meant," Adam growled, watching Lucian hold her. "I want to feel every bit of you." His hot gaze raked her. "With nothing in the way. Tight. Raw. Hot. Real." Lorelei gently broke away from Lucian, pulled up the hem of her nightshirt. Lucian finished the job, slid the garment off and tossed it aside. Adam met her burning stare. She didn't flinch. "Then take what you want." ***** Lorelei's rational brain screamed at her to stop the insanity while she could, to fly to her room and bolt the door. Her gut proved unwilling to back down, refused to run from a perceived challenge. Adrenalin surged, her heart rate increased, and her instincts jumped to full Agent alert.

She leaned into Adam, her hands braced on his wide shoulders. Behind her, Lucian trapped her between them, pressed against her. When she felt the firmness of his response, she moved her head to the side so he could nuzzle her, rub her shoulders, kiss the back of her neck—each an incredible turn-on. Lorelei began to fondle Adam. He flipped his T-shirt over his head, slipped his pajama pants down and off. He was so hard, so naked, so ready for her. Hugely ready. Shiny pre-cum already crowned his blunt cock head. Lucian nuzzled her again. "Honey, is this really what you want?" He reached between her thighs—she was hot and wet. He kissed the track of her spine, her shoulders, her neck. "Oh yeah, hoss, she wants us." Adam lowered his torso and lay back on the landing, propped up on his elbows. He stretched his legs out, his feet flat on the floor. Instead of mounting him, Lorelei took Adam's cock in both hands, her palms sliding along his shaft. Still positioned between his legs, she lowered her hands to the landing to support herself. "Feed me." When Adam didn't move, she took his hand and wrapped his fingers around his cock. "Feed your cock to me." He supported himself on one elbow, gripped his shaft at its base. At first he closed his eyes, but they snapped open the instant he felt her mouth cover the crown of his cock. Lorelei tasted him slowly, from balls to shiny tip, her tongue taking little catlike licks along the way. She took him into her mouth again, heated up every cell of his cock as she teased his flesh. Their eyes met, and she felt her brown irises flame from soft to smoldering. Unable to take him entirely into her mouth, Lorelei nibbled at his shaft, running her lips down, then back to the tip. She took the head again, glanced at Adam as he watched Lucian. She adjusted her balance as Lucian pressed against her from behind. Lucian reached between Lorelei's legs again, and stroked her pussy. The motion of her

mouth and lips on Adam's cock increased in intensity, as Lucian slowly worked his fingers into her. She moaned at Lucian's attentions, and tilted her pelvis to give him better point of entry. She felt Lucian lean to the side, the better to see his friend's cock head as it disappeared into Lorelei's mouth. He guided his rigid member along the crease of her smooth buttocks, then angled the head down, sliding it along her labia until it found the path to paradise. She backed against him, signaling Lucian to continue. Moving his hands to her waist, he began to penetrate her—and she knew he wasn't losing sight of her mouth on Adam's cock. Lorelei didn't know what turned her on the most—sucking Adam's huge cock in front of another man, or being fucked by Lucian while she did it. None of it was familiar, but all of it felt fantastic. She didn't want to stop. The sensation of Lucian sliding into her had her half crazy. Lucian suddenly withdrew. She pulled her mouth from Adam's cock. "Wait, don't—" "Ride him, hon," Lucian whispered. "Ride Adam. Baby, you're so hot, so wet. Slide onto his big cock." Lorelei gave a sloe-eyed glance at Adam—he responded with the barest nod. Kneeling over Adam's lap, Lorelei settled the outer lips of her heated sex against the veined ridge of his shaft. She felt Lucian move away from her for a moment, then felt the renewed warmth of his big male body when he returned. He reached between her legs from behind and applied lubricant to her pussy. "Mmm, you really are Radar O'Reilly, aren't you?" She pushed against his slippery hand. "Do it, sweetheart. Settle yourself on his badass cock." Lucian's lips skimmed her neck to her ear, sending goose bumps rocketing across her skin. "Ride him, baby doll." He whispered with a hint of Southern drawl, his breath warm against her flesh, encouraging her. "Do it, sweetness. Ride Adam's cock for us."

Lucian placed his hands on Lorelei's hips and guided her over his friend's massive sex. Adam, cock in hand, guided the head against her clitoris. Lorelei gasped, then stayed quite still for the brief seconds it took her overwhelming need to overpower her common sense. She began to lower herself onto his shaft. "Babe. Easy—don't rush it." Adam's voice, low, gruff. "Take me in." With great care, Lorelei worked her hot flesh, still tight, raw, and tender, over him. The silky lubricant paved the way, doing its job. "Oh yeah," she moaned, closing her eyes to savor the sensation. "Nothing like this ever before. Not once, not ever. Never like this." ***** His hands still on Lorelei's waist, Lucian worked with her as she began her cautious journey on Adam's cock. He reached around and kneaded her breasts, then returned to her waist and hips. Holding her, he felt her tension increase, felt the edge of wildness taking her. Lucian reached under Lorelei as she lifted off Adam, on the upside of a long smooth stroke. She writhed like crazy at Lucian's touch, lifted up again. With long slick fingers, Lucian thrust into her, alternating his movements with Adam's cock. His fingers became more slippery with her cream and the super-slick lubricant. She lifted off Adam again. Lucian slid a finger along the crevice of her buttocks, into the unbelievably tight rosette of her ass. Lorelei squeaked—but didn't stop him. She slowly slid toward Adam's lap again, impaling herself on his ship's mast of rigid cock flesh. Lucian worked his fingers in and out of her; she moaned, lower and deeper in her throat. Supporting them with his arms stiff and straight behind him, Adam thrust high. Lucian glanced at Adam again, questioning. Adam gave one more barely perceptible nod. He slid his ass on the carpet toward the edge of the landing, and adjusted his body as well as he could. His hands replaced Lucian's on Lorelei's waist, and he pulled her forward. *****

Crazed and caught between want, need and sensual madness, Lorelei barely hung on to the edge of reason. Adam began to lift her, slowly, off his cock—so close to coming, she cried out in frustration. Then she felt Lucian's shaft sliding along the crease of her buttocks. As Adam lifted her, Lucian slid his long hard sex into her pussy, lubricating himself. He pulled out, thrust into her again, pulled out—then slowly, carefully, pierced her ass with the head of his cock. On the brink of orgasm, Lorelei gasped as Lucian pulled out and Adam slid into her. With the intrusion of Lucian's cock head, she realized their intentions as Adam's shaft impaled her, filled her to bursting, both length and width. She squirmed, not sure what to do. She'd never played this game before. "Babe, stay with me," Adam growled softly, "take me in." He suckled Lorelei's nipples, his mouth moving hungrily from one to the other. She reacted with untamed urgency as her womb tightened like a fist, and electric shocks bolted along her spine. As Lucian continued to enter her tight flesh, her anticipation boosted the intensity of wildness in the three of them. The weight of Lucian's body impaled Lorelei even farther on Adam’s shaft than she thought possible. With a huge moan, Lucian sank into her ass, penetrating smoothly until she felt the weight of his balls pressed against Adam's. Her body shuddered; Adam's voice dominated her. "That's it, babe, stay with me. You can do this. Take Lucian. Take us both. Take us deep." With her body filled beyond sense, reason and reckoning, Lorelei shrieked and grabbed Adam's shoulders, her nails biting into his muscular flesh. "Omifuckinggod . . . ." She did not, would not, could not stop riding Adam. "That's a girl—babe, stay with me. Stay with us. Take us in." "Adam, omigod baby, I need to come, I need to come on your cock, I'm so right there . . . Lucian . . . Jesus-sweet-fucking-God . . . do it . . . ." Lorelei moaned and pressed her palms against Adam's sweat-slicked chest.

Adam obliged, grabbed her waist and drove into her again. And again. And again. She screamed like a wild thing. "Oh fuck, sweet God in heaven, yes-yes-yes!" Lucian pumped into her, his cock slick, diving deep. Adam buried his shaft into her channel as Lucian withdrew. His big hands spanned her hips. He plunged into her pussy in one strong, deep stroke as Lucian, gripping Lorelei's shoulders, met him with a long piercing drive. Her voice broke, and she shrilled at the full double penetration. She twisted, wild, frantic to take them both, the pain and the burn be damned. Sensation overlapped sensation. She didn't know to which sensation she was reacting, as the men drove into her. They alternated strokes at first, but as the three of them sailed to the edge of the maelstrom, the men slammed into her at will. Her body filled to overflowing, she craved the completeness. Needed it. Finally, demanded it. Lorelei cried out her orgasm as her entire body spasmed, shuddered with cascades of pounding pulsations that she felt in every nerve bundle in her body. Adam roared his release, followed in a microsecond by Lucian's animal-like howl of total liberation. Responding to the weird sensation caused by the slowly softening cocks, Lorelei suddenly bucked between the men's hard, overheated bodies like an untamed mustang. She yipped and came again; her tender flesh throbbed around her two men. With huge gulping sobs, she finally collapsed on Adam. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed him as Lucian kissed the back of her neck and shoulders. "Omigod. Adam, Lucian, oh-my-fucking-dear-God-in-heaven . . . ." ***** As the emotional fog cleared and his brain regained control, Lucian realized that his friend must be in agony. He carefully withdrew—heard a whimper from Lorelei— then lifted her limp, sweat-soaked body off Adam. Carrying her to the great room, he settled her on a long sofa. He dragged a knitted afghan from the back of the sofa over her. Returning to Adam, he leaned down and gave him a hand.

Leaving Adam dazed but standing, Lucian went to the main floor bathroom and got a warm wet cloth and a towel. He gently bathed Lorelei, patted her dry, then applied soothing aloe cream where needed. Standing her upright, he pulled her nightshirt back over her head, and straightened it the best he could. She collapsed like a limp dishrag onto the sofa cushions. After Adam cleaned up, he watched over Lorelei while Lucian took his turn. Lorelei, eyes closed, pulled the blanket up over her chin and mouth. When Lucian returned, the men realized that she wasn't sleeping. She'd opened her eyes and was staring at the floor. "Lorelei, honey, I'm sorry if I—if we—" Lorelei reached up and put her fingers to Lucian's lips. "Please, don't. I wanted you. The two of you. I needed you both." "Lorelei, don't screw around." Adam sounded raw, hoarse. "Don't say it if you don't mean it. All of it." "For fuck sake, hoss . . . ." "Lucian, it's all right, I think I understand what he means." Her brown eyes were soft as she met Adam's fierce look. "I do mean it. Every bloody word of it. Look, my life was different before—but I needed what you gave me, the both of you. Last night. And just now. I'm upset because I can't remember the wreck, so parts of my memory are still somewhat shot to shit. What I do know is that I don't want this—us—to end." Not having a handkerchief to offer, Lucian left and returned with a clean kitchen towel. "Lorelei, sweetheart, we don't want this to end, either. We want to protect you, keep you safe. And we want you to stay with us." He glanced at Adam, and caught the barest nod. "Live with us." "Live here?" "Yeah. With us." Lorelei looked up at Adam. "And you?"

He nodded. "Say it." "Yes." "Then what do we do? I don't want anyone to take me away from here." Lorelei shifted on the leather sofa cushions and tucked her legs under her. She grimaced. "And I probably won't be able to ride your precious ATVs for a while, you Philistines." "Lorelei, we didn't . . . it wasn't . . . ." Lucian knelt on the floor next to her. He took her hand and stroked it. "We sorta got carried away." "Oh, ya think so? Sorta?" Adam scowled and looked down at her, worry evident on his hard-planed face. "Okay, lighten up. I'm only teasing, ya big dummies. I won't lie—I'm definitely damaged in places I didn't know would be invited to the party. Actually, my entire body aches, right down to my fingertips and toenails. I'm sure it will be easier over time—and I'm willing to give us that chance." Her hand tightened on Lucian's, and they looked up at Adam. "Right?" Adam managed a nod. Lucian stood. "Well, children, since we have an agent of the CIA arriving any time now, I suggest that we all get showered and presentable. Adam can make us a real breakfast soon, okay?" "Yes, please. Something with cheese. And bacon. Lots of cheese and bacon." Lorelei grimaced as she started to rise from the sofa. "And now I need to see if my legs will actually work well enough for me to climb the stairs, crawl into the shower—and get properly dressed. I might suggest a nice elevator lift if this activity continues." "Oh, it will continue," Adam promised. "It definitely will continue." Chapter Seven

The men showered, then regrouped in the com center. Lucian settled in a swivel chair, and twisted around toward Adam. "Okay, hoss, y'all want to tell me what else Garrett included in his report?" Adam moved to another terminal and pulled up a screen. "Easier to read it." Lucian scrolled down the contents and read aloud—mostly because it was fun to annoy Adam. "Hmm, quite the library. Eclectic choices in books, music. Old rock, vintage Meatloaf. Audio books, mysteries and suspense." He glanced at Adam. "Y'know, she would have a stash of audio books and music CDs for such a long trip. Nothing like that in her rental." Adam nodded. "I'm thinking the perp didn't have time to search. He heard us, grabbed everything, and took off." Lucian continued. "Well, this is good news—no husband or steady male friend. No sign of men's clothing in her bedroom, no man stuff in the bathroom." Continuing to scroll, Lucian cut Adam a break and read silently. No pets, no live plants. Housekeeper twice a month. Freezer: Two containers of Cherry Garcia, a bag of ice cubes, two bags of frozen broccoli, half a dozen boxes of Lean Cuisine, mostly chicken and Italian. Fridge: Brown mustard, diet vanilla cream soda and powdered creamer. Kitchen cupboards: rich roast coffee. Honey Nut Cheerios. Take-out menus. "It appears that our girl doesn't do anything besides work. She's as bad as we are." Adam grunted. "Keep reading." "'Both parents are professors with tenure at Georgetown Law. No siblings. Only child, over-achiever. Was finishing out her third year of JD law studies at Tulane when—'" Lucian's eyes grew wide. "No shit?" "No shit." "Wow." Lucian continued reading. "'Walking across campus at night, law student Roz Delaney was attacked by a single male allegedly identified as the Campus Nightstalker. The alleged attacker was unaware that the young woman used the buddy

system when walking at night.'" Lucian snorted. "I love all this 'alleged' bullshit. 'Ms. Delaney's roommate, Ms. Lorelei Anne Randall, also a law student, had stopped to tie her shoelace. She caught up with her friend as Ms. Delaney was being dragged behind a hedgerow lining the walking path.'" Lucian shook his head. "I'm afraid to read further." "Do it. Trust me." Adam said. "'Randall rescued her roommate, then proceeded to inflict considerable damage to the alleged attacker. When the campus police arrived, the alleged attacker was screaming, "Keep that crazy bitch offa me!'" "Oh man, I'm not believing this," Lucian said. "Read." Lucian scanned the report summary. "'Bohemia Jackson, the alleged Campus Nightstalker, who authorities believe is responsible for four other violent rapes on campus, barely got away with his life. Randall wrestled Jackson's signature tire iron from him, bashed his head, then attempted to emasculate him with the pointy end of the stick. When questioned by the FBI, Randall stated that her intention was to make "damn sure" he never attacked or raped anyone, ever again.'" Lucian skipped to the next news report. "'While the alleged attacker was recovering from the head-and-testiclebashing, he was knifed in lock-up awaiting a court date, and died of his wounds. When told of the jailhouse killing, Ms. Randall responded—and the reporter quoted— "Outstanding." Ms. Delany had left Tulane and returned to her parents' home, and could not be reached for comment.'" Lucian looked at Adam and grinned. "Way to go, girl." "Continue." "There's more?" Garrett had condensed the next file; Lucian hit the highlights. "'Randall . . . not traumatized by the skirmish . . . caught the attention of the FBI. According to our informant, rather than being terrified, Randall was mightily pissed off that someone manhandled her friend and roommate and attacked Randall with a tire iron.'" Lucian scanned the data. "The FBI made an offer, and Randall bailed out of Tulane the moment she received her Juris Doctorate degree." He skimmed over her

academic record, whistled. "After two years, someone higher up in the CIA food chain got wind of Randall's talents—they recruited her away from the Fibbies. Two years later they snatched up for their NCS program." Lucian shook his head. "Damn. What did her folks, the professors, say about all this?" "Not much." Adam shrugged. "Seems they knew better than to argue with their only daughter." "Okay, so she knows how to take care of herself. It's still no excuse. Hoss, you know the drill better than most: no one goes out without backup or a contingency plan. She's crazy for taking this on, and her boss is even worse." "Like it or not," Adam said, "she has backup now."

*****

The Three Musketeers had barely sat down to breakfast when Sheriff MacBride and the CIA agent from D.C. arrived. Adam buzzed them in. MacBride took his hat off and nodded to Lorelei. "Ms. Randall, this is Agent Ben Stanford." "That would be Agent Benjamin Stanford, if you don't mind. Not Ben." A mousylooking man with weak shoulders, pale paper-bag brown eyes, and sparse light brown hair sniped at MacBride. The little man pushed round, wire-rimmed spectacles up his thin nose. "Excuse me. Special Agent Randall, this is Agent Benjamin Stanford, sent up here by your boss, Harry Robson. Or," MacBride asked, "should that be Harold Robson?" "I believe that Section Chief Robson prefers Harry," the man said. "There we have it, the official word." MacBride looked around the kitchen. "Coffee?" Lucian filled a large mug for the sheriff—black, two sugars—and waved an empty mug at the agent.

"I drink only decaffeinated beverages." Stanford's nasal twang didn't help the impression he’d already made. "Herbal tea," Lucian offered. "Will that work?" "I suppose so." Stanford looked around the table, and chose a chair away from everyone. Lorelei hesitated for a micro-instant, then folded a slice of maple bacon into her mouth and motioned to MacBride to take half of her omelet and toast. MacBride parked next to her and spoke around a mouthful of crispy sourdough bread. "Lorelei . . . Special Agent Randall . . . Agent Stanford is domiciled at your D.C. office. Do you remember him?" Here we go, boys. Show time. They hadn't had time to brief MacBride. MacBride, please play it cool here. Lorelei rose from her seat to offer Stanford her hand. He looked at her outstretched hand for a long moment, his expression clearly mirroring his distaste. He finally rose and reached across, barely touching her fingers in a limp-fingered sham at returning the gesture. "No, sorry. Did we work together?" Sheriff MacBride sent a puzzled look her way, but he kept quiet. ***** What's going on here? Adam targeted Lorelei's hesitation. Her nostrils flared, not once, but several times, like a good hunting dog working a scent. She had fidgeted with her fork, then slid the rest of her omelet to MacBride. Minute changes in her posture told him that something had changed. Lorelei looked edgy; her eyes darted around the room, her body motions were stiff—a far cry from her confident response when she'd met MacBride and his crew for the first time. Something's wrong. Lucian spoke up. "Ben, it would probably be more comfortable to move to the great room to ask your questions." "Benjamin, if you don't mind. Agent Stanford would be more appropriate." The whiny level in the little man's voice crept up a notch. Ignoring Lucian's offer, he pressed on. "Why, yes we did work together, don't you remember me?"

