At six foot four of heavy marine muscle, he shouldn't have been able to work himself beneath the makeshift counter that ran the length of the small room, but that was exactly what he did.

Crowe and Jase looked at each other in bafflement before staring down at the long, jean-encased legs stretched out along the floor.

"Come on, boys and girls, stop admiring my d.a.m.ned legs and help me trace these cables. I want to know where each d.a.m.ned one is going and how it's hooked up."

He tugged at the first cable.

Jumping to chase it to its entry point in the system, Jase was d.a.m.ned careful to stay away from those legs. The last man to step on them, it was said, spent the next six months sitting at a computer. Though Crowe was certain it was either a gross understatement or an exaggeration. He hadn't decided which.

It took over an hour of chasing cables before Crowe and Jase managed to track down the problem. The cable running from the camera's WiFi base to the security router had been left unplugged. That one cable, an additional layer of security, had allowed