Chapter 14

Lawson stared at me. Then he did it some more. Then his jaw got tight. Then a muscle jumped in his cheek, his gaze lifted to MSM, he took in a breath and shook his head. Then his eyes locked with mine.

Then he leaned deeper toward me and he said softly, "I'm gonna tell you what I make of this. What I make of it, Samantha, is if my woman had a sister who I knew was in some serious shit, she would not be havin' a chat with Kane Allen, she would not be sleepin' alone and therefore she would not ever have to worry about whether she needs a baseball bat or crowbar because she'd be in bed beside me."

Oh.

Wow.

MSM's hand left my neck.

Uh-oh.

"Did I just hear you?" MSM asked in his scary voice.

Uh-oh!

Lawson's eyes lifted again and again he did it without moving his head. "You just heard me."

Uh-oh!

"Um..." I started to take my heels off the chair when MSM spoke.

"My boys clocked him on his second drive 'round to case Sam's house. No one was close enough to get to her fast so we called it in to you boys three minutes before he even hit her sidewalk. You had units in the vicinity so he was in the house for less than two minutes before they arrived. Sam was never in any danger."

What?

"It's luck we had units in the vicinity," Lawson returned as he stood.

"Bullshit, Lawson, your boys have been cruisin' the neighborhood for two weeks, hopin' Ginger would make a visit," MSM fired back.

"This area is hot but we don't sit on her house, Hawk," Lawson retorted.

Hawk?

I looked up at MSM.

"Hawk?" I asked.

He ignored me as he was too busy scowling at Lawson. "Your boys were five minutes out, my boys eight. One way or another, she was covered."

His boys?

"She had to arm herself with a snow globe," Lawson reminded him.

I stood and looked up again at MSM.

"Hawk?" I repeated.

"She was covered," MSM repeated.

"Yeah, but she didn't know that," Lawson returned.

"Hawk?" I shouted and MSM's eyes dropped to me.

"Babe. What?" he clipped.

Oh my God. His name was Hawk.

Who had a name like Hawk?

I opened my mouth to confirm that his name was indeed Hawk then instantly remembered Lawson was there and I didn't want him to know I didn't know MSM's (or Hawk's) name so I snapped my mouth closed right when I heard my father's voice.

"Where's my daughter?"

Yay! Saved by my Dad.

I leaned forward and to the side in front of my no longer so mysterious mystery guy, Hawk and looked around Lawson to see my Dad and Meredith coming through the opened kitchen door. I'd called them when I'd seen my window busted out. I didn't want to but I did for two reasons. One, they'd find out eventually and sooner was always better than later when it came to Dad and Meredith. I'd learned that the hard way. And two, I needed a place to sleep because I sure as heck wasn't sleeping here and I knew I was too freaked out to drive myself but what was further, Dad would lecture me if he knew I drove freaked out. I'd also learned the hard way to avoid giving Dad (too many) opportunities to lecture me. He was good at it because with two daughters, and those daughters being Ginger and me, he had lots of practice.

"Sam," Dad murmured when he hit the room, I squeezed between the two angry hot guys that were pinning me in, half-walked, half-ran to my Dad and threw myself in his arms.

Whether I threw myself in them, walked into them or leaned into them, my Dad's arms always did the same thing. They closed around me tight.

Suddenly I didn't feel so freaked out anymore.

I wrapped my arms around him just as tight, felt his familiar solidness and I was even less freaked out.

"Sam," he whispered into the top of my hair.

Back in the day, my Dad was hot. He was almost as hot as the two men standing in my kitchen but I suspected the "almost" part of that had a lot to do with the fact that he was my Dad. He was big and broad and had dark hair (now with a lot of silver in it) and hazel eyes and he was lean and fit and strong. He'd always be lean and fit and strong because he was always doing something that involved carrying something, hammering something, dragging something, lifting something or sawing something.

That was, when he wasn't watching the Broncos.

And I had to admit, most of the time he was doing all of that he was in my house.

"I'm okay, Dad, just a little freaked," I said into his chest.

"Honey," Dad said into my hair.

Then I felt his lips leave my hair and I looked up at him to see he was looking over my head at Hawk and Lawson. He moved me to his side, his arm clamped around my shoulders and Meredith got close. She took my hand, I squeezed hers and she squeezed back as I looked to see her give me one of her small, sweet, everything-is-gonna-be-okay smiles.

Then I heard Dad say, "Are you the police?"

He was asking this into the room, his question aimed at both Hawk and Lawson.

"Yes sir, Detective Mitch Lawson," Lawson replied, stepping forward.

Dad let me go to shake his hand then let it go and clamped his arm around me again, tugging me into his side in a way that my body jolted and then collided with his body.

Hmm. Seemed I wasn't the only one who was freaked.

"And you?" Dad asked and his eyes were on Hawk.

I looked at Hawk as Lawson took a step away, his face studiously blank, his eyes alert, taking in everything, namely the fact it was clear my family had no idea who Hawk was.

"Hawk," Hawk said, his hand extended, Dad let me go again, took it and Hawk went on. "Sam's man."

I felt and saw Dad's body jerk in surprise as Meredith whispered, "Sam's man?"

I had no reaction. I was too busy staring at Hawk with my mouth hanging open.

"Honey, you have a man?" Meredith asked and I knew this question was directed at me but I was still too busy standing, staring at Hawk with my mouth hanging open to respond.

"Hawk?" Dad asked, his gaze never leaving Hawk.

"Flew Black Hawks when I was in the Army," Hawk stated, giving me the third piece of information about him, the first being he was great in bed, something I'd known for a year and a half, and the second being what was apparently his nickname, something I'd known for approximately three minutes.

But this was not what I was focused on. I was focused on the very small piece of information he'd relayed and what it meant for me. And that was that I was fucked.

I knew this was true when my father stated in a surprised yet clearly elated voice, "You're an Army man?"

Shit!

Dad was an Army man. He served four years in the Army before he got out and went into construction. There was a reason why Dad married Mom; he was a wild child like her. He credited the Army with sorting his shit out and saving his life. Problem for my Mom was, she didn't sort her shit out when she was a soldier's wife. Dad would have stayed in the Army but being in the Army often meant being away and Mom had me and Dad knew Mom couldn't be trusted alone with me so he got out to make sure I was raised right.

But Dad still loved the Army. Dad bought olive-drab t-shirts with the word "ARMY" on the front of them and wore them all the time. And Dad formed instant, unshakable bonds with any of his Army brethren. He did it all the time, when we were on vacation, when he was at the hardware store, when he was standing in line to buy a bucket of chicken. He had a sixth Army sense and if he got a whiff of Army, bonding ensued.

Like right now with Hawk.

"Yeah," Hawk replied and Dad still had hold of his hand so he shook it fervently, a relieved, elated smile on his face.

All thoughts of his daughter's break-in had flown out of his head.

I had a man. That man was an Army man. Not a man like Scott Leighton, who Dad told me after I divorced him he always thought was a pussy (and he'd used the p-word right to my face, then again, Dad pretty much hated Scott). All was suddenly right in Baxter Kidd's world and what was making it right was the man standing in front of him.

Yes, I was definitely fucked.