Lorelei looked closely at his face. She finally shook her head. "No, you don't look familiar." "Good. I mean, yes, I see." "Didn't Sheriff MacBride tell you that I suffered a head injury? A concussion, with possible retrograde amnesia?" Lorelei's voice went up an octave, and sounded almost childlike—or like the voice of a ditzy blonde. MacBride's brow raised, and Adam hoped the sheriff read his buddy, keep it to yourself look. The memory loss bracketed the accident itself—according to their discussions, Lorelei remembered before and after. "Well, yes, but a good agent must discover these things for himself, Special Agent Randall." "Oh, yes, I see, Benjie." "Benjamin! Not Benjie! Didn't you listen earlier?" The little man nearly squealed with agitation. Lorelei responded again in the ditzy blonde voice. "I'm so sorry, Agent Stanford, please forgive me. It's the amnesia thing. I forget things so quickly these days." At her off-the-wall response, Adam sent a squinty-eyed look at Lucian and MacBride, hoping to keep them quiet. "I suppose that's an acceptable reason." Stanford played with the buttons of his beige suit. "You were considered quite the bright star in our special unit." "Really? Was I?" Lucian stepped behind Lorelei's chair, placed a hand on her shoulder. ***** Closing her eyes for a second, Lorelei leaned into Lucian's touch and took a deep, calming breath. Then, open-eyed, one eyebrow slightly lifted, she asked, "I'm not sure how this works, with the amnesia and all—does my Special Agent title trump your standard Agent title?" Lorelei waited for Stanford to respond. Suddenly, his thin lips pinched tight, and he glanced around the room. She knew the exact instant he realized that he stood in

close proximity to three big men, hard-bodied and tough, three men who were at least six feet tall to his five-foot-six. At least two of those big men had adopted a very protective stance around her, the target of Stanford's investigation. Three hungry cats staring at a mouse, she thought. If he twitches wrong, he's fuckin' history. Stanford returned to Lucian's previously ignored suggestion. "Please lead the way to your . . . eh . . . great room. As Mr. Duquesne suggested, it may be more favorable to our purposes." Lorelei had another unkind thought. You dweeb, you have no idea what a great room is, do you? Lucian led the group to the bright, open area. Stanford took his time, glancing around the room at the various seating arrangements. Thanks to Lucian's sister Julia the Designer, Stanford had his choice of seating arrangements. He chose the burgundy collection, the only set with matching sofas on either side of the coffee table. He set his notepad and pen on the table, arranged them to his liking. "Well now, Ms. Randall, let's continue with the debriefing." Yes, you little worm, let us continue. Lorelei settled in a large wingchair at the far end of the coffee table. She held her mug on her lap, avoided looking at her inquisitor, then smoothed out the long skirt of her sleeveless summer dress. Lucian does have good taste in women's clothing—I should thank the Duquesne women folk for bringing him up properly. She avoided tracking Stanford's fussy movements. The man literally made her skin crawl and her gut clench. You little troll, she thought. Self-important little prick. Adam and Lucian parked on the two opposing sofas, bracketing Lorelei. MacBride settled in the matching wingchair at the far end of the coffee table, giving him an unobstructed view of the players. "Special Agent Randall," Lucian reminded him. "Remember, Special Agent trumps Agent."

"Yes, well, in these less than formal surroundings, protocol can be relaxed." Stanford seemed to be annoyed at being reminded of Lorelei's superior rank—and by a non-agency civilian. He scuttled to the far end of the sofa, far away from Adam. "Special Agent Randall, please tell me what you remember of your accident." "Is that what it was, an accident?" Lorelei finally looked at the man. "Of course. An unfortunate accident." "If it was an accident, where's all my stuff? It's not like I was mugged in an alley." Stanford appeared surprised by the question. Ha, gotcha on that one. You little paper-pushing parasite, you think you're controlling the debriefing. We'll see about that. "Maybe you left your belongings at . . . the . . . motel, intending to return." His voice cracked. "My wallet and driver's license, too? Since I was obviously driving, wouldn't I need them with me? Why would I leave my purse behind? Why no registration or insurance papers in the vehicle?" "Maybe they're still in the vehicle, maybe they fell under the seats or something. Maybe the local crime scene investigators overlooked them on the ground by the vehicle." Lorelei covered her mouth as MacBride frowned at the agent. Weasel, never alienate local LEOs. "I'm sure they'll turn up as the investigation continues." Stanford sounded shaky. "You seem to be well-dressed now." "A gift from my hosts, so I don't run around the camp naked. The crime lab has the clothes I wore." "I . . . oh . . . well . . . I see. Very generous of them." He glanced at the men. "Very generous of you, I meant, of course." "Of course," Lucian remarked. His body looked tense, ready to react—in full Marine mode. Adam glared at the little man. MacBride hid a smile behind his hand.

Lorelei finally spoke. "Nothing." "What did you say?" "You asked me what I remember. I remember nothing. Nada, zip, zero, zilch, not a thing." "You must remember something. Your memory can't be a total blank." Lorelei felt the warmth rising in her cheeks. "Of the circumstances surrounding my holiday plans and subsequent wreck—nothing." Stanford rose, walked around the back of the sofa—maintaining his distance from Adam—and stood beside Lorelei. She pulled back. He leaned forward unexpectedly, his hands on the arm of Lorelei's chair, and loomed over her. His position forced her to look up, his face inches from hers. "Nothing, Special Agent Randall, nothing at all? I find that difficult to believe." Holy fucking mother of God, it is him. It is! Lorelei white-knuckled the leather chair arms. Stay cool, stay cool, stay cool—be sure. The narrow chinless face, now within inches of hers—his hands had been around her throat, tried to choke the very life from her body. The man she had seen in the rear view mirror. Her hands itched to protect her throat at the same time that her fingers wanted to fly up and gouge out his eyes. I need a fucking gun. Controlling her growing anger caused her to grip the chair arms that much tighter. Oh, yeah, a big fucking gun. Lorelei glanced at Adam, and realized he knew something changed. He tracked on her every move. She saw Lucian cue off Adam's body posture, and his total attention also zoomed in on her. She breathed slowly and deeply to gain control again, hoping the men didn't respond. I’m a professional, I can do this. I'm not giving anything up to this slimy, scum-sucking toad. Lorelei straightened and folded her hands in her lap. "Benjamin—may I call you Benjamin?—don't crowd me. I don't like it." Surprised, Stanford stepped back. "I don't remember the crash, and I do not appreciate being called a liar." "I didn't call you a liar."

"You certainly implied it. My memory before and during the crash is somewhat faulty. I can walk, talk, and feed myself, and I know enough to wash my hands after I pee. I understand what people are saying, and understand references to events. I recall law enforcement policies and procedures, and I can follow conversations involving those policies and procedures and comprehend them." Underlying anger flattened Lorelei's voice. Lucian moved beside her, once again laying his hand on her shoulder. Thank you, Lucian. I need an anchor, Cabana Boy. "I don't remember much before waking up in Mr. Stone's bed." She ignored Stanford's raised eyebrow. "The local LEOs," she nodded at MacBride, "have been extremely kind to me, and tracked down my identity. They contacted the NCS, someone contacted you, and here we are." She relaxed a bit under Lucian's touch, laid her hand over his. "And that's what I know." Stanford stepped back, retreated from her forceful response. What did you think, butt-brain, that I would collapse in a pool of salty feminine tears as a direct result of your masterful investigational technique? "I see. Well, um, have you been examined by a specialist in, uh, head trauma?" The beads of sweat on his forehead didn't add an attractive aspect to his appearance. "Not yet. The EMTs said I was only slightly damaged, but otherwise healthy. Except for the memory loss, of course." "Ah, yes, now we're back to that." Stanford turned away as he spoke, his hands folded behind his back. "Our office will arrange for you to see a specialist after I transport you back to D.C." He spun to face her, almost falling on his face. Adam rose. The small man backed up, trapped by the end of the sofa. Adam joined Lucian, and each took a position on either side of Stanford's intended target. "No, I don't think I'll be leaving. I actually feel fine, other than the pesky headache thing." Lorelei shifted in her seat and crossed her legs gracefully at the knee. "I'm comfortable here, and my new friends said that I can stay as long as I wish."

"That may not be wise, Ms. . . . ah, Special Agent . . . Randall. We can certainly do more for you in Washington than here in Maine. The best specialists are available to the CIA, and you should be in the hands of professionals." "Oh, but I am in the hands of professionals," Lorelei shot back. "And they won't lose me in the middle of the boondocks." You little bloodsucker, you think you're controlling the debriefing? "I . . . yes, well . . . ." Stanford stammered. MacBride got to his feet, annoyance evident in his expression. "Copies of everything we collected and catalogued, as well as whatever samples our lab has analyzed so far, are already on their way to your forensic people. It doesn't appear that Special Agent Randall needs to be moved anywhere at the moment." "Agent Stanford, I see no reason to leave. I'm sure these Marines," Lorelei emphasized the word as a frank reminder, "will see to my safety. Let's give the crime lab experts enough time to determine how and why I ended up off the road in the woods of backwater Maine, with someone's fingerprints around my throat—and all of my luggage missing." Stanford nearly choked. "Fingerprints?" "We're not sure yet if it worked," MacBride said, "but Duquesne is a wizard at retrieving prints. We'll see what he turned up as the lab refines the images. The State Police also offered the use of their experts, and they have a crackerjack investigator or two on the payroll." Stanford's face became a paler shade of his already unhealthy-looking grey. "So you have images. How clever of you, Mr. Duquesne. And the State Police are involved, as well." Stanford looked pointedly at Lorelei. "Special Agent Randall, I'm sure you must be tired from your ordeal. We can continue the debriefing at another time." "That's fine, if it's all right with my friends here." Lorelei checked with Adam and Lucian. Adam stared daggers at the agent.

"Of course, yes, no problemo," Lucian said. "Special Agent Randall can stay as long as she wishes." MacBride rose. "Let's see what the crime lab squints can tell us, before we make another trip out here." The sheriff acknowledged his hosts with a nod, then waited while Stanford slid everything back into his attaché case. The agent didn't offer to shake hands. He nodded stiffly, and scurried out the front doors. Waiting until he couldn't be overheard, MacBride shook his head at the departing agent. "And I assume you boys will let me know what the hell is going on, right?" He settled his Stetson on his head, touched his finger to the brim, and followed Stanford. As the doors closed behind their departing guests, Lorelei's hands tightened into fists, her knuckles white. "Damn it all to hell." Tears began to flow—angry tears. Without a word, Adam swooped her up from the seat and held her against him like a child. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and laid her head against his shoulder as her tears soaked his shirt. "It w-was him," she hiccupped, too furious to speak coherently. "That f-fucking little w-weasel tried to k-kill me." Chapter Eight

"Cock-knocking-sonofabitch." In full Marine mode, Lucian tried to swing past Adam to fly after Stanford. "Don't!" Adam commanded. He blocked Lucian's path, Lorelei still in his arms. "What do you fucking a-well mean, don't?" Lucian turned on Adam, his soft hazel eyes turned hard gold with emotion, his heavy biceps pumped up. "Didn't you hear? He tried to murder Lorelei." "He means don't kill the little fucker yet—let's play the game out." Lorelei spoke between sniffles. She looked at Adam. "Isn't that right, chief?" "Yes."

"You can put me down, by the way. I'm fine. Well, I'm majorly pissed off, but I'm fine. Sorta." Lucian stood next to Lorelei's chair, where Adam had settled her again. "But to let the little rat bastard get away?" "The rat bastard won't go far. He wants what he thinks I have, and he won't leave without it." Lorelei stroked Lucian's arm, trying to get him to relax. Whoa, Surfer Dude disappeared—enter, Marine Dude. The calm, reasonable Southern boy had warped into a warrior, right before her eyes. Well, hell, boys. No end of surprises here. Adam had a peculiar look in his eye. "What tripped your memory? Something clicked when he leaned across the table. What was it?" "The smell. He smells funny. Odd. Like an old closet full of clothes that hasn't been opened in a hundred years. Musty. I remembered the odor when his hands were around my throat. When I caught it again in the kitchen, I felt like I couldn't breathe." She rubbed her forehead. "He leaned over me, and I remembered his face in the rear view mirror. I forgot that smell—it's one of the reasons I always avoided him around the office. He gave me the creepy-crawlies." Lorelei left the chair and walked around the great room. "That toad being here explains quite a bit." "Like what?" Adam never took his eyes from her. "We, the guys in my unit, couldn't understand why Stanford was recruited for NCS. He was a clerk. I accessed his records, and he was never more than a fucking nothing of a clerk for the CIA. A paper pusher. He couldn't pass the agency physical, he failed his firearm proficiencies. We looked into his stuff when Robson brought him into the NCS unit. Stanford had no CIA agent background, nothing in military or law enforcement. It made no sense—until now." "So," Lucian said, "Robson just unzipped his fly. Shot his wad." "Not necessarily." Adam stretched his legs out, got comfortable. "Lorelei didn't spill the beans. Stanford will report back that she didn't recognize him. Robson will think he's safe, so Stanford may still be useful. Expendable, but useful."

Lucian blew out a heavy sigh, sat back, and slapped his hands against his thighs. "So what do we do, sit with our thumbs up our bums and wait for the creep to make another move? I say we take him out now." Adam stood and paced around the great room, then swung around to face them. "Shooting range." Lorelei cocked a brow. "Are you going to murder me or help me?" "Luce. Grilled cheese sandwiches. Lorelei. Change clothes. We're going hunting." *****

Lorelei could barely choke down half a sandwich and two pickle slices. "Where do we begin?" A six-year-old on a sugar high didn't fidget as much as she did. "Gun room." Adam led the procession to the basement arsenal. He unlocked the massive manhigh, man-wide gun safe, swung the big doors open. "Pick any weapons that appeal to you. And try to keep the excitement level down, will ya? I don't feel like getting taken out by friendly fire." Lucian grinned at their hyped-up agent. "Lorelei, calm down." Adam ordered. "Look at me." He forced her to make eye contact. "Pay attention." He waited until she nodded. "I want you to handle the guns. Let's see what's familiar." The men turned Lorelei loose, then stood to the side. She ran her fingers down each firearm, row by row, then went back through the collection and quickly set aside several handguns. "These." "That was fast." Lucian scanned her choices. "Are you sure?" "These," she repeated. Then she chose a KA-Bar knife, and strapped it to her lower shin in a hook-and-loop ankle rig. She hid it under the wide pant leg of her jeans.

Lucian brought out boxes of ammo for the guns she chose. Adam supplied her with ear protectors and goggles, then set up targets in the shooting range lanes. Lorelei slung the ear protectors around her neck and pushed the goggles back on her head. Working smoothly and efficiently, she unconsciously let her hands do what they'd done a million times before. She broke down guns, checked barrels and chambers, loaded rounds. Avoiding weapons that were too big, too long or too heavy, she settled on a Sig Sauer .38 semi-automatic, an older Smith & Wesson .38 revolver, a Ruger .380 auto, and a Walther PPK .380. The men looked at each other and nodded. Lorelei stood at the table in front of the shooting lane, adjusted her ear protectors, pushed her goggles into place, and assumed the position. She calmly began firing rounds, smoothly switching out weapons and reloading. She reloaded the Walther, then reached behind her back and tucked the compact handgun into the waistband of her jeans, without seemingly being cognizant of what she did. As Lucian was about to comment, Adam tapped him on the arm. Lucian held his tongue. Lorelei finished firing, laid down the last gun while Adam retrieved the target. "Well?" She didn't bother to look at the guys as she reloaded magazines. "Whoa, hoss." Lucian checked out the shot pattern. "No bad guy in his right mind would want to mess with our girl—look at the patterns. Even wearing Kevlar would not save their sorry asses." A couple of dozen clean head shots, with another dozen or so to the heart, most of them so close that the holes overlapped. Adam looked from the shredded target to the shooter, but didn't respond. "Boy howdy, impressive. No wonder the CIA snatched you away from the Fibbies." Lucian grinned proudly, as if he'd trained her himself. "Yep, damned impressive." Adam adjusted his ear protectors. Without warning, he took up his .357 Sig, stepped to the second lane, and fired two rounds at the new target. "What the fuck?" Lucian spun around toward his partner, Ruger in hand, barrel down.

***** Lorelei dropped into a crouch. She instinctively pulled the Walther from behind her back, her gun hand automatically extending the weapon, her eyes scanning the room for an enemy. "Special Agent Randall, close your eyes. Now! Don't think, tell. What did you see before the crash?" Adam barked out the order like a drill sergeant. "Quick, what did you see? What did you hear?" He fired another round into the target. "Agent. Report, now!" Lorelei remained crouched, closed her eyes as ordered. "Sir. Gunfire, sir. Two rounds. Rifle, not pistol." Eyes still tightly shut, she stood and leaned back against the counter. "Sir, flashing lights, two rounds, lost control, a white explosion, then . . . nothing." "A white explosion?" "Yessir. I think so." Lucian took control of the Walther, tried to pull her stiff body close to him. She resisted. "Shh, it's okay, that's great." "Luce, back off." Adam growled at Lorelei again. "Randall. Eyes closed! See the scene! Details! What else, tell me!" He fired another round into the target. "Tell me, dammit!" "Hoss . . . ." Lorelei’s voice rang out, cutting off whatever Lucian started to say. Her tone was stronger, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. "Air bag, sir!" Her eyes flew open. "Wait! The white flash was the airbag, not an explosion." She closed her eyes again, rebuilt the scene in her mind. Her hands pantomimed driving and blocking the sun. "Wait, I had it wrong. Eastbound, sun flashed through the trees and blinded me, left hand on the wheel, right hand up to block the glare, crossed over the river. I looked for a place to pull over, to shut my eyes for a few minutes. "Two rifle shots, close together. Wheel pulled left, then hard right, ripped out of my hand." Her hands steered. "Off the road. Stood on the brakes, truck slid through the

trees, then . . . something . . . I don't know what, then the white flash. That had to be the airbag. I must have lost it then." "Keep going, Randall." "Next thing I knew, Agent Shithead in the truck. Choking me. Then all dark again. Until I woke up here. In your bed." "Good girl." ***** Lucian 's gut lurched as Lorelei' expression lit up at the simple "atta girl" from his best friend, his partner, the acknowledgment from Adam that she'd done well. She smiled like a shy little schoolgirl who'd gotten a smiley face on her homework. His heart thumped hard in his chest, but his expression remained impassive as he kept the turmoil he felt under wraps. It was my idea, my brilliant plan to share her. He silently beat himself up. What if they team up? What if they don't need me? What the fuck was I thinking? He closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. It's a good plan. It's okay, I can do this. I need to do this. It's the only way. Chapter Nine

Adam sprinted hard down the par course trail in the chill of the morning, watched his footing as he negotiated around the dead tree that had fallen across the path. Need to come back with the chain saw. Running helped him beat down the demons, but it wasn't demons he fought with now. Not demons—a trim, taut, confrontational woman with soft brown eyes, a mane of crinkly blonde hair, incredible aim with a gun, and a mind like a steel trap. Even with a concussion. He slowed to a jog where the path became curvy, fought the memories being unearthed, dredged from the pit where he'd been sure they were safely buried. Only Lucian knew Adam's history, since he'd been there for nearly all of it.

*****

It had been the first day of second grade at the Marine base school in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Adam, the quiet new kid, watched a spindly little boy energetically protecting an even smaller red-haired boy with glasses who was being bullied. The bullies were twice the blond boy's size, and there were four of them. Adam, strong for his age even then, quietly came up behind the attackers and put three of them out of commission. When the head bully saw his gang on the ground, he spun back around—right into the blond boy's small bony fist. Bingo, another bully hit the dust. Good guys, 4. Bullies, 0. The seven-year-old champions collected the little freckle-faced boy's books, repacked his knapsack, found his glasses, and sent him on his way. Then the two boys solemnly shook hands. "I coulda handled those losers, but thanks anyway. Who are ya?" the blond boy demanded, still pumping the other boy's hand. "Um, Adam Stone." The dark-hair boy was not accustomed to such directness from another kid. "Cool. Lucian Duquesne, but everyone calls me Radar. I know things." The boy was quick to grin. "I have four sisters," he announced in his soft southern drawl. "I can fight, too, and even wrastle. I can git outa all sorts of wrastlin' holds 'cause I'm such a wiry little fella, that's what my daddy says. I'm slicker'n monkey snot on a doorknob, that's what my sisters say, but our Mom don't like 'em tellin' folks that. She says it's rude, crude and socially unacceptable—whatever all that means." He shrugged thin shoulders. Adam shrugged as well, not knowing what all that meant, either. "My dad's a sniper." "Wow, way cool! My dad's Recon. He trains other Marines to do wicked stuff." Adam nodded. "Okay."

The two boys immediately bonded, merged, and melded without conscious thought, instantly inseparable. They became closer than brothers—and the quiet darkhaired boy was never alone again. Adam had been there to back up Lucian's outrageous shenanigans in high school. Lucian booted Adam's tail to grudgingly finish two years of college. Adam finally shook off all things academic and enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps, which had been his primary goal since grammar school. True to their childhood blood brother oath, where one went, so went the other. Adam's life felt solid. He and Lucian had a good business enterprise going. They did what they wanted, when they wanted. When they desired female company, it was always available. Give Lucian time to make a few phone calls and the two men were guaranteed an interesting evening with attractive single women who knew the drill and weren't clingy. Then NCS Special Agent Lorelei Anne Randall came crashing into his wellordered existence. For the first time in his adult life, Adam couldn't handle a situation. The usual protocol—the protocol that had kept him and Lucian alive for years— consisted of mapping out the logistics of a given situation, planning for every contingency, then working that situation to its final solution. It's sure as shit not working this time. Adam slowed to a walk, pulled fresh woodland air deep into his lungs. He finally stopped, and perched on a log railing along the trail. What the fuck was he supposed to do when his best friend was part of the confusion ripping the sharp ache in his gut? ***** "Adam runs when he's pumped up. When he needs to think." Lucian sat at the edge of the pool, his feet dangling in the water. "When he's really jacked up, he can do miles and miles before he calms down. I prefer to swim. It's sexier, and there's less sweating involved."

In the water, Lorelei hung next to him at the edge of the pool. She grinned. "Yes, definitely less sweating involved." She kicked her legs out behind her and floated, her fingertips on the tile border. "Does it work for him, the running?" "I guess." She saw a scar on his thigh and smoothed over it with a finger. "Bullet?" "Nah, shrapnel. Didn't go to ground fast enough." Lorelei moved closer, ran her hand down his thigh to his ankle. More scars. She let the water drip from her fingers and run down his leg. "What's with Adam's chronic bad attitude?" Lucian spread his legs further apart in response to her touch. "He didn't have the happy loving lunatic upbringing I did, even thought he spent more time at the Duquesne asylum than anywhere else. His mom didn't have time for him. She always worried about where his dad was, and what his dad was doing—and who he might be doing it with. I overheard the grown-ups talking about it one night. I snuck outa bed and climbed down the trellis, and listened to them jawin' on the front porch. Mrs. Stone sorta pulled back from livin'—that's what Mama said." Lorelei floated over so she was between Lucian's knees. "And—?" "Not much else to tell. I became a right sweet pain in the ass—more than usual— and fussed so much that everyone was totally miserable until Adam was allowed to live with us. That left his mom free to move from base to base to follow his dad—my family thought his dad was a really good guy. The little time that Adam spent with his mother, she sorta ignored him—or confided in him like he was a girlfriend. Our Aunt Lila said it wasn't good for a boy to live like that, and to be so serious—it wasn't natural, she said. So he mostly stayed with us. He had his own bed in my room. We were brothers." Lucian turned over the palm of his right hand, pointed to a small scar. "We were closer than brothers—we were blood brothers." Lorelei nodded. "Since you know about my love life—or apparent lack thereof— do either of you have a serious relationship? A special girlfriend?" "Nope."

"Wow, not even one?" "Nope." "I would think this place would make the perfect bachelor pad for party time." "No. Never here." "Never here?" Lucian shifted a bit, placed his hands on the edge of the tile. "No, not here, not once, not ever. Don't laugh—this is our safe place. We spent so many years being shipped all over the world, never knowing if we'd make it back alive. When we finally opted out, we needed somewhere we could lay our heads down, somewhere safe and secure. This is the place. I don't want to sound like a sexist pig, but this is our home, our safety net—and neither of us wants or needs any girlfriend drama in our lives. When we want to play, we play away from here." "Therefore, Sanctuary." Lucian nodded. "Therefore, Sanctuary. Our safe haven. The only women who visit here—other than my lunatic sisters on rare occasions—are the Happy Homes Housekeeping crew, who make the trip every Wednesday." "I haven't seen a housekeeper." "I cancelled this week." "Because of me?" He shrugged. "It seemed safer not to have civilians around the place. Not a problem. The cobwebs won't take over yet." "So, no special women in your lives?" "Not a one." "Does it bother you, not having someone special?" "Hell no, not at all." Lucian's face lit up in a boyish grin. "I'm totally content being the only single guy in the family. Plus, the bonus is that my sisters get crazed because I haven't married, settled down, and added to the Duquesne brood of grandchildren. It makes my Mama and all the aunts loonie-toons at family gatherings, which adds to the excitement. Of course, I could live without the attempts at matchmaking."

"You are so bad." "Yeah, I know. But I'm handsome and charming and adorable, and everyone loves me." "Handsome and charming and adorable. I see. And is being ever so humble part of your charm?" Lorelei paddled closer, letting her legs sink. Her toes caught the lip of the pool wall, so she stopped treading water. She hung her arms over Lucian's legs to anchor herself. Nuzzling his leg with her cheek, she planted small kisses on his knees, her lips moving to the inside of his thighs. "So, I'm the first woman to swim in your pool—in a manner of speaking?" Her fingertips followed the path her tongue had taken, explored the firm skin over his muscled legs, played with the blond hair. "Yes, ma'am." "Ma'am?" "Southern boys are trained up to be polite." "I see." She reached up, slid her hand along his golden torso—more scars there— and tweaked his nipple. Then the other. "How polite?" "Whoa, darlin', it's gonna get damned uncomfortable in this bathing suit, if you continue on your present course of action." "Would you prefer that I cease and desist my present course of action?" Lucian slid out of his lime green Speedo, letting the garment float in the water. Lorelei snatched it up and plopped it in a wet heap on the tiles. She placed her hand on his fully erect cock nested in blond curls, feeling the velvety smooth skin over its iron interior. "Mmm, beautiful," she murmured. "Let's not waste it." Raising herself up on her toes, she ran her hand down the length of his cock and pulled it toward her mouth. Lucian shifted his butt and pushed his groin forward, making it easier for her to reach. In a quick move, she took the crown in her mouth, explored the end with the tip of her tongue—then began to seriously suckle him. "Whoa, baby doll!"

He sat up and tangled his fingers in her hair, moving with her rhythm as she sucked and licked and fondled his cock, then his balls—which immediately tightened in anticipation. "Darlin', your mouth feels so good, you make me feel so good . . . oh yeah baby . . . ." His hands cupped the back of her head as her mouth cruised up and down and around his cock, her fingers kneading his oh-so-tight testicles. Her tongue traced tiny swirling designs on his shaft, as she worked back up to the crown—in a sudden move, she stroked him hard and fast, as her mouth took in his cock head. Lucian thrust his hips forward as she took more of him into her mouth. "Dear god in heaven, baby girl, take me like that, do me . . . ahh, fuck, yess!" His seed surged up from his balls, and into her hard-sucking mouth. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, feeling every pulse, every throb, every contraction of his orgasm as her mouth continued to work him, more gently now. Totally wrung out, his cock finally softened—with a last swirl of her tongue, she released him. She rested her head against his thigh. "Baby doll, you are truly somethin' else. Come out of the water before you get all wrinkly like a prune." Lorelei was still half floating in the water when Lucian's combat-trained ears caught the telltale click of a door latch, barely heard in the cavernous space. Adam had been watching.

*****

Lucian gave Lorelei a hand up out of the pool. She gave him a cheeky peck on the lips. "I'm off for dry clothes, maybe a quick nap. See ya later." She headed out of the pavilion. He pulled his Speedo back on, and commenced doing his morning laps. His muscles were busy, but his mind raced with conflicts.

Lucian had always been a happy-go-lucky child, surrounded by a lovingly dysfunctional family who were totally devoted to one another. Intuitively understanding the world of technology from the age of five—when his parents gave him a computer to keep his wickedly fast mind busy—Lucian was saved from morphing into a total super-nerd by his association with Adam. As the boys reached puberty—and Lucian finally gained height and muscle— they also discovered that they were, as the trashy books said, well endowed. Especially Adam. That caused a bit of consternation, and outright awe, on the part of their schoolmates in the locker room. Young Adam proved ambivalent about keeping company with the opposite sex—Lucian had no such issues. Being a true comrade, he determined it would be a terrible miscarriage of their bonds of friendship if he dated and Adam didn't. The mechanics of the situation proved somewhat difficult, since Adam didn't care enough to put forth any effort. The logical solution, as Lucian saw it, was to double date. Adam didn't see it as a logical solution—more like a pain in the ass—but Lucian was convinced that the idea was brilliant. As usual, he ignored Adam's ambivalence and ran with the plan, dragging his best buddy along for the ride. Girls literally threw themselves at the handsome football jocks—one dark and enigmatic, one blond and lively. Lucian refined his plan after a couple of test dates. He cultivated girls from civilian schools whose fathers were not Marines, rationalizing that Marine daddies could prove detrimental to his and Adam's longevity. Then there was the realistic issue of the size of their cocks. Thanks again to Lucian's scheming, their first actual sexual experience involved two college women in their twenties whom the boys met at an off-base party. The women believed that the fifteen-year-olds were much older; they also believed they were getting the best of the deal. They introduced the incredibly buff young men to the art of pleasuring women— and how not to destroy anyone with their oversized sex organs. In turn, the boys discovered that their dates enjoyed their enthusiasm and stamina. As a bonus, their

playmates were amenable to experimentation, and the boys began to swap partners— another Lucian inspiration. The arrangement worked spectacularly well for the entire summer. Sadly, that fall the young ladies returned to college on the West coast, leaving the now-experienced boys armed and dangerous to the female population at large. Trying to shake off the recollections, Lucian dove under the surface, banked off the far end of the pool, and came up powering hard through the water. His brain was on overload after his unexpected sexual liaison with Lorelei—and his memories would not shut down. Since those high school days, Lucian always arranged their dates. Always two women, preferably older than younger, and always women who didn't mind swapping partners. Lucian provided the romance. Adam—not wanting any emotional entanglements—was quiet, proficient, and held up his end of the arrangement. The plan always worked for them. Until now. ***** Lorelei couldn't settle down. Still in her bathing suit, she sat on a side chair in her bedroom, legs tucked under her, wrapped in a blanket. MacBride might return any day with the sniveling coward who tried to kill her, and she needed to deal with that. However, she also needed a clear head to devise a Plan B. Clearing her head wasn't as easy as it sounded. The burning issue on her mind was not the sneaky wannabe-hit-man—an agent from her own unit, if that didn't beat all—but the other men in her life. I should probably see a trauma specialist, to make sure my brain isn't hopelessly scrambled and twisted. But the thought of leaving the lodge had her dancing at the edge of panic. And she didn't "do" panic. Not once. Not ever. Not even when attacked by a lunatic with a tire iron.

Maybe I do have brain damage. Maybe that's why I'm lusting after two strange men. Military men. Marines fer chrissakes. Dangerous men trained to kill as efficiently as possible, trained to stay alive while doing their jobs. Shifting in the chair, she gave that some thought and made a mental checklist. She was a Special Agent. She was highly trained. She was highly trained to kill efficiently, and to survive. In her hands, firearms responded with great proficiency. The CIA had determined that she was talented enough to be snatched away from the FBI after only a couple of years of service. Another few years and the NCS had grabbed her. So I guess I'm dangerous, too. Maybe that was it—like attracting like. Perhaps she had a harder, darker side clawing its way to the surface. A side of her that relished the sexual experimentation, the not-for-Sunday-go-to-meeting relationship with two hard men of the warrior class. The side of her that reacted like molten lava to every touch of their hands, their bodies . . . . Shivers flew along the surface of her skin at the memory. They all chose to live on the edge. Maybe they needed to live at the outer fringe of quasi-civilized behavior. Maybe they were not completely housetrained. Maybe there were too many fucking maybes. And maybe she did hear the snick of a door latch—after she'd finished unabashedly taking sexual advantage of Lucian.

Chapter Ten

Adam had headed for the pool to have his morning swim before he dealt with the menu. He halted before he barged in, his hand still on the pavilion door latch, as he caught sight of the sexually charged tableau through the glass panels. He carefully released the latch, slowly backed away. Soft-footing it up the stairs to his room, he stripped down in the bathroom, and set the water temperature in the shower. He faced the wall, supported himself on the handrail, let the warm water run down his back as he tried to clear his mind.

He knew she was close. He could feel her. The spacious, three-walled shower section of the bathroom was fully tiled in browns and golds, had a showerhead the size of a dinner plate, a handrail on each wall, a drain in middle of the floor—and no door. Still in her bathing suit, Lorelei approached Adam from behind. Without a word, she soaped his shoulders, his back, his firm gluteus maximus muscles. She lathered him up—and traced the scars on his torso. She smoothed her hands over his hard physique, her soothing touch skimming over his skin. Braver now, she pressed her knee between his legs. He widened his stance. She took her time as she lathered up his buttocks, then worked her way between his thighs. She soaped up his testicles, which were warm and hung loose when she first touched them. Adam's balls tightened in her hand, and Lorelei became even bolder. She ran her hand down the soapy crevice of his ass cheeks, pressed a lathered finger against the flesh of his hole. He did not pull away—rather, he spread his legs wider. She explored the orifice with her slippery fingertip. Reaching around him with her other hand, she stroked his huge cock, the lather leaving her fingers silky and sensuous against his flesh. His hands grasped the handrail. Adam pushed his hips forward, pumped his cock in her hand. Lorelei stroked him, her grip firm on his sex. She moved closer and pressed her breasts against his back, her nipples rock hard through the stretchy maillot swimsuit. His rhythm increased as she pierced him fully with her soapy thumb and her fingers played with his tight balls. He groaned as she burrowed deeply into his tight opening, covered her hand on his cock with his own and forced her to tighten her grip. His cock twitched and throbbed in her hand, and the growl surged from deep in his throat as his hot seed spurted through her fingers. "Babe!" Adam's chin dropped nearly to his chest as Lorelei pressed her cheek against his back. She continued to stroke him, ever so slowly, until she felt his breathing steady up. She directed the spray at his body, and rinsed him off.

Adam stripped the bathing suit from her body, tossing it out of the shower. Leaning into her, he took a handful of her hair in his fist, and crushed his mouth to hers. He ran his tongue along the outline of her lips. He held her body firmly as her knees buckled; he'd never felt this kind of raw emotion from, or for, any other woman. He turned her toward the shower wall, placed her hands on the handrail where his had been moments before. He pressed his body against hers. Using his foot to spread hers apart, he took half a step back and began soaping her all over, reaching around to lather up her breasts. When he reached between her thighs from behind, she spread wider. He lathered her pussy and she moaned, low and soft. Taking his still half-erect cock in his hand, he guided it between her legs, bending at the knees to make up for the difference in their height. She angled her hips for him, and sighed deeply as his cock head pressed to gain entrance. When the crown penetrated her, she pushed back into him. He responded and slid into her slowly until his now fully erect shaft sheathed itself in her hot soapy flesh. Allowing a brief moment to adjust to his size, Lorelei wiggled her hips to take him in. Adam pumped into her, not gently, and she responded in kind. As he filled her, his fingers trailed down the cleft of her ass cheeks. He applied more soap, made more lather—then slipped his finger into the tight opening, as he pulled his cock halfway out of her pussy. She stiffened at first, then moved with him as he buried himself in her again. He drove into her pussy with measured strokes and a comfortable rhythm, and she rocked back in time with his thrusts. He continued to finger her ass, using more lather to make the rosebud of her flesh as slick as possible. With a smooth move, he pulled out of her pussy and slid his shaft between her ass cheeks. He held his cock in his hand, rubbed, almost masturbated, against her. He reached around her waist, then moved to caress her breasts, tweaked the nipples between thumb and forefinger. He soaped up again, then pressed his cock head against her tight ass. Lorelei's head jerked around. "Hold on, big fella, there's no fucking way . . . ."

"Babe, that's exactly the way." He pressed forward firmly until he pierced her flesh, a man on a mission. She wriggled against him. "I'm tellin' ya, it's not gonna . . . ." "Yes, it is." He slid his hand around her front, and buried his fingers in her pussy. She held her breath as he slowly, steadily, pushed his cock deeper. His shaft finally settled in her ass, his cock holding still as he continued to massage and tweak her clitoris. Adam felt Lorelei shudder deeply; then she ceased struggling as his hand did its magic. The channel of her ass clenched reflexively around his cock as the walls of her vagina reacted to his fingers as his thumb toyed with her clit Suddenly, a second— unexpected—orgasm charged from Adam's spine to his balls and on to his cock. He groaned, grabbed her by the waist, pulled her tightly against his thighs as he almost lifted her off the floor. He drove hard and came harder. Adam grabbed the rail on either side of her hands, his chest pressed against her back. He got his breathing under control again, as his cock finally softened and slid from her. "Adam. Damn it, baby." Without a word, he turned her and pulled her into his arms—and kissed her hard, again and again, possessing her lips, her tongue, her mouth. He rinsed both their bodies in the stinging spray, his hands moving smoothly over her body, then shut off the water. Wrapping a towel around her hair, Adam led Lorelei from the shower and toweled her dry. They stepped over her bathing suit, and went to his room. Adam parked Lorelei on his bed. He fondled her, stroked her body from neck to knees, his big hand warm and slightly rough against her damp flesh. "Mmm, you feel wonderful," she whispered. "Close your eyes." "Why should I?" "Damn it, don't argue. Close your eyes." Adam shifted his body between her legs. She opened for him, but he didn't attempt to enter. Instead, he dipped his head to

suckle her nipples, then positioned himself so his arms trapped her thighs. His hands covered her sex, then spread the lips of her vagina, brushing the bud of her clitoris with his fingertips. "Whoa, baby, what are you doing?" He covered her with his hot mouth, his long tongue laving the crevice between the lips of her pussy. His tongue tip darted in and out, teasing, tantalizing. Lorelei squirmed, then pushed her hips toward his mouth. "Oh wow, Adam . . . ." His mouth and tongue nibbled, sucked, laved. As Lorelei's responses became more animated, he sucked her hard and then pulled his mouth away. As she whimpered in frustration, he penetrated her with a finger, slowly, until it was buried in her hot pussy. Lorelei moaned, lifted and rolled her hips in response to the penetration. Adam pulled out, then pierced her quickly with his fingers. He left her for a moment, returned, and used his arms to spread her thighs even wider than before. Adam put his mouth to her clit again, sucking and swirling the tender bud with his tongue. He brought his fingers to her again—this time covered in lubricating gel. Lorelei didn't have time to react to the chill before he worked his fingers into her, deeper, harder. Pushing into her, he twisted his fingers on the in-stroke, then pulled straight out. He was rewarded by loud moans. Then Lorelei grasped the back of his neck as she thrust her pelvis into his face, her pussy already charged up from his attentions in the shower. Placing his free hand against the curls covering her mound, Adam pressed his fingers deeper. Adding more lubricant, he slowly worked three fingers into her—then he dragged the tips of his fingers along the channel. Lorelei moaned louder and grabbed his hair. "Jeez, Adam, baby, you're making me crazy!" He carefully lubricated the conduit of her pussy—his fingers pushed deeper, opened her wider. Lorelei became quite still. Without warning she reacted to a slight

movement from his entrapped fingers, her sex exploding like a volcano as she came in crashing waves, crying out his name. With the walls of her pussy still squeezing his fingers, he slowly removed one finger at a time—and continued to finger-fuck her with the remaining digits. Each move caused a new cascade of twitching and pulsing and throbbing, as another orgasm steamrollered over the one before it. By the time Adam's fingers ceased their mojo, Lorelei's breathing came ragged, shallow, and fast, and she nearly sobbed with the effort. He covered her hot slippery sex with the palm of his hand, and massaged her. Her hand covered his and pushed down—she whimpered, and came again. "Adam, baby, please, no more," she pleaded. "I beg you, let me die in peace." Adam returned with a warm washcloth, and gently wiped away any trace of lubricant. He dried her carefully, then turned her over on her stomach—the position he knew she liked for sleeping. Grabbing up the coverlet from the foot of the bed, he pulled it up to her shoulders. Lorelei sighed hugely, kicked her feet free, and was asleep in seconds.

*****

Adam tucked himself into his jeans as Lucian knocked at the half-opened bedroom door and leaned against the door casing. "Yo, hoss, have you seen our Musketeer? She's not in her room. I swear, I'm gonna put a bell around that gal's neck. MacBride called. Said he's been dragging his feet at the office and making excuses to piss off Stanford. Since everyone here has been up since the butt-crack of dawn, I figure a decent meal would be a good idea. We need to settle on a course of action to deal with our boy Benjie—and decide how much to tell MacBride. He knew something was up yesterday. We have some 'splainin' to do, Lucy." Adam swung the bedroom door open the rest of the way.

Lorelei sprawled on her stomach in the middle of Adam's bed, naked except for a light blanket barely covering her bottom. Her flyaway blonde hair haloed her head and shoulders. She was dead asleep. Silent, Lucian's gaze fixed on the scene. Adam finished fastening his jeans, grabbed a shirt and walked around Lucian. As he headed for the stairs, he called back. "Food in twenty minutes." "Yeah. Okay. Sure. Whatever." Lucian caught sight of Lorelei's swimsuit on the bathroom floor. Being who he was, he picked it up, hung it neatly on the towel rack next to the shower and walked back to Adam's bed. He lightly touched her tousled hair as he settled himself, and watched her sleep. I wanted them to become close. When does close become too close, and too close become a problem? When he shifted his position on the mattress, Lorelei stirred. "Hey, sleepyhead," he said. "Hungry? Maybe chicken? Maybe pineapple orange juice?" "Mmm, fried chicken. Biscuits. Pineapple orange—I love pineapple orange. Yeah, that works," Lorelei mumbled, only half awake. Suddenly, she became totally still. She raised herself on an elbow and looked around the room, wrapping the blanket around her as she rose. "Adam?" Lucian shook his head. Her voice was small, soft. "I see. Well, I need a few minutes to get dressed. See you downstairs?" He kissed her gently, brushed her cheek with his fingertips, and smiled. "Sure, baby doll. Downstairs. Don't be long or the food will be gone." As Lucian headed toward the stairs, he pulled his emotions into some semblance of control. This will work, I know it will. It's my choice; this is what I want, more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. I can do this. I can love them both.

*****

"With our house-cleaning service currently on hold, we need to catch up on chores and dirty clothes." Lucian presented Lorelei with pad and pen. "Job assignments for everyone." We'll all be better off with something solid to do. It didn't take long to go through the lodge; Lucian helped Lorelei catch up on laundry. For their late lunch, Adam set freshly fried chicken on the table, accompanied by bowls of homemade chunky apple and cranberry sauce, topped with orange zest, and biscuits. "I don't know how you guys manage it, but I gotta say that meals around here are a treat. I don't cook much." "Much?" Lucian laughed. "Try not at all. You have a carton of stainless steel cookware in a kitchen cabinet—and the box is still sealed." He placed a pitcher of lemonade on the table within easy reach. "You city chicks, always runnin' all over everywhere, never settle down even to eat." "Hey, watch it now, I'm concussed and disadvantaged." His meal finished, Adam kicked back, chugged the last of his lemonade. "I'm going to split the pile of wood we brought up from the trail." He glanced at his watch, then looked pointedly at Lucian. "Give me about half an hour head start, then I'd appreciate a hand stacking the firewood." Lucian nodded, then checked Lorelei. "Hon, you look wiped out. Headache again? Why don't you take a siesta?" He avoided any mention of the obvious reasons for her drooping eyelids. Now's not the time. "Do I look that bad? Yeah, okay, a nap actually does sound like a good idea." She stacked her plates in the dishwasher. As Lorelei departed, Lucian noticed Adam mesmerized by the gentle sway of her hips encased in snug denim shorts, and smiled. "Luce, you do know how to shop for women's clothes." Adam shook his head. "Damn." He left through the back door.

"Yeah, I do." Left alone in the kitchen, Lucian grinned to himself, then headed upstairs to the com center. I really do.

*****

When Lucian didn't show up after an hour and a half, Adam returned to the lodge. He used the right side staircase and headed for the com center, assuming that's where he'd find his sometimes-geeky partner. When he reached the gallery, he heard sounds coming from Lucian's bedroom. Strange sounds. Lucian sprawled in the middle of his king-sized bed, naked, propped up on pillows, his long legs and arms spread-eagled, his hair loose. On elbows and knees, Lorelei's shapely butt made an enticing target. She industriously worked between Lucian's thighs. Their clothing hung from various pieces of furniture around the room. "I missed you at wood stacking." Lucian returned a half-assed grin, then shrugged. Adam shook his head. "I'm almost afraid to ask." "Lorelei couldn't sleep. She found red licorice whips in the kitchen cabinet. It appears the twisty licorice won't work." "Of course not. And . . . ?" "Trust me—it'll be easier if you look for yourself." Lorelei had knotted spaghetti-sized lengths of strawberry licorice whips together. She made a loop at one end, and tied it around the base of Lucian's tallstanding cock. She busily wound licorice up the length of his shaft, like a barber pole. Adam raised both eyebrows. "She plans to eat her way down to my balls." "Of course she does." Lorelei acknowledged Adam. "Hey, you." "Babe. Something you learned in the FBI? The CIA? NCS survival training?"

"No, Mr. Know-It-All Marine. This wouldn't work with you. Well, it would, but I'd need lots more whips." She made a face. "I don't think I could eat that much licorice." "I see. And for this, you had years of specialized intelligence training." She made a face at him, then returned to her project, the pink tip of her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated on her knots. Adam heaved a huge sigh. He removed his boots and undressed, laying his clothes neatly on a side chair. Naked, he walked into the bathroom, and returned with a tube. He settled on the matching side chair, crossed his leg over his knee. And waited. Lorelei finished knotting and winding the licorice. Beginning her task, she licked the tip of Lucian's cock, working down from the head with more licks. She glanced at Lucian—his grin reflected the quality of her efforts. Nibbling at the licorice, she laved his cock shaft with her tongue. "Well, how do I taste?" "All yummy and strawberried." Taking the comment as his cue, Adam rose, positioned himself on the mattress behind Lorelei. He squeezed a bit of lubricant into his hand, and reached between Lorelei's thighs to her pussy. "Ooh, that's nice. Did you come to play with us?" "Well, I can't get any work out of either of you." "Isn't this is more fun?" "NCS special division training?" "Hey, look, buddy. It's entirely too serious around here. National security issues, crashes, head trauma, attempted murder . . . too grim." "And this is you, lightening the mood?" Lorelei stopped licking. "Hadn't really thought about it—but okay. Yeah." She resumed nibbling. Adam responded by fingering her pussy, slowly and deeply. She moaned, spread her knees wider, and pushed back against him, rocking her pelvis. Adam added more lube to his palm, and applied it to his shaft. Guiding his cock with his hand, he

placed his other hand on her rump. As he entered her pussy, Lorelei ceased her efforts for a moment. He slowly filled her, placing his hands on her waist to steady her under his weight. She resumed nibbling and licking. Her flesh—so hot, so smooth, so tight—gripped Adam as he began to ride her, his rhythm slow and easy. Then he realized he could catch all the action in the wide mirror over a low dresser. The more he watched Lorelei lick and suck Lucian, the deeper he pumped into her. He spread his legs farther apart to lower his pelvis, and thrust up as well as in. ***** Lucian barely held it together. The feel of Lorelei's mouth and hands on his cock, plus the whole silly—but exciting—deal with the licorice, already had him wired. Then Adam holding her waist and thrusting against her bottom—now driving into her with increasing intensity—it was too much. "Hoss . . . man . . . ." "Yeah, Luce, I'm there." Lucian wove his fingers in Lorelei's hair, coaxing her into a sucking rhythm as he rocked his hips upward. Forgetting the licorice, her mouth took in his cock head and the top part of his shaft. She sucked as she played with his balls. Lucian nodded. Adam drove deep. He held her tight as his cock pulsed and throbbed, and his seed exploded into her. Lucian groaned and came in Lorelei's mouth. She held him and sucked his strawberry-flavored cock until he shuddered as his powerful release quivered to an end. For a moment, the tableau held and no one moved. Then Adam pulled out, and sat back on his haunches. Lorelei moved to a kneeling position, then crawled off the bed. "I need a shower."

Lucian, licorice whips askew, checked out the bewildered expression on Adam's face, and laughed.

*****

In the dark, alone in his bed, Adam woke with a start. Lorelei. He pulled on pajama pants, and silently checked her room—but he knew she wasn't there. Hands on the balcony railing, he searched the great room until he noticed a small glow near the hearth. Lorelei, cross-legged on the floor, stared at the flame of a pillar candle—courtesy of Lucian's sister, Julia the Decorator. Lorelei hugged a couch pillow to her middle with one arm. In her other hand, she held a tall iced tea glass. Within easy reach, a big bottle of what looked like ginger ale, a tall slender long-necked bottle, and a clear plastic container of chocolate licorice twists from Lucian's stash. Adam read the label on the glass bottle by candlelight. Limoncello. He shook his head. After dinner, Lorelei had closed herself in the com center and used a burn phone out of the stash to contact her superior. It had been a lengthy call, and she'd been quiet afterward. Really quiet. She hadn't shared the result of the discussion. "Princess." "Don' wanna talk ta ya. Go 'way." "No." Adam knew that Lorelei wasn't a drinker. "Yer a bully. You never listen ta me." "Want to tell me about the phone call?" "No." She hadn't looked around when he came downstairs, but he had the feeling she knew he was there, as silent as he'd been. Stepping over her, he settled on the chair behind her. The touch of his legs against her back felt electric. His big hands heated her skin when he laid them on her shoulders. Leaning back, she forced his knees apart so she could nestle between them. Taking another swig of the awful drink she'd concocted,

she sighed, then returned the glass to the carpet. Her movements were exaggerated, in the way they are when someone is drunk and trying not to show it. She reached into the container for a chocolate twist, and absently ate it. Her skin felt chilly to his touch. Adam left the chair to click the switch on the side of the hearth mantel, and a low flame burst among the logs. He returned to the chair, already missing the feel of her. Obliging, she leaned back. He touched her hair, tentatively at first, then threaded his fingers through the strands. She sighed again, but this time it sounded more like a purr. His hands slid from her hair to her shoulders, kneading her skin through the Marine nightshirt. Lorelei carefully laid the pillow next to her liquor and candy stash, and turned to Adam, propped unsteadily on her knees. "I can do this, y'know. I tol' Bellisario I could. And I can." "Do what? Who is Bellisario? Is he your real boss?" "Oh fuck. Whatever. Yeah, that's right. I can do it. I'm . . . I'm . . . a agent. A speshul agent." "Yes, you're special." "I can, dammit!" "I see. What is it that you can do?" "Remember stuff." "All right." "An' get th' bad guy. Fuckin' bad guy. He tried a kill me, y'know? Fucker." "I know. What else?" "Live here. With you." "With me?" "And Cabana Boy. Both a ya." "I see." "Are ya makin' fun a me?" "Never."

"Well, don't. I'm a tragent. A trained agent. One a those. Nashnul su-curity." She thumped her chest. "Protect n' serve—that's me." She leaned into him and slid her hands into the waist of his pajama pants. Adam's cock sprang to attention. "Wanna play with it." "Be my guest, Princess." "Don' fuckin' call me that! I work for a livin', and don' ferget it, buddy. You jes' better don't." Her grip on his cock was tighter than necessary. Adam kept still until she relaxed. "Hmm, finger lick'n good, right? Good 'nuff to eat—isn't that what they say?" "That's what they say." Lorelei licked her lips to wet them, and took the head of his cock into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the crown, and began to suckle him as she tried to work down his shaft. "Babe. Don't choke yourself. Come up here." She held her arms up like a child demanding to be carried. Adam lifted her onto his lap—a full erection was immediate. She felt it, too. She straddled his thighs, her knees forced against his hips by the confines of the chair. Adam tried to think of a dozen other things to get his mind off her sex pressing down on his cock—nothing worked. Placing Lorelei on her feet, he stood and stripped out of his pajama pants. He returned to his seat, lifted the hem of her nightshirt, and took her back onto his lap. Their naked flesh generated scorching heat between them. "Babe. Are you sure? You're fairly well sozzled." "I'm sure. I amn't sizzled." The rigid pole of his sex reared up, the heavy veined shaft rubbing against the long cleft of her pussy. Rocking her pelvis against him, she moaned. Her hands on his shoulders, she lifted. He massaged her sex, trapping her clit between thumb and forefinger. Her next moan sounded deeper, throatier, and she twisted her hips to help him.

The time it took for Adam to get Lorelei's juices flowing was measured in seconds. When she felt hot and wet enough, he lifted her onto her knees, and guided his cock head to the entrance of her pussy. Liquored up or not, she seemed mindful enough of his size to settle on his shaft cautiously, letting his hand guide his cock into her. The sensation of her taut flesh accepting him took his breath away—his eyes closed, the feeling engulfed him. When his cock was half sheathed in her hot channel, she lowered her head and flicked his nipples with her tongue. He grabbed her by the hips, penetrating so deeply that she was absolutely, righteously impaled. With a soft sound, she tucked her forehead against his chest—then twisted her hips, hard. The sound he made split the dead-of-night silence of the lodge, and he rose hard into her. She rode him like a crazy thing, breathing hard and fast, her fingernails gouging the muscles of his massive upper arms. Her moans morphed into the growly purring sounds that were a part of her. Hard-nippled breasts rubbed against him. He felt her rhythm change suddenly, and he held her tight. At the first tight clamp of her pussy walls, his balls became utterly tight as his seed surged. He thrust so hard that his hips lifted them both off the seat cushion, then he grasped her 'round the waist and locked her onto his lap. The impulses that flew through them consumed all rational thought and sense of time. When they could, at last, breath normally, Adam rose from the chair with Lorelei's legs wrapped around him—the sofa beckoned. He set her down on the cushions, pulled on his pajama pants, then wrangled the nightshirt over Lorelei's body. In the corner of the overstuffed sofa, she settled against him. He reached to the back of the sofa and flipped a knitted afghan over them with a snap of his wrist. Within seconds, he heard her breathing settle into sleep mode. Not far behind, Adam eased into sleep, wondering what her boss had said to make her so nuts.

*****

Stepping away from the railing, Lucian returned to his own bed.

Chapter Eleven

MacBride called, early. Adam was already in the kitchen with coffee perking. "I don't know what the little weird dude did or didn't do, but Stanford got his sorry butt back to D.C. Without delay. If the volume of his boss's voice over the cell phone indicated his frame of mind, Stanford got royally reamed out. Couldn't hear the words, but the tone was, shall we say, harsh." Adam heard beeps and blips as the sheriff worked at his computer. "Stanford wasn't clear about whether or not another agent would be hikin' his ass up here. At least for now, it seems that Special Agent Randall is a free special agent, pending the outcome of the investigation. Anything else happens, I'll let you know." "Thanks." By the time Lucian wandered into the kitchen, Adam had ham steaks browning on the stove's griddle. Lucian helped himself to a mug of coffee. On the counter stood the ginger ale, the nearly empty Limoncello bottle, and half-full container of chocolate licorice twists. He shook his head as he put everything away. "Our Musketeer didn't make it to bed last night." Lucian made it a statement, not a question. "Nope." "Problem?" "Nope." "Did she tell you what her boss said?" "Nope. "You're a right cheery bundle of information this morning." On cue, Lorelei shuffled into the kitchen from the great room, Marine nightshirt askew, Adam's oversized moccasins flip-flopped on her feet, a knitted afghan wrapped

around her shoulders. Her hair resembled tangled straw. With her bruises plus the impressive shiner around her left eye, she looked like the victim of a train wreck. "I need coffee. Now." She tripped into the kitchen table, courtesy of the moccasins. "I need caffeine, I need sugar. And food. Well, maybe not food. Yet." Lucian spooned two heaps of raw sugar into a mug of hot coffee, added some cream, and set it on the table for her. "Here ya go, sweet thing." "Don’t screw with me. I know I look as bad as I feel." Lucian pulled her chair out, seated her, and kissed the top of her head. "Darlin', you always look good to me." She snarled. "If you two are finished . . . ." Adam relayed the morning's conversation with MacBride. "So, our maggot was recalled to D.C." Lorelei attacked her ham steak and cheesy scrambled eggs, which surprised both men. "He tried to kill me. He's not gonna walk away." She talked while she chewed. "He'll be back." "Adam and I agree. But the maggot doesn't know that we know. We'll be ready for him. Garrett will put surveillance on our little worm as soon as Stanford reaches the Capital." Lucian gulped his coffee. "Our new perimeter sensors are live. I need to coordinate the signals." After breakfast, Lorelei begged off going for her run. "My head is pounding off my shoulders. If no one minds, I'm going to the great room to couch slouch. The headache seems to be worse when I lay flat." Adam withheld comment on the source of her aching head. Indeed, her aching everything. He pushed back from the table. "There are some loose porch rails on a couple of the cabins." "Need any help, Paul Bunyan?" "Fuck off, Radar. I need some outdoor time." "One of us should keep an eye on Lorelei." Lucian kicked back in his chair. "I'll keep the home fires burning for you, dear."

Adam ignored him. ***** Lorelei settled in a corner of the brown leather sofa, nicely wedged there, with her feet on the seat cushions. Lucian covered her lap with the knitted afghan she wore to the kitchen table, kissed the top of her tangled hair, and headed up to the com center. After about twenty minutes of shifting and fidgeting, Lorelei put the sitting area back to rights and padded upstairs. After meeting the frightening image in her bathroom mirror, she hurried to the shower. Spiffy clean and freshly dressed, she wandered down the hall to the office, and found Lucian sitting before the awesome banks of electronics. "Wow, Houston, we have no problem. Look at all this stuff! Want some company?" Lucian spun his chair and motioned her in. "Any time, sweet cheeks." He nodded toward the sofa against the far wall. "And that sofa is surprisingly comfy, if you decide to try napping again." "Okay. Thanks." With her hands on his shoulders, Lorelei stood behind Lucian and watched him work. Wide-eyed, she tried to follow his responses to the screen prompts with keyboards, keypads and touch screens. "Damn, you're fast!" "I love this shit, so it's easy for me. My folks made the mistake of giving me a fully functional computer when I was a little kid. They intended to keep me amused playing computer games, to prevent me from doing anything dangerous—like riding my bike off the garage roof while wearing my Batman cape. Again. My affair with technology began way back, sick and demented as it is." "And Adam?" "Nah, him, not so much. He's good at it, but he hates to be trapped indoors by machines. I usually deal with our friend Garrett, which works for me. He’s the real techno-genius—I suffer from geekness envy." Lucian sighed dramatically, and placed the back of his hand against his forehead, Scarlett O'Hara style.

Lorelei laughed. "I'm not in your league, that's for sure." "Well, you had a modem terminal at your town house, but no tower or other PC peripherals. So, I assume you had a laptop." "I did. You guys know more about the way I lived than I do." "Do you want to see the video?" Lorelei considered. "I don't know. It feels kinda creepy." She kissed the top of his head. "You have sexy hair, did you know?" "Other than my mother and my aunts, women seem to like it. I won't cut it Marine short ever again. Tying it back keeps it out of the way without going through all that braiding bullshit. Tried that once—what a nightmare. My locks are my only vice." "Your only vice? Well, I never cared for long hair on men before, but I like yours. Smells good, too." He reached up and touched her hand. "Thanks." "Okay, I think I'm ready to see where I live." Lucian did some techno-magic, way too fast for her to follow. Suddenly an image appeared on the largest plasma screen—the image of a very neat olive green foyer with creamy white trim. A delicate Queen Anne table held a marvelously colored Chinese vase, with a beautiful arrangement of silk Oriental day lilies. "It looks different, somehow. Like I'm checking out a real estate ad." Using a touch screen, he led her through her dwelling, room by room. The walls were all various hues of the olive green, the trim creamy white. Framed still-life watercolors in heavy gilt frames hung on the walls. Classy and stylish, definitely not girly-girl décor. "Y'know, I never noticed it before. It looks like I live in a hotel suite." Lucian zoomed in on a small alcove with a writing desk. Behind the desk stood a shelving unit that held baskets filled with file folders and office supplies. "And no laptop found in the remains of the SUV?"

"No, ma'am. Actually, other than the front end being crushed, the rest of the truck was in good shape. The crime scene techs were able to get into the nooks and crannies without using heavy equipment." "Laptop. One more item on my list of missing stuff." She leaned forward, her peaked nipples pressed against his back. "Why don't you pull up a chair, and connect to a computer. We have multiple terminals, keyboards, everything you need." He reached back and touched her hand again. "If you want to, that is." "Okay, sure. I'll give it a whirl, McGeek. I think it's time I looked at the crime scene photos. I should have done it sooner. Lucian turned in his swivel chair. "C'mon, wench. Let's get you set up." He turned to his terminal. His expression changed to serious as he flipped back into work mode. Lorelei clicked on the photos of the wreck and the wreck site and scrolled through the images. As had happened with the handguns, her hands remembered their skills and her fingers flew along the keyboard. She was struck by the same feeling that she had when looking at her townhouse—like she was strictly an observer, that she had no ties to the situations. "Great. Two techno-geeks." Lorelei jumped when she heard Adam's voice. "Quit sneakin' up on people." "Didn't sneak." She swung her chair around, ready to sling a snappy comeback. Adam wore a blue plaid work shirt, jeans, and work boots, and he hadn't shaved that morning. Wood chips and sawdust hung in his hair and on his clothes. He looked awesome and manly and delicious— He took a wide-legged stance and folded his arms across his chest. Lorelei tried to hide a grin, and didn’t quite make it. "What?" "Nothing." She sniggered, very unladylike.

"What?" "You look like Paul Bunyan." Lucian snorted. Lorelei tried to keep a straight face when Adam frowned, but she grinned again. "Now what, Ms. Special Agent?" "Well, it occurred to me that all you need is a giant blue ox for a pet, and you'd be good to go—partner." Lucian turned away and tried not to laugh, so he was no help. Lorelei saw the storm brewing on Adam's face, but she couldn't get the silliness under control. "I think I'll try that nap again, Chief Dark Cloud. Right now." She fairly well flew out the door, her hand covering her mouth. Adam's words followed her. "Blue ox, my ass." ***** Adam detoured to the kitchen and helped himself to a giant glass of sweet iced tea—one of Lucian's specialties, being a good, Southern-raised boy. Standing at the window, Adam refereed blue jays battling with squirrels for possession of the oversized bird feeders Lucian insisted on filling. Although he busted his buddy's chops over feeding the wildlife, Adam enjoyed critters feeling comfortable enough to feed at their back door—like he was part of something larger, something on a grander scale. After he finished, he rinsed his glass and headed across the great room. His bedroom sat at the top of the far staircase. He'd already pulled his shirt from the waistband of his jeans, unsnapped it as he climbed the stairs. He came to an abrupt halt when he reached his door. Lorelei lay on her side in his bed, both hands curled up into fists under her chin, wearing his nightshirt. She'd pulled a quilt up to her hips. She looked comfortable. And asleep. Damn, I could get real accustomed to this—finding her in my bed. Adam finished stripping down as he walked into the shower room. He soaped up in the warm spray. Company in the shower again would be nice. She's a ballsy little thing, taking the lead and

fucking me in the shower. That was definitely a first. His cock twitched at the memory. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall. The images of her playing with him while the warm water ran over their bodies made him hard. Eyes still closed, he stroked his soapy cock absentmindedly, remembering the feel of her hands all over his body, sliding over his muscles, tracing the scars on his hide—no woman had ever handled him the way she did. The timbre of her touch had grown from tentative and exploring to confident. His strokes continued, longer and firmer now, until an orgasm suddenly happened, front and center. He came hard. Damn, boy, what's up with that? He couldn't even remember the last time he'd jacked off with no one else for company. Whoa. Adam finished his shower—alone—and toweled off. He wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror. Paul Bunyan stared back at him. He shaved. After he slapped on some English Leather, he shrugged into a robe. Lorelei hadn't moved an inch. She wasn't actually snoring, but her breathing was deep and even. Adam pulled a wing chair around, as Lucian had done a lifetime ago. He watched her sleep. In a few days, the little vixen has changed our lives forever. He never considered his life and Lucian's transforming from the well-ordered existence they'd created since settling at Sanctuary. Lucian usually seemed content being the perennial party-guy bachelor. Times when Lucian felt any untoward urge toward domestic normalcy, he dragged Adam along and they hopped down to the Duquesne asylum in North Carolina, the Tar Heel state, for an immediate reminder of why they sought the peace and quiet of their lodge. No issues with girlfriends or wives, plenty of family when they desired it. When it wasn't peaceful, when Sanctuary was open for business, he and Lucian knew their clients, men who were cut from the same cloth. They were comfortable with that. Then this blonde bit of a girl, this very Special Agent, changed it all. Adam reminded himself—and continued to remind himself—that Lorelei wasn't a civilian. Not a woman at loose ends looking for a bit of fun, hot sex, or a casual fling.

Highly trained, highly skilled, as professional as he and Lucian were. Definitely something different. ***** Lucian parked in front of the big plasma screen and scrolled through the images of Lorelei's apartment. Again. He felt like a peeping tom, a stalker. Lucian was confused, a feeling foreign to his usually confidant self. This relationship, this ménage, needed to work. He intentionally gave Adam and Lorelei opportunities to be together, to work through their antagonism toward one another— hell, he pushed them together at every opportunity. What if this backfires? What if she wants him more than she wants me? What if they decide they don't need me in the picture? Adam had never been possessive about anything—other than his firearms—or anyone. Yet Adam was definitely drawn to Lorelei, and not in a professional capacity. Lucian's schemes never went wrong—not since he decided that dating girls with Marines for fathers could be an inherently bad idea. But this time, he may have outsmarted his own clever self. There were patterns emerging. Sexy, playful Lorelei slid into one of the slinky pretty nightgowns Lucian had bought. When confused or upset, she hid in the Marine Corps nightshirt. Lucian guessed she felt safer in Adam's shirt, one of the first things with which she identified. Adam's nightshirt. Adam's bed. Unspoken rules had developed. Adam never shared anyone else's bed. Lorelei went to him, and Lucian followed. Lorelei slept on Adam's chest, tucked into his arms. Lucian settled in behind her, arm wrapped around her waist, the top of her head snugged under his chin. When she stayed alone with Adam, he folded himself over her, possessive even in sleep. In Lucian's room, Lucian and Lorelei slumbered in a tangle of limbs like a couple of teenagers, cozy and friendly. I could live like this. Lucian realized he'd been staring at the same screen long enough for the image to temporarily burn into his retinas; the ghost was still there when he looked away. He gave up trying to work and headed outdoors.

If the arrangement stays as is, it works for me. I can live with it. If they want me. Chapter Twelve

Lorelei yawned and stretched, looked around. Aha, Adam's room, but no Adam. She crawled to edge of the bed. Damn, I feel better. She stood on the floor and stretched again, fingertips to toes, then over her head, and padded off to her room. Lucian was not in the com center. Well, folks, nothing happenin' until my boss decides what the hell to do with me. That makes today the day for a good hard run. She pulled on running shorts, socks, and shoes—courtesy of Lucian's shopping trip—and skipped down the stairs, brimming with unaccustomed energy. No guys were present in either the pool pavilion or the kitchen. She grabbed a couple of dried apricots from the basket on the kitchen table, and popped them into her mouth. Still chewing, she went out the back door, and headed for the par course trail. The clearing near the picnic tables by the humongous dining hall looked like a good place to begin. She bent and stretched, bent and stretched, warmed up unused muscles before she began her run. "Darlin', you sure make those tight shorts look good." She turned and smiled at Lucian, who'd come from the dining hall with a hammer, a bag of nails, and a canteen. "Why, thank you, kind sir." "That nap did wonders for you, sweet cheeks. You look all sorts of energetic." "Y'know, I really think it did. I feel better than I have since the day of the wreck. If the bruises would fade away, I could pretend it didn't happen, and I'm here on a wonderful extended holiday." Lucian put down his tools and perched on the nearest picnic table. He offered Lorelei a drink from his canteen. "Hmm, sweet tea. Thanks. I should remember to bring a canteen with me."

"Darlin', if you keep bending over in those shorts, you won't make it down the trail." "Oh, is that right? Remember, pal, I already threw you to the floor." "That was an extenuating circumstance, and you know it. Besides, it's bad form to remind a guy that he's been wrastled to the ground by a woman." Lorelei moved closer, placing a hand on each of his knees. "Yeah, and sometimes you don't mind wrastling with a woman." "Honey child, there's wrastling, and then there's wrastling." Lucian took her hands in his and brought them to his lips, kissing them on each knuckle. "Mmm. Keep that up, and I won't get my run in before dinner. Speaking of dinner, where's Chef Stone?" "It's Chef Duquesne for half the suppers—including today's. Last I knew, The Big Kahuna finished the porch repairs and grabbed one of the ATVs. He likes to cruise the perimeter like a he-wolf staking out his territory. He might even piss on trees to mark his boundaries." He met her gaze. "More so, with you here." "I see." He pulled her closer, trapped her between his knees. "Lucian, at the risk of being totally unprofessional and brutally forward—I want you. I want you so much right now that I can't stand it." "I thought you didn't love me anymore." "Why the hell would you think that?" "You and Adam . . . ." He didn't finish. "Luce, let's go to the house. I'll show you my intentions are pure. If a bit on the lewd and lascivious end of the scale." "Let's stay here." "But what if . . . ?" "No what ifs or buts, baby doll." He looked around. "There's no one here except us and birdseed-stealing squirrels."

Lucian stepped down, and turned Lorelei to face him. He pulled her stretchy tank top up and over her head, then stripped off his T-shirt. "Fair is fair. Your shirt, my shirt." Pulling her close, he kissed, caressed, and fondled. Acted as if he was starved for her. Her nipples peaked as he slid his palms over her breasts. She whispered, "Oh yeah, baby, you surely know what feels good to a woman. Your hands are amazing." "Darlin' girl, my pleasure is to give you pleasure." "Said like a true Southern gentleman. With his hands on my tits." Lucian gripped Lorelei's waistband and slid her running shorts down, panties going as well. He toed them to the side, then kicked off his boots, stepped out of his jeans, and piled clothes in a heap on the table. Lorelei stood before him, naked except for socks and silver and red running shoes. "Cute outfit." "Duquesne, you hush. The gravel hurts my bare feet." She wrapped her arms around his neck, and their lips met. Soft, friendly kisses quickly morphed into hard, passionate responses. Lucian's cock—already standing straight up—was rock hard. He pressed his sex against her, his testicles pulled up tight. "Come here, woman." He led her to the picnic table. "Straddle the bench." "Say again?" "Swing your leg over the bench. Straddle it, with your back to me." Undecided at first, she did as he asked. What the hell, why not? "I feel kinda silly." "You won't." Lucian stood next to her, ran his hands all over her, massaged, caressed. His left hand settled on her mound, the other hand reached between her legs from the rear. Continuing the massaging and caressing, playing with her clit, using feathery soft touches. With the planks of the bench between her legs, Lorelei leaned forward, straight-armed, her hands flat on the bench.

"That's it, baby. Spread for me." Lucian placed his left hand on the small of her back, and worked the fingers of his right hand into her fast-heating flesh. She moaned deep in her throat, her hips responding to his attentions. "Luce, baby, I want you. I want you to fuck me. Right here. Right now." Her voice pitched low and raspy. "Please, Luce, I want your cock." "Your wish, love, is all I need." Lucian straddled the bench behind her, his cock pressed against her bottom. He moved back to finger her deeply, then rubbed his cock head where his fingers had been. "Oh God, Lucian, yes! Come to me, baby." He held his cock. With Lorelei tight against him, his hips pushed his rigid sex halfway inside her. He grabbed her by the waist and slammed deep, burying his cock as far as he could. "Damn it Lucian, yes, please, fuck me like that—fuck me hard and fuck me deep, c'mon, baby!" Lorelei gave a hard twist to her hips as Lucian pushed forward and up, almost lifting her feet off the ground. Her breathing came hard and fast. Lucian reached under and fingered her clit. He pulled out nearly all the way, then drove into her. "Lucian, baby, sonofabitch, I'm there, I'm so right fucking there . . . ." With a cat-like yowl, she covered his hand with one of hers, and the walls of her taut pussy grabbed his cock. "Baby, omigod, sweet-fucking-angels, Lucian, omigod . . . ." Her sweet pulsing flesh was all it took, and he powered into her, his arms wrapped around her middle as he pulled her tight against his groin. "Lorelei, baby, damn it, you are so tight, so hot, so fucking good . . . ." And he shot his load, deep and true.

*****

It took a moment, until his breathing wasn't so ragged and rough—then Lucian realized he and Lorelei were not alone. Still buried in her, he stood naked and weaponless, like a rookie. His brain tripped into survival overdrive. In the instant before Lucian could react, Adam spoke low in his ear. "Sloppy security work, Duquesne." Lucian's breath whooshed out. "Damn it, hoss, you are a rank motherfucker." His cock finally softened. Lorelei still straddled the picnic table bench, her breathing heavy and harsh. He backed away from her so he could face Adam—Adam, as naked as the two of them, hands on hips. For fuck sake, I never even heard him. Adam gave him a short nod, and Lucian stepped away. "Babe." Lorelei's head shot up. "Adam." "Some special agent and Marine spotter—the two of you are plain pitiful." Before she could straighten up, Adam grabbed her around the waist, picking her up as easily as a Raggedy Ann doll. He sat her on the edge of the picnic table, on his flannel shirt. Lorelei's eyebrows lifted. "You're not dressed." "Neither are you." Adam slipped the running shoes and socks off her feet and tossed them to the side. He pressed himself between her legs, pulled her forward and forced her thighs apart to make room for his body. "Now lean back." "Why . . . what . . . ?" "Stop arguing." "I'm not." "You are." Adam covered her breasts with his hands, fondled her, kissed her hard on the mouth. "Lean back." Lorelei leaned back on the table and supported herself on her elbows. He held her by the waist with one hand, and, with his other, guided his rigid cock into her warm

wet sex. She yipped as he penetrated, but he continued—when he was far enough in, he grabbed her waist with both hands, and drove his cock home. "Sonofabitch, be careful with that fucking baseball bat between your legs!" "Lie down." "Why . . . ?" "Damn it, woman, do it." She slowly rolled back, her movements now sensual, sinuous. Adam took her ankles and pressed her feet against his collarbone, wrapping his arms around her thighs to keep her bottom tight against his loin. She arched her back as his giant cock thrust home—then Lucian's mouth covered hers, kissing her urgently. Lorelei threw her arms around Lucian's neck as Adam slid deep, then pulled nearly out, then sunk himself into her again, striking a rhythm. Lucian kissed her again, flicked her nipple with his tongue tip, then rolled his tongue around the areola, causing the skin to pucker and harden. She threaded her fingers into his long hair, and held him close. Her breathing changed from frantic panting to furious purring. His chest covering hers, Lucian felt her vibrating with passion. "Adam, baby, dear God, baby, do it, come for me." Lorelei writhed under Lucian's chest as Adam pounded into her—she moaned shamelessly, her sex still jacked up from coming on Lucian's cock. Her fingers tangled almost cruelly in Lucian's hair, pulling at his long, twisted locks as his lips left her breast and sought her mouth. Untangling her fingers from his hair, he managed to pin her hands against the table on either side of her head, an act of self-preservation. "Adam, baby . . . Mary-fucking-Mother-of-God, oh shit, yes-yes-yes, NOW!" Her body gone crazy, she cried out, then groaned and thrashed under both men in the throes of another orgasm. Lucian gave up kissing her as she twisted against him, and concentrated his efforts on not losing control of her hands. Adam roared, and pushed her halfway across the top of the table with his heaving, pounding release.

***** Lorelei was reduced to mewing by the time Adam pulled out of her, his wet cock at half-mast. Rolling to her side, she assumed the fetal position. Gently, Lucian helped her to sit. Rather than fight with her clothing, he covered her with Adam's flannel shirt. The men pulled their jeans on. "This is insane." Lorelei sniffled, and used the sleeve of Adam's shirt as a hanky. Adam finished pulling his boots on and turned to her. "Do you want to quit?" "No." Lucian wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against his body. "Baby doll, are you sure you want to stay with us?" Sniffle. "Yes." Lucian nuzzled her hair. "Then what's wrong, sweetheart?" "I don't know how to fit in here." Sniffle. "One moment I feel so at home, strong and confident, like I belong—as if we've been together forever. Then the next moment, I wonder what the fuck I'm doing. I don't know what anyone expects of me—which is a first." She leaned into Lucian. "You guys are the only constants in my life. I'm afraid I'll wake up and discover that none of this is real. Maybe you'll get tired of me, and leave me on the road with my luggage." She sighed. "That is, if I had any luggage." Adam faced her. "Come with me." "I need my shoes. I can't walk on the gravel." "Wuss." "Yeah, well, Marine Guy, not many opportunities to walk barefoot in downtown D.C." She yipped as Adam scooped her into his arms and headed toward the back door of the lodge. Lucian shrugged, then gathered up clothing and tools. Adam carried Lorelei into the pool pavilion, grabbed a corner of his shirt—and unceremoniously dumped her, naked, into the deep end. When she rose to the surface, she spit and sputtered, then screeched and screamed obscenities at him as she splashed around, infuriated.

Adam ignored her screeching. He kicked off his boots, stripped out of his jeans, and dove into the pool with nary a ripple, as smoothly as an Olympic swimmer. Lorelei stopped cursing, tread water, and watched in awe as his powerful body cut through the crystalline water like a Great White. Lucian deposited everyone's belongings on a chaise longue, skinned out of his jeans, and cannonballed into the pool. A wave of water hit Lorelei in the face, causing more spitting and sputtering and cursing. Lucian splashed her again, making sure she was dragged out of her previous woe-is-me mood by her two men. Finally, Lorelei laughed at him—and herself—and swam. Chapter Thirteen

For the first time since she'd left D.C., Lorelei felt light-hearted and truly alive. It was technically Lucian's turn as the supper chef, but tonight Adam handled the grilling. With her hands wrapped around a tall glass of sweet tea, she enjoyed watching the two men work easily around each other. Adam served perfectly seasoned medium rare rib eye steaks covered with caramelized Vidalia onions and sautéed baby portabella mushrooms. Lucian threw together a huge bowl of garden salad, then came from the butler's pantry with a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. He showed the bottle to Adam, who nodded. He showed it to Lorelei, who shrugged. "Sure, I'll give it a try." She was totally willing to continue the experimentation process. "Oh my God, this is unbelievable!" Lorelei closed her eyes in sheer delight at her first taste of the rib eye. "Lucian, you're a genius, honestly. If I wasn't a meat-eater in my previous life, I am hooked now." "Thanks. We tend to be carnivorous around here." He grinned.

Conversation continued about nothing of earth-shattering importance, as the men—mostly Lucian, with an occasional brusque sidebar by Adam—told her more about how Sanctuary worked, and their plans to expand. Being so casually included in their plans for the future made Lorelei feel as if she did belong, that these two men anchored her. A chime sounded. "What was that?" Lorelei looked from Adam to Lucian. "Incoming." Lucian kicked his chair back and bolted upstairs. "Something I should know about?" Adam shrugged. "Sounds like Garrett found something." "Oh." Lorelei felt her heart beat speeding up, and not in a good way. No decision had come from her boss and by her calculations, time was running out. The look on Lucian's face when he returned to his chair didn't help her pulse rate any. Adam got right to it. "What?" "Garrett." Lucian leaned back, and took a deep breath. "Stanford is on the move." She sat bolt upright. "What the fuck?" "Calm down. Garrett has been keeping surveillance on Stanford. His tail ferreted out some sort of closed-door discussion between your boss Robson—who is not held in very high regard, apparently—and Stanford. Stanford hurried to a rental agency, not the motor pool, and obtained a car outside the system." Lorelei covered her throat, involuntarily. "Where is he now?" "Headed north. We should assume he's returning to finish what he started. If he drives straight through, I figure we have twelve hours at least, fifteen hours at most." Lucian took a deep breath. "Garrett also discovered why Lorelei had a motor pool vehicle. At the last minute, her very reliable Audi Q5 developed total brake failure." "How did you know about my vehicle?" Lorelei was spooked. "I forgot to mention it."

"And guess who magnanimously offered the use of the Tahoe Lorelei usually drove on the job?" "Fuck." Adam tapped the table with the butt of his steak knife. "Robson." "It gets better. One of Garrett's boys, a suspicious lad by nature, checked out her Audi at the repair shop. The brake line fitting was hanging on by a thread. Someone didn't do the obvious, like cut a line. He loosened the fitting so the brake fluid would leak out and the failure wouldn't look suspicious." "Fuck." Adam said again, his expression squinty. "Yeah, that's a good word." Lorelei couldn't catch her breath. "Goddamnedsonofabitching-motherfucking-cocksucker is a even better word." She slumped in her chair and put her forehead on the table against her folded arms. "I need another burn phone. My boss wasn't one hundred percent sure it was Robson." Adam pushed his chair back, stood up. "Maybe it's time to call MacBride." "Look, I know you guys are all friends," Lorelei said, "and that Sheriff MacBride is one of the good guys. But I seriously compromised my orders in a huge way by letting you guys know what I was doing. I can't authorize bringing in another unknown without clearance." *****

Leaving Adam in the kitchen to clean up, Lorelei followed Lucian to the com center. He checked the news from Garrett, then initiated a sat-link. In a moment, a handsome blue-eyed man with sun-streaked light brown hair appeared on the screen. "Yo, Radar, an update. Good news. One of my boys placed an electronic tracker on our target's rental. The target stopped at a convenience store, then checked into a motel. Your agent bought a sack full of snacks and Red Bull, so I assume he's going to catch a little shut-eye, then attempt to drive straight through. My guys are taking bets he can't do it, but he definitely has the wind under his tail. It must have been that extra special ass-reaming he got. Word is, everyone in the surrounding offices scattered and

looked for places to hide. That pushes the e.t.a back, I would say, by about five hours. I wish I had more, but that's it." "That's plenty, thanks. The tracker should give us what we need." "Yeah, I hope so. I'm short-handed at the moment. If we depend on the tracker, I won't need to pull a guy off another job to tail your boy to the fucking wilds of Maine. Oops, sorry ma'am." Garrett looked down and appeared to be hitting some keys. "I transferred the tracking data to you, so it's in your hands now, friend." "Thanks. We owe ya." "Yes, you do. And you can bet your sorry ass that I'll collect. Fill me in later on what this hush-hush shit is all about." Garrett grinned. "And now I see what's causing all the fuss. Good luck with that." The screen went to multi-colored stripes. "Wow, you guys really are high tech! That's awesome. What did he mean about all the fuss?" Lucian shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I'll explain when we have the time." Lorelei felt Adam's presence when he entered the room. She didn't turn, but leaned back against his broad chest when he put his hands on her shoulders. "Babe." He placed his chin on her hair. "I need you to remember." "Remember what?" "Remember the morning of the wreck." Lorelei broke free of his embrace. "What the fuck do you think I've been trying to do, dammit?" Lucian walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Hoss, she's been trying." Adam left the room and returned, a pretty red and black scarf trailing from his hand. "Are you planning to strangle me, or accessorize?" "Strangle you, if you don't stop being a smartass." Adam quickly folded the scarf long ways, turned Lorelei toward the desk again, then wrapped the scarf around her head, covering her eyes.

"Hoss, I don't know if this is the appropriate time for kinky sex games." Adam ignored him, and finished tying the scarf snugly over Lorelei's eyes. "Can you see anything?" "Fuck, no, of course not." "Remind me to wash your mouth out with soap later." "Bugger off." "Maybe sooner than later. Now, really close your eyes." "They are closed." "Lorelei . . . . " "Look guys, I told you what I know when we were down in the gun room. My mission—and I did choose to accept it—was to transport the flash drive to my contact at Loring Air Force Base. That contact would land at Loring, pick up the flash drive, and immediately leave for Geneva." "Geneva, jeez. Whew, baby! You're in some deep shit, dear girl." "Yeah, no kidding." "Go on. Finish it." "Adam, you're a pain in my ass." "That, too, can be arranged." Still blindfolded, she stuck out her tongue. "I feel like a referee at an ice hockey game." That, from Lucian. "Anything more, Lorelei? Did Stanford say anything in the SUV, did he do anything else?" "Adam, honest. The only thing I didn't share with you guys was the code I need to complete the transaction with the Secretary of State's courier." She heard Lucian's office chair roll backward. "Secretary of State?" "Oopsie, my bad. Yes. Her Royal Highness." Lorelei made a face. "Who do you think supervises the NCS Special Activities Division?" "Oh, shit. So, if this doesn't work, the Bitch Queen of All Time will put out Most Wanted posters with a reward and expect your pretty hide nailed to the wall."

"That about sums it up." "And Bellisario?" Adam asked. "Who the hell is that?" Lucian chimed in. She ignored Lucian. "You know I shouldn't have revealed that information. And it's not germane to the current situation." Lorelei pulled the scarf away. "Guys, the blindfold might be fun later. Really." Adam smoothed his mustache. "Lorelei needs to complete her assignment without getting killed." Lucian nodded. "Stanford." "Yes, Stanford. If Robson is Stanford's handler—which seems likely—let Lorelei's big boss deal with the internal situation." "You're forgetting delivery of the flash drive. It takes precedence over my wellbeing." "No, it doesn't." Lucian jumped to his feet. "You are not fucking expendable!" "Lucian, darlin', you served our country your way. I serve it my way." Adam leaned back in his chair. "We'll finish your mission—without sacrificing our special agent." The men's eyes met. "MacBride." Chapter Fourteen

MacBride arrived early the next morning and the day went to hell after that. He sat with his mug of coffee and ran his hand through his hair. "Before anyone attempts to explain what is no doubt going to be illegal at best, deadly at worst, I need to fill you in on what I found out before I left. Our Crime Unit lab rats confirmed that Agent Randall's front tire was taken out by a rifle shot. A second slug went through the underside of the left front wheel well, and lodged in the steering box mechanism— which is why Agent Randall completely lost the steering."

Lorelei leaped to her feet, slammed her chair back into the table, and stormed over to the sink. "Sonofabitch, I swear to all that's holy I'm going to flay that little ratbastard alive, starting with his itty bitty balls, if he has any!" MacBride held his hand up. "Hold on to your knickers, I'm not done yet—and I don't want to know which little rat-bastard is in your gun sights. The bullet is fairly well mashed up so there are no lands and grooves to compare, but the techie will stake her reputation on the fact that the caliber of the bullet is the same. By the angle, it looks like someone shot from a prone position, or close to ground level. A second shot angled up into the wheel well before it smashed into the engine compartment. It's official: Special Agent Randall was bushwhacked, and did not suffer an equipment failure. The wreck was not an accident. The weird thing is, according to the techie, the rifle was probably not a high-powered job, more like a light caliber target rifle or something similar." Lucian held up the refilled coffee carafe. "Bud, you're gonna need this before we're done."

*****

Lorelei left to grab a shower. Adam gave the sheriff the quickie version of the situation with Stanford, as far as they knew it, while Lucian monitored the screens upstairs. MacBride sat back in his chair, his coffee forgotten. "I hope you people are fucking joking. Do you know the position this puts me in? Officially, the situation needs to be reported—to whom, I can't begin to imagine. Unofficially, I don't know what I can do without stepping back into official territory. I can't even contact the NCS without knowing who might be dirty, thereby placing Special Agent Randall at even higher risk." "Now you see our problem," said Adam. Lucian returned to the kitchen. "We need to retrieve the flash drive. It's about a five and a half hour trip from here to the post office in Limestone."

"Then what?" Adam spoke up, his jaw aching from being clenched. "Lorelei had a twelve-hour window for the drop-off once she reached Limestone. If Lucian time-lined it correctly— including the downtime she spent here after the wreck, and counting the time her boss has fiddle-fucked around—we're coming up to the front edge of that twelve-hour deadline." Her hair still damp, Lorelei returned to the kitchen in time to hear Adam's comment. She added her two cents. "It means I need to get my ass in gear and get to Limestone." Pouring a mug of coffee, she leaned back against the counter. "That's what it means." "No, that's not what it means." Lucian pulled Lorelei to him, her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her. She rubbed her head against him, and covered his hands with hers. MacBride stared at them. "Oh, for fuck sake—you guys can't be serious. Is that what's been going on here?" He shook his head. "This is so not good. I'm going to lose my job because you can't keep your dick in your pants?" Lorelei snarked at him. "Hey!" Lucian kissed Lorelei's damp hair. "My bad." Adam set his mug down hard, and coffee sloshed. Fella, you have no freakin' idea what this woman has done to us. "What we are doing here is not the issue." "What we are doing here? Like three? Like more than two? Jesus H. Christ." MacBride shook his head. "Brian, that's not the point. We have other issues more pressing than who's sleeping in which bed, don't you think?" "I disagree. It is the point. If you two idiots are worried about her—sorry, ma'am—you won't be functioning at full capacity." Pushing back from the table, Adam stood and glared at MacBride. "You should know better. Our mission will not be compromised. That's why we called you." "This is going to really suck, isn't it? How bad will I be breaking the law?"

Adam shrugged. "It depends. Maybe bending it." "Oh, great." Lorelei bitched. "Ahh, hello people. Special agent is still in the room." Adam walked over to the couple. Still wrapped in Lucian's arms, Lorelei rested her forehead against Adam's chest. He stroked her hair. MacBride stared at the three of them, shook his head again. He sighed, heavily. "No, no, and no. This is gonna get really ugly, I can tell." "No, it's not. I need to borrow a vehicle . . . ." Lorelei unfolded herself from Lucian's arms. "And I need to get moving, like now. I can find a parking lot or motel to catch an hour or two of sleep, once I reach Limestone and collect the flash drive." "You can't drive," Lucian pointed out. "You don't have a driver's license, credit cards—nothing." "And you're not leaving the compound." Adam stated this as fact. "The fuck you say. Did you somehow miss the part about me being an NCS agent? This is what I do for a living." "Lorelei, you're not going. You have no credentials. You have no NCS backup. You're healing quickly, but you're not up to speed. I'm not turning you loose at less than one hundred percent capacity." "Adam, damn it . . . . Lucian, reason with him." "Can't, sweet cheeks. I gotta agree with the big guy on this one." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Will you three knock it off? You're gonna make me gag." MacBride topped off his mug. "I need to swear off caffeine after this. So what's the plan?" Adam unfolded a sheet of paper from his pocket. "We need you to drive out to Limestone, pick up the flash drive, and meet Lorelei's contact at the old Loring Air Force Base. I wrote down everything Lorelei remembered, and she remembered a bunch when her brain kicked in. She'll give you the code word before you leave. Flash your badge if you need to. Whatever it takes."

MacBride bowed his head. "I knew it. I'll be imprisoned as an accessory, even if I'm technically off duty, not to mention being totally out of my jurisdiction. What are you two Jarhead Lotharios going to do in the meantime?" "We're going to deal with Stanford." Adam's voice was harsh. Yeah, we're going to deal with Stanford—our way. "For Chrissakes, Stone, you know I didn't hear you say that." Lucian stared at him. "We will secure the premises—our private property—and offer our protection to NCS Special Agent Randall, who is recovering from an accident and suffering from a head injury." He nodded to Adam. "That's what we're going to do." Lorelei put her mug down and squared off, pulling herself up to her full height. "There's no way I'm letting you guys . . . ." Adam barked at her, tried to keep his rising emotions under control. This woman is gonna make me nuts. "Randall, we need you here to finish the business with Stanford. You can't be in two places at once. Deal with it." His eyes blazed, his aggressive body posture dared anyone to contradict him. Princess, you'll do it our way or I swear I'll hogtie you and throw you in the shed. "Now, if we're done with the bullshit . . . Luce, explain the plan." Lucian did the best he could with the twelve-hour window counting down. "This is it, fellas." Former SEAL MacBride shook his head. "In the real world, none of us would accept a mission without solid intel." Adam paced and talked. "Lorelei isn't one hundred percent. We'll run with what we have." MacBride left for town. Adam let Lucian map out the alternatives for Stanford's arrival. Lorelei howled a few times, but Adam ignored her and Lucien talked over her. Several hours later, MacBride returned, having left the official SUV and picked up his Jeep. He filled them in on the plan's arrangements—no snags— while Lucian

cobbled together a quick lunch of burgers and sweet potato fries. The foursome sat at the kitchen table, hashing out more of the preparations as they ate until they could recite the particulars in their sleep. Lucian spoke up. "The tracking device on Stanford's vehicle shows him still moving north. Slowly, in fits and starts, but he's still moving in this general direction." Then, at Adam's insistence, they slept in short shifts. Lorelei slept in Adam's bed, wrapped in his arms. When Adam took over, Lucian slid into Adam's place and kept Lorelei close to his body. MacBride—who had no Lorelei privileges—sacked out on the com center sofa, in case any new transmissions came in from Garrett. A few minutes after five, Adam was monitoring the com center when the tracking device signaled Stanford's arrival at the Sanctuary perimeter. His voice was soft. "Okay, people. Show time." *****

Adam rousted the crew as afternoon faded into dusk. It was light enough to see outdoors, but not too clearly. The perfect time to kick-start the plan. "Let's get moving, people." MacBride buckled Joe Cool, the police department's first-aid training dummy, into the passenger seat of the camp's big Suburban. The camp's second vehicle, a smaller Ford Explorer, was parked alongside. They were betting that Stanford would not chance setting off the perimeter sensors, but MacBride tucked his Jeep out of sight anyway, hidden in the equipment shed. Adam checked his watch. "Time to go, bud. The monitor shows Stanford parked to the south side of the road where the driveway ends. He's a city dude—I doubt he's wandered too far from his vehicle. Keep your hat pulled low, but give him a chance to see two bodies leaving." "Yeah, yeah, I got it, I got it. I'm outa here. Good luck on your end."

"We're Marines, Navy boy. Luck has nothing to do with it." ***** Lorelei counted down the time she'd been allotted. When she reached the Explorer, she stood there for a long moment, her fingers on the door handle. Change of plans, guys. Sorry. She turned abruptly from the truck, jogged to the equipment shed, and slid the door open. She wiggled past MacBride's camo Jeep and grabbed the key for the red ATV from the pegboard. The KA-Bar strapped to her leg under the loose-fitting cargo pants was secure. She slid the Walther into one oversized pocket, and extra ammo clips in the other. I hope I remember how to start this thing. To her relief, the four-wheeler cranked over with a simple turn of the key. She grabbed a shorty helmet and backed out of the shed. Elvis has left the building. Lorelei checked her watch and gauged her time, then rode at barely seven miles an hour along the long gravel drive. She hit the remote for the security gate when she reached it. Convinced that Stanford watched her, she stopped for a moment while the gate arm dropped behind her. She looked both ways down the paved road, pretending to be undecided. Then she pulled out and rode west, away from Stanford. Slowly. She didn't want to lose him. ***** Adam growled, furious. "What the fuck is she doing?" From the upstairs window, he trained a pair of binoculars on Lorelei. Too far away to do anything, frustration grabbed him as her ATV disappeared down the drive. "She knows the plan, agreed to it. What the hell is she thinking?" Lucian slung a heavy duffel over his shoulder. "Something must have occurred to her after MacBride left." "And she couldn't let us in on the goddamned secret?"

"Hoss, listen. She took the quad, not the Explorer. We have more time to cut through the woods, more time to get set up. If that's her plan, it's a good one. You know it is." "And maybe my plan is to turn her over my knee and blister her ass when I catch her. And she's not going to enjoy it." "Can I watch?" Adam swung his backpack at Lucian, who grinned and ducked. "Trust her, man—and we need to leave, like now." ***** Lorelei fiddle-farted around, keeping the ATV at about fifteen miles an hour. She knew Stanford must be frustrated—he'd edged too close with his car more than once. This deal had better work. Her fitful sleep had been plagued by fears and insecurities, totally foreign to her. What if MacBride can't get through? What if I can't pull this off? Oddly, she had no trepidation about Adam and Lucian carrying out their end of the plan. How had this happened in a few short days? The assignments, the excitement and adrenaline rush—the danger—of her job had kept her motivated since the day she'd left behind her sedate university life. But ever since she woke up in Adam Stone's bed, she'd felt alive, like her real life had begun. She could no longer be satisfied with the before. Now she couldn't imagine living without the constant friction, the raw sexual tension, between her and Adam. Or without Lucian's care and affection. Now—now she craved the constant bombardment of all things sexual and sensual provided by two men, strangers at that. How could she survive without it? How could she survive without the heat, without the erotic energy that manifested with each look, each touch? Her skin flamed at the memory of their hands caressing her body. Oh yeah, this had better work—I'll be highly fucking annoyed if I get killed.

Lorelei continued the pretense of not noticing Stanford, glancing slyly out of the corner of her eye to keep him in view. When she reached the crash site, she stopped the quad on the shoulder of the road, stepped off and looked around, acting confused. She remounted the ATV and pulled into the clearing near the edge of the ravine. The wrecker had chewed up the ground in its efforts to yank the crunched Tahoe from its resting place between boulder and tree, so she walked along the side of the gouges left by the wrecker's big cleated tires. Lorelei hadn't been back since the accident, and had been unconscious for the event itself. Lucian had drawn a map, staging the placement of each player with an X, so she had some frame of reference. She removed her helmet and finger-fluffed her hair for Stanford's benefit. The dim evening light didn't penetrate the canopy cover of the dense woods very far. Lorelei used her flashlight to check out the slope of the ravine, for effect. Crack. Snap. Small branches broke under a careless foot—but on the wrong side of the clearing. Fuck! Sonofabitch! It must be Stanford. Adam and Lucian will be out of position. Damn, damn, damn. She tried not to be obvious about listening, cocking her head slightly to catch as much sound as she could. Lorelei pretended to scout the area as she moved a safer distance from the ravine's edge. She intentionally dropped the flashlight. As she crouched to retrieve it, she snuck her hand into her pocket for the Walther. A heavy blow struck the right side of her neck where it joined her shoulder. The hit stunned her. It whiplashed her head to the side, her shoulder in screaming pain and her right hand numb. The Walther slid out of her useless fingers and back into her pocket. She slumped forward on her knees, barely supported on her left arm. The pain traveled from shoulder to neck, and then galloped to her right temple. Great, a matched set of concussions. She kept her head down and breathed deeply, letting her hair cover her face while she attempted to orient herself.

Stanford walked around to face her. "You are so stupid. Your big bad heroes left. I'm sure they told you to stay in the house with all those fancy security alarms. Stupid woman. You should have listened." Lorelei didn't answer immediately. She took her time and got her breathing under control, then assessed the damage to her shoulder. At the moment, she knew it hurt like a motherfucker. Vertigo and nausea fought for dominance. "What's the matter, Special Agent Randall? Cat got your tongue? No smart aleck remarks?" Think, Randall. He doesn't know I was going for my gun. He doesn't know how badly I'm out of commission. Lorelei rocked back on her heel and pushed the hair out of her face with her good hand. Stanford held a long, heavy-duty metal flashlight, one anybody could buy at a home improvement store, definitely not NCS tactical gear. He must have hit me with the damn flashlight. Her small, lightweight strobe-capable flashlight could have momentarily blinded him, but it had landed too far away to be useful. In his other hand, Stanford gripped his service pistol. "What do you want, Stanford?" He appeared to consider that. "I wanted you dead so I could be the next Special Agent in Charge, but you wouldn't die. You didn't know it was me, did you?" Lorelei was afraid to shake her head. "No." "I guess I'm smarter than everyone thinks." "You must be. You had me fooled." Keep him talking, give the guys time to reorient themselves. Lorelei shifted her position. "Stop moving. What are you doing?" "No circulation in my legs. I'm trying to get comfortable." "Yes, well, don't get up. I have a gun, you know. I'm not afraid to use it." He talks too much. All talk, no balls. "So, now what?" "What do you mean, now what?"

"You admitted to the attempted murder of a federal agent, and I seem to be your prisoner. So, the obvious question is, now what? You have me. What do you intend to do with me?" That seemed to take Stanford by surprise. He blinked, then stared at her. "Did you have a plan, perhaps?" Stanford snapped back into real time. "Yes, I must have a plan. A good agent always has a plan. He said so." "I see. So, what's your plan?" Keep him talking, keep him fucking talking . . . . "My first plan was to kill you and take the flash drive—it's worth a ton of money, you know. I wouldn't even need to be an agent any more. I could retire." He squinted. "But you wouldn't die." "I see. Sorry to wreck your plans. What about the evidence from the crime lab, your fingerprints, the DNA samples?" "You're lying! There can't be any fingerprints, no DNA—I wore gloves." "Maybe when you stripped out the vehicle and took my stuff—but not when you were strangling me." The wide-eyed panic froze on his face. "Th-that's not possible." "Yeah, it is. The deputy scraped skin cells and stuff from under my fingernails. I must have scratched you somewhere." Stanford's gun hand flew to his neck, hidden by his collar. "You're stupid, you're lying!" "Why would I bother to lie? The sheriff received the reports this morning. The guys went into town to speak to him in person, they wanted to see the evidence." "Why didn't they take you?" "I'm too bruised up—thanks to you. They didn't want anyone asking questions. I thought it might be a good time to see the crash site. I wasn't conscious the first time. Also thanks to you." "Yes, well, you don't need to worry about paying me back. You don't need to worry about anything."

"And how are you going explain shooting me?" "I don't need to explain anything. You'll be dead, and I'll be gone." "Is that a clean gun?" "Of course it's clean. I cleaned it myself." "Is it your service weapon?" "Yes, of course . . . oh." "Exactly. Forensic science is a wonderful thing. Our service weapons are on file, ballistics and all." Agitated, Stanford stepped away from her. "Tell me where the flash drive is, and I'll leave. I can hand over the flash drive, get paid, then maybe cross the border and disappear. I'll have enough money, he'll get it for me." "Flash drive? What flash drive?" "Don't play games with me. He told me that you must have it. It wasn’t in your purse or luggage. So where did you hide it?" Lorelei raised an eyebrow. "Wow, I'm impressed by your thoroughness. Did you enjoy your cruise through my panties and lingerie? Did you have fun? Did your dick get hard? I bet it did, am I right?" "Stop it! You stop talking filthy trash like that. Tell me where the flash drive is." "Stanford, I gotta tell ya, you are truly annoying. I already told you at the debriefing, I don't remember. Amnesia will do that to a person. If you hadn't run me off the road—" "Maybe you do know, maybe you don't. Your Marine friends would give it to me, in exchange for your life. They like you." Lorelei looked at the ground, willing her heartbeat to stop pounding so her pulse would cease echoing in her ears. "Maybe they more than like you. Maybe you had sex with them—with two men. I watched them. They guard you like they own you. Is that the trick? Did you have sex with those men?" "Why should my sex life be of interest to you, pervert?"

"It's not." He scuffed the ground with his foot. "Did you?" "None of your business." Unattractive spots of color splotched his cheeks. "You did, you did!" He shrieked like a petulant child. "You had sex with those two men!" "So, what if I did? What if I still am? Does it turn you on, imagining me having sex with them?" Oh boy, this had better work—I'm running out of ideas here, guys. "Do you play with yourself when you think of all the naughty things we do together?" "Then I want to have sex with you, too." Lorelei's head dropped. Jesus-sweet-jumped-up-God-in-heaven—there is a limit to what I'm willing to do for my country. Chapter Fifteen

We're not gonna make it in time—I'm not gonna make it in time. Adam’s pulse roared in his ears. Not gonna make it. He concentrated on Lucian's taillights, fighting the urge to blast past his partner and race to their own aggravating, frustrating, stubborn, pain-inthe-ass Special Agent. With an eerie clarity, Mama Duquesne's soft Southern words played back in his mind. At the last insane family birthday bash for a slew of blond, blue-eyed, laughing, screeching, whooping grandchildren, Lucian's mother had casually settled next to him, half-hidden as he was next to the grape arbor. He would never forget the warm, loving hand she placed in his. "Your daddy is a good man, Adam Stone, and always has been. An honorable man. Faithful to the Corps—and faithful to your mother. Never forget it. Whatever you've heard, whatever fears your mama's had, Matthew Stone never veered from his path. Nor will you. The right woman will come to you, darlin'. Don't be bone-headed enough to chase her away." She kissed his brow. "Semper Fi, my sweet baby boy." Then she'd hugged him, and walked away.

Luce called it right—I can be such a fuckhead. She's the one. Since she marched into our kitchen with a fire poker in her hand, prepared to do battle. She's the one. Mama Duquesne, you were so right . . . . Never a god-fearing man, Adam nevertheless fired a Marine-powered directive toward heaven with a simple demand: Do not let me be too late.

*****

"What the fuck is she doing?" Adam growled again. He and Lucian quickly laid brush around the quads so the machines blended into the deepening shadows. He snapped the gun case open—his actions were smooth and practiced; even though he was thoroughly pissed off, his hands worked independently of his pissed off brain. "She'd doing what a good agent does. Improvising," Lucian whispered back. "Doing her job." "Yeah, well, the difference is that Marines have 235 years of experience on the job. The CIA has what, sixty? And their track record ain't the greatest. She couldn't leave it to us, could she? She's gonna get her pretty little ass killed." "Hoss, ya gotta trust that our girl knows what she's doing. She's trained, she's smart, she's armed, and she has guts. If there's a way to bring Stanford in for questioning, she'll do it. He'll break down in under five nanoseconds and spill his guts, I'll lay money on it. We need to read her right and be ready to pick up the slack if her plan goes to shit." "Yeah, guts she has. But she's not trained to work with us." Adam shook his head. "We read each other wrong, one of us dies." He set the bipod on the front deck of his quad and locked the M40A3 sniper rifle into place. The attached scope was already at zero, so he installed the bolt. He chambered the .308 Winchester rounds. "Adam, I'm tellin' ya. Trust her. Follow her lead."

Lucian slid into his backpack and picked up his own tried-and-true favorite rifle, the M-16 CAR "I'll flank him the best I can. Make sure your aim is good and don't take me out at the same time, will ya?" Adam's harsh whisper trailed after Lucian as he snuck away. "Bite me." ***** She can do this. I know she can. As long as we're in place—both of us, do ya hear me, hoss?—we'll take out this varmint. Lucian used all the cunning and skills he'd learned as a Southern farm boy and a highly trained Marine to sleuth his way behind Stanford; he needed to gain every possible advantage. He had more confidence in Lorelei's skills than Adam—but Adam wasn't thinking straight. MacBride might have called it right on this one. We may not be at our best when our girl is involved. Lucian found a useful boulder for cover, and set his pack on the ground. Mama and Daddy will be tickled as can be to know their darlin' boy finally found the right woman. He considered the somewhat unorthodox situation, then amended his thoughts. They love Adam like a son, right? So maybe the fact that both their boys found the same right woman won't send Mama and the aunts into fits of hysterics. He judged that his daddy might understand. He settled his rifle along the ridge of the boulder, then pulled his knife from its leg sheath and set it within easy reach. Yep, we three need to settle in for a long talk, once this situation is under control. If we're gonna work this out, we definitely need a chat. Quietly cocked and locked, the rifle sat ready. Sweetheart, do your job, and we'll do ours. Then we'll talk. *****

Enough is enough, already. Lorelei finished playing with the jerk. Adam must be close—she could feel him. The little hairs sticking up along her nape supported her intuition, the same Spidey-sense that told her Lucian was nearby. Time to rock n' roll, folks.

"You lost, ya know," she snarled at Stanford, shifting her torso slightly to determine if her arm worked yet. Bugger. Her fingers still tingled. "You're a fucking loser. You're nothing but a file clerk waving a gun, and not even a good file clerk. What makes you think I would stay with a dork like you, or that I would have sex with a wimp?" Pay attention to me, asshole, only me. Keep your eyes on me. Wait for the rabbit to jump out of my hat. Lorelei hammered him, goaded him. "The thought of you touching me makes my skin crawl." She played the amnesia card. "I bet you asked me for a date when we worked together, didn't you? Did I turn you down? I did, didn't I." She cocked her head at him, like she had a thought. "Have you ever actually had a date? I mean, like a real live date, with a real live woman? Not a cyber date, not where you can hide behind your monitor and pretend that you're Kevin Costner playing Eliot Ness. And not a date with an anatomically correct Betsy Blow-Up Doll." Adam will sure as shit strangle me with his own two hands if this doesn't work. If Stanford doesn't shoot me first. "Y'know, I volunteered for this assignment, for the sheer pleasure of watching Robson pass you by." Oops, that blows the amnesia game out of the water. Shit. Too late now. Take the bait, whacko. An ugly blush appeared on Stanford's sallow cheeks. He screamed at her. "You don't know what you're talking about, stupid woman! You don't know Robson, you don't know anything about him. I'll find that flash drive. It doesn't matter if I kill you first—I'll find it. I will, you know. It's gotta be somewhere in your stuff. Why do women carry so much stupid junk with them?" Froth appeared at the corners of his mouth. He waved his 9 mm service Glock—his finger wasn't on the trigger. "Do you mean the flash drive delivered by special courier to my contact this morning? That flash drive? The flash drive winging its way to Brussels—not Geneva, by the way—as we speak?" Lorelei sneered at him. "You couldn't even do that right, could you? You screwed up, buddy. I never had the flash drive with me." She tried to shake her arm out. Still no good.

"The crime team found a tracker in the wreck. Is that how you ambushed me? Someone put my personal vehicle out of commission, then planted a tracking device in the substitute vehicle." Keep him going, keep him occupied. "How long do you think you'll survive when your boss realizes you fucked up so royally? Dumb shit, you didn't police your brass when you shot at my vehicle—you left clear prints on the casings. The crime lab has tons of data on you now. They even identified the slugs they dug out of the SUV. They couldn't, the slugs were too mashed up—but since I'm goin' to hell for lying anyway . . . . "Benjie, my boy, you are so busted." "Not Benjie, you stupid bitch! Not like Benjie the movie dog! Benjamin, my name is Benjamin, like Benjamin Franklin!" "Your name, weirdo, is mud." Stanford's face became so suffused with blood that he looked like a red party balloon about to burst. "No-no-no-no, not true, that's not true, you stupid woman! It's not true, none of it is true! I will f-find the flash drive and d-deliver it myself to make sure it's in the right hands, I w-will and you can't stop me, and I don't even want to have s-sex with you because you're an evil woman, a harlot with two men, can't be trusted, no, can't be trusted, and now you're going to d-die and I will win, he will see how clever I am, smarter than you, better agent than you, he'll see . . . ." Stanford quit ranting. He stopped waving his gun. Lorelei saw his finger slip onto the trigger. She was out of time. Her brain cells kicked in, and she processed her options at warp speed. If I dive to the side . . . and hope she had the strength in her hand to pull out the Walther and squeeze off a shot. Worse case, if he fired and hit her as she rolled, the wound might not be life-threatening. Whatever happened, she knew in her gut that the guys wouldn't let Stanford escape. With the flash drive winging its way to the secret peace meeting at a private estate in Brussels, Stanford became the new priority, the new target. Whether she ended up dead or alive, the weasel would not get away.

In that frozen instant of time between one heartbeat and the next, Lorelei's muscles tensed to launch. Her tingling fingers reached for her gun, but she knew for a certainty that it couldn't happen. "You're mine now, you stupid bitch!" Stanford screamed as he took aim. "You're mine!" ***** Subliminally calculating the movement of Stanford's trigger finger against the sudden tension in Lorelei's body as he watched the scene through the scope, Adam repeated the mantra, one shot, one kill, one shot, one kill. He gently, caressingly, squeezed the perfectly calibrated trigger of the sniper rifle. The speeding three-inch projectile passed safely over Lorelei's falling body, with room to spare, on its way to the sweet spot in the center of Agent Benjamin Stanford's forehead. The force of the bullet propelled the little man backward. His gun hand flew up. The weapon sailed through the air in a harmless arc. "Wrong," Adam said, quietly. "She's mine." He sprinted to Lorelei and pulled her into his arms. Then, he shook her as if she was a rag doll. "Don't you ever do that again, or I swear to God I'll kill you myself. Dammit, what were you thinking?" Lorelei's knees were weak and wobbly, the adrenaline draining. "Easy, Jarhead, you're dislocating my shoulder and pulverizing my ribcage. I'm okay. I knew you'd come for me. I knew you wouldn't let that maggot kill me." "Princess—Lorelei—if I lost you—" Adam couldn't finish. She punched him with her good hand. "I love you, Terminator dude. I fucking love you." A hard poke to his ribs backed that up. "And don't you forget it." Adam stared at her, mouth opened, mustache twitching. "What did you say?" "I said I love you, ya big dummy." Adam wrapped his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head. "I . . . love . . . you . . . " Words never uttered to anyone, for any reason, in his life.

Lorelei turned and kissed him full on the mouth, her left arm around his neck, her right arm still hanging loose. "See, was that so difficult?" Then she eased out of his crushing embrace to search for their partner. Lucian reached Stanford, who lay at a peculiar angle. He pushed the body over with his foot and retrieved the Fairbairn-Sykes from between Stanford's shoulder blades. The knife had propped up the corpse. At that distance, the blade hadn't gone deep, but it would have caused enough of a jolt to deflect Stanford's aim if Adam's shot hadn't taken out the traitor. Lucian displayed the knife. "Insurance." Then he wiped the blade on the dead agent's jacket and returned it to his belt sheath. When he looked up again, he was on the receiving end of Lorelei's glare. "Excuse me, Life Guard Boy. Damaged Special Agent here, waiting for your sorry, Southern-boy ass to get moving." Lorelei met Lucian halfway and flew into his waiting arms. "I love you, I love you, and I love you!" She pulled his head down and kissed him. "I love you." Lucian's Cheshire cat grin gleamed back at her, and returned her kisses. All of them. "And I love you, darlin' girl, I loved you with all my heart before you were even conscious. Wait until Mama and the aunts and all the sisters hear about this!" He peered closely at Adam. "What'd ya do to the big guy?" "Luce, baby, darlin', one thing at a time. Someone had better find out where MacBride is and see what he's done with the unholy pain-in-the-ass flash drive. Then I need to make a call."

*****

Catamount Lake Sheriff Brian Andrew MacBride proved to be quite the surprise to Lorelei and the men. He'd phoned from a diner in Limestone and reported that he'd managed to convince both the Limestone Post Office and the Pentagon—of the two, the post office was the more difficult--that he was legit. He had obtained and passed the

infamous flash drive to her contact, barely in time. Lorelei listened in as Adam held his cell phone near his ear. "Not for nothing, folks, but after I finish my pie and coffee, I'm going the hell home. I'm taking the rest of today off, what's left of it, and I'm going to sleep, uninterrupted. I will not answer the phone, and I will not think about what you three are doing in that oversized playhouse with seven bedrooms. Heaven help us all." The State Police arrived at the kill scene, the same crime scene unit that investigated the original crash. Adam and Lucian were all too willing for someone to snatch up jurisdiction, at least until the NCS could send another agent. A live agent. When the Staties opened the trunk of Stanford's rental vehicle, they found all of Lorelei's missing possessions in a jumble, most of the items either torn or slit. Under the debris, they discovered a lightweight target rifle that tested positive for recent gunshot residue. Lorelei stood by, foot tapping, until she heard the coroner pronounce time and manner of death. She followed every move with an eagle eye while Stanford's body was wrapped, zipped, and loaded into the wagon. "To make sure," she told the Medical Examiner, "that the little cocksucker is really dead." The ME responded with a skewed grin. "Agent, with a hole in the back of his head the size of my fist, I do not believe there is any doubt regarding the total demise of your bad guy. He won't be rising from the dead." Lucian's satellite phone chimed. He answered, then handed the phone to Lorelei. "Darlin', there's an agitated fella on the phone, asking to speak to you. More like demanding to speak to you. Says he's your boss." "How did he . . . ?" She grabbed the phone. "Yes sir. No sir. No sir. Well, no sir. Of course, sir. " Bellisario was still howling in her ear when she handed the phone to the officer in charge. The State Police listened to the NCS talking trash, all big and bad over the phone, about jurisdiction. Laughing after the call ended, the State boys left with the body, the dead agent's car, and all the evidence.

The Three Musketeers didn't care. They were going home.

*****

At Sanctuary, they split up and headed for their rooms and their showers. Only Adam actually made it. Apparently, all of Lorelei's adrenaline had not worn off. Catching up with Lucian, she grabbed him with her good hand and dragged him into Adam's room, into Adam's shower—with Adam. Lucian grinned as he shrugged out of his clothes, and Adam didn't look at all surprised as he set the water temperature to mildly warm. Lucian helped Lorelei undress, since her arm was still out of commission—after he removed the Walther and the ammo from her pockets. He took her in his arms and kissed her. And kissed her. He kissed her again and led her into the shower. Adam came up behind her, soaped her back, her waist, her hips. He reached between her legs, soaped up her sex, then handed the soap to Lucian. Lucian obligingly soaped up Lorelei's front, taking extra care to lather up each breast with gentle circular motions—her nipples apparently agreed with his attentions, as they grew as hard as cherry pits. Then he reached her pussy from the front, soaping her enough to slip a couple of fingers in. Adam heard her contented sigh. He left for a moment, and returned carrying a wide wooden bench from the bathroom. He placed the bench against the long wall, under the handrail. Settling on the bench, he spread his legs wide. With long, sure strokes, he began to soap his cock. "Ooh, baby, I do love the way that looks!" Lorelei moved closer to help, her body blocking his cock from the shower spray so the soap didn't wash off. She took the soap from Adam and continued to lather his shaft. His hands flat on the bench, he pushed his hips forward, giving Lorelei more room to play.

As she continued to soap Adam—sliding her hands down to his balls—she felt Lucian's hands on her waist, then her hips. He took the bar from her and reached around, adding more soapy froth to her pussy. "Hey you," he whispered to her, the water sluicing down between her back and his chest, then running over his half-erect cock. "Hey you, too." Lorelei spread her legs further apart, giving Lucian's slippery, soapy fingers better access. "Babe." Hands around her waist, Adam pulled her forward. He pressed his thighs together, then lifted her so she could straddle his lap. Lorelei put one knee on the bench, and began to lower herself on his sweet-smelling creamy lathered cock. Adam guided his shaft with one hand, making sure his aim was on target—Lorelei's moan proved that it was. "Babe. Go easy. Take me in, take me all the way." His hands moved once more to her waist, pulling her slowly to him, feeling her slide carefully down his shaft. He moved his hips again, giving her better purchase. "Tell me again." She leaned forward and kissed him, breathing the words into his mouth—into his soul. "I love you." Lucian had the soap, and lathered Lorelei's back and hips. She felt his fingers slip past her ass cheeks and to the edge of her pussy as Adam's cock as he slid into her. "Awesome, baby doll, you are so awesome." Lucian kissed the back of her neck, licked the clear water away, sucked the rivulets from her skin. In return, Lorelei hummed with pleasure. "Omigod, Luce, that feels so nice." He soaped her ass again, both hands working in opposite circular motions, slippery against her smooth skin. He began to pay extra attention to the crevice between her cheeks, and finally slid a soapy finger into her puckered hole, made even tighter by the intrusion of Adam's cock in her pussy. Lucian soaped his own cock and knelt behind Lorelei, throwing down a couple of wet washcloths to cushion his knees from the grouted tile. He guided his member to

her, rubbed the shaft along the cleft of her buttocks. Adam raised her up, giving Lucian the opportunity to take her ass with his slippery cock head. "Guys, this might not work . . . ." Adam continued to hold her up, with his cock head inside her. She braced herself against his shoulder with her good hand. "Babe. Trust me. It will work." Lucian pulled out, quickly soaped his shaft again, and worked his slippery cock back into her flesh. Adam kissed Lorelei as she threaded her fingers in his hair. His mouth was possessive, and she moaned against his lips. Adam felt the vibration of her moan as, with a sudden sure thrust, Lucian buried himself in her. "Oh God, darlin' girl, you feel so incredible . . . ." "Yeah," she pulled her head back and sputtered in the water, "and you feel like a fucking fence post." Lucian worked his cock in and out of her, his strokes coming longer and faster. He slowed to a stop, his cock buried to his balls. Adam lowered Lorelei onto his own shaft, letting her body weight assist his efforts. "Oh wow, guys, oh fucking wow, this is so not gonna . . . ." She lost her voice as Adam drove into her. He grabbed her hips as Lucian held her by the waist—they both pumped into her, hard and deep. "Yeah, babe, it is," Adam said. Suddenly, Lorelei twisted her body sinuously, then moaned—and not in pain. With no strength in her right arm, she grabbed Adam by the shoulder with her left, her fingers digging at his flesh. "Ahh, Jesus sweet Christ in heaven, omigod, fuck, omigod for chrissakes . . . ." She swiveled her hips, rode Adam hard to take him all in, unintentionally helped Lucian plant himself deeper. "That's it, omigod, guys, do it, do me like that, do it . . . do it now, oh fuck!" She writhed on Adam's huge shaft as her pussy went crazy, her tight flesh burning and

throbbing and pulsing around two incredible cocks. She writhed and squirmed and wriggled as both men shot their seed deep into her, deep and true. When semi-normal breathing resumed and they finally rinsed every vestige of soap from each other, Adam shut off the water. He dried off, then grabbed a fresh towel to work on Lorelei, who needed assistance to stand. Lucian took a smaller towel and worked on her hair. Lorelei sighed, and leaned against Adam's chest. "Babe. You okay?" "Mmm." "My bed?" "Mmm." Lucian grinned. "I think that's about the extent of the conversation we're going to hear from our Musketeer this evening." He lifted Lorelei and carried her into Adam's bedroom. He settled her on the mattress, then tapped her butt to get her to move to the middle of the bed. Adam slid in, and Lorelei immediately snuggled into his chest. When Lucian crawled into bed on the other side, she wiggled her bottom against his groin. He stretched his arm over her waist. "Mmm." "See, hoss, I told ya. That's all she's gonna say for tonight." "We should be that lucky." Lorelei snuggled deeper between them. And when they thought she was sleeping— "Who's older," she murmured. Half asleep, Lucian mumbled, "What, hon?" "Are ya deaf? Who's older, you or Adam?" "I can't imagine why you need to know, but Adam is. Barely. Both Scorpios." "Mmm. Aries." She got quiet again. "Why?"

"Huh?" "Why do you want to know?" "Want to know what?" she said, drifting. "You asked which of us is older." "Don't seem to have a coin, being nekkid, so that's the best way." Lucian tried again. "Darlin', you're not making any sense." "Yes I am. Who gets the first baby?" Silence. Absolute stone cold dead silence. "Lorelei, honey, what baby?" Lucian wasn't sure Adam was even breathing. "Darlin', what baby?" "Adam's baby." The air whooshed out of Adam's chest. "Lorelei, sweetheart, you're not making any sense—and Adam's gonna hyperventilate in two shakes of a lamb's tail." "Lamb's tails. Cute. The babies. Two babies. At least two babies. Probably a boy for Adam, a girl for you. Since I am naked with no coin to toss—no pockets, ya see-Adam is older. First baby is his." "Honey, you can't get pregnant, remember? Maybe we should discuss this tomorrow, when you're awake." "Am awake—sorta. Can so get pregnant." Adam sat up, and turned Lorelei's face so she could look at him. Dazed and sleepy, but looking in his direction. "Don' be mean to me, wanna go ta sleep." "Babe. You can't drop a bomb like that and then go to sleep." Adam had everything he could do to hold himself together. Could she be serious? Please, let her be serious. A baby? A son? Adam had given up hope of ever having a family of his own, of having what Lucian had—a real family—when they joined the Marine Corps. The Duquesne mob had been his surrogate family. Is she serious? "Babe. Tell me. Tell us. What babies?" Lorelei yawned, and tried to snuggle on Adam's lap.

"Our babies. First Terminator Guy, then Volley Ball Dude." She faded out again. Lucian tried once more. "Honey child, you can't have a baby, remember?" "Can too." "Can't." "Can too." "Hon . . . ." Lorelei sounded agitated. "Don't hon me. Adam's damn horse cock. Maybe yours, too. Musta knocked the thing loose, worked its way out." At that, Lucian sat up, too. "The IUD? Hon, did the IUD come out?" "Yeah, whatever." She held up a hand and flicked her finger. "Plink. All gone, no more." Adam, unable to speak, pulled her up into his arms, and kissed her. Lorelei put her good arm around his neck and patted his shoulder. "Can we go to sleep now?" The guys finally lay back down. She settled between them again. Lucian whispered to her. "Yes, darlin' girl. You can sleep." Exhaustion took its toll, the adrenaline finally tanked, and Adam collapsed under a slumbering heap of entwined limbs.

*****

Lorelei woke up in a cold sweat, and tried to untangle herself as she fought to sit up. Adam grunted and held her tighter. Lucian turned on his other side. Her heart pounded, and not in a good way. He'll see. Stanford the lunatic hadn't said they'll see or you'll see, his words were clearly he said so . . . he'll get it for me . . . If Stanford was dissing any or all of them, he wouldn't say he . . . . Fuck it. He's dead. This can wait. But the chills continued, and Lorelei snuggled back into the warmth of Adam's arms and pulled Lucian closer.

Who the hell is the puppet master? Is it really Robson? Who's been pulling Stanford's strings? Who's sleeping with the enemy? *****

When Lorelei finally wandered down to the kitchen the next morning, Adam served up breakfast—hot fruit over thick French toast, with honey butter. Lucian fiddled with the kitchen TV to find the morning news and annoy Adam, who didn't like the television on until after they ate. If at all. "Hey, guys, I had an epiphany last night. Listen . . . ." Lucian turned to her. "Did the epiphany have anything to do with babies?" "About what?" "About babies." Lucian made a measuring motion with his hand at knee height. "Babies. Y'know, the short version of people." "Darling man, as adorable as you are, it's still too early for you not to make sense." Adam put her plate on the table, and motioned for her to sit. "Hot food, hot." He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. "Now, about last night's announcement?" Lorelei wasn't sure, but it almost looked like Adam was . . . well . . . blushing. Nah, that's not possible. Lucian set a mug of herbal tea in front of her. She pushed the tea away. "Coffee, please. I need coffee." He pushed it back. "No caffeine for you. Babies?" "Are you guys gonna listen to me, or what?" "After the baby chat, we'll listen to whatever you need to say." "Fine. The IUD broke loose, dislodged, displaced, whatever. I grabbed the thing." "Why didn't you tell us? You could have been damaged. Someone definitely could have been damaged." With a houseful of sisters, not much in the way of intimate female details was off limits to Lucian.

"We were a little bit busy, don't you think? CIA, clandestine services, espionage, agent trying to kill me, y'know, silly stuff like that. Any of this ring a bell?" "Babe," Adam began. Lucian held up his hand. "I'll field this one, hoss." He turned to Lorelei. "Getting pregnant might be an issue, don't you think, if we didn't know about it?" "Okay, fine. I can get pregnant. I might be pregnant. Now you know." She spooned warm sweet fruit into her mouth so she couldn't talk. "Lorelei, darlin'—" "Jeez, you guys aren't gonna give up, are ya, so I can tell you something really important?" "No. This is really important." Lucian slid his coffee mug out of her reach. "Fine. The IUD dislodged and came out. I can get pregnant. As embarrassing as this is to share, I have no idea what my monthly cycle is—hello, hormones—so your guess is as good as mine. I also had no definitive plan for the rest of my life, other than working my ass off, so I'm sorta flying by the seat of my pants. Since you both decided to keep me, I decided why not have babies—at least two . . . then go back to work. Welcome, Mr. Mom. Mr. Moms, plural. Okay, I probably should have mentioned it, but someone was trying to kill me and national security was on the line. It slipped my mind. My bad." Adam looked shell-shocked. Lucian shook his head and grinned. Widely. "If I remember last night correctly—and I'm a bit fuzzy on some of it—I decided to flip a coin to see who would be a daddy first. Not that it matters, now that I think about it. So, I came up with the birthday thing. After I was targeted for termination, sorta damaged, saved from death, and righteously fucked within an inch of my life. More than once. I was exhausted. So sue me." Adam finally spoke. "How do you know I would have a son?" "Simple genetics, Dr. Watson. Gee whiz, basic biology, people. The male determines the sex of the offspring, the female determines the number. According to

what I've heard, there have been no girls born in your macho military family. Ever. Confidence is high that you'll produce boys. Mister Giggles over there," she thumbed in Lucian's direction, "has aunts, sisters, girl cousins, loads of female relatives by birth, not by marriage. Therefore, girl babies are likely." Lorelei took a sip of her tea, made a face, and leaned back in her chair. "Now, if the biology lesson is over, I have something important—" Lucian suddenly cranked up the volume on the TV. "Luce, damn it." "Adam, shut up a minute. Listen." He pointed to the screen. " '. . . in what appears to have been a drive-by shooting. Again, Section Chief Harry Robson of the CIA's NCS Washington D.C. office was gunned down in the street early this morning as he was walking to his office from what co-workers say was his favorite coffee shop. The National Director has no comment, and according to the NCS spokesperson it's too early in the investigation to speculate. CNN will keep you updated on this late-breaking story.'" Lucian turned the volume down, and they all stared at each other. Lorelei tapped her fork against her juice glass. "Hullo, that's what I've been trying to tell you guys. Stanford wasn't smart enough to be working alone. He was a fucking clerk, fer chrissakes. He babbled about someone who would recognize his brilliance as an agent. I figured he had a meltdown, but my boss insisted Robson pulled the strings—at least at this level. In view of how the situation went down, I can't argue the point. It had to be Robson who set me up and sent Stanford to do the dirty work. I can't imagine Robson being the Big Kahuna—no one with a brain would use someone as inept as Stanford for something so important. I was drifting off to sleep when it all came together. You were both zonked out. I didn't think it would matter if I waited until this morning." Adam cocked a brow. "Is that what you thought?" Lucian leaned back against the counter, his mug in both hands. "The question is, did Robson direct Stanford as a solo act, or was someone doing Robson? We take out

Stanford, then someone pops Robson before Stanford is even cold. Who was pushing Robson?" He took a swig of coffee. "Okay, we definitely need a plan." ***** It was Adam, not Lucian, who eventually broke the silence. He pointed to Lucian. "You. Contact Garrett. Tell him we're making a gift to him of this whole NCS intel cluster-fuck. Special Agent Randall's supervisor is named Bellisario—find him, put Garrett in touch with the man. Let the big boys hash it out." Lucian grinned and saluted. "Yessir. You got it, boss man." Adam swung around to Lorelei. As her mouth opened to speak, he held up his hand to cut her off at the pass. He moved closer before he pointed at her. "You. Worker's comp, a leave of absence, whatever, for as long as you need it. You were injured—sustained memory loss and possible brain damage—and almost killed, when some superstar in the NCS didn't assign backup." "But—" "No buts, Princess. Be our partner. Come to work with us. Train our guys, be an instructor. You—and any babies—are our responsibility from now on. No argument. And that's the damn end of it." "But . . . ." Satisfied with his decisions, Adam ignored Lucian's grin and Lorelei's fuming we're-not-done-with-this-fella expression. He wrapped his arms around her so she couldn't swing at him, and pulled her to his chest. He kissed her. "For now, my friends, that is the plan."

~The End~

About the Author

Danica St. Como loves to write at her farm in central upstate New York. She puts her pen to several romance sub-genres: contemporary, MFM ménage a trois, erotic historical,

paranormal—all hot, all steamy, and all sexually explicit. St. Como is a member of the Romance Writers of America and the Central New York Romance Writers chapter of the RWA. Learn more about Danica online at http://www.danicastcomo.com/ To find more books from Danica St. Como, visit her author page at Noble Romance Publishing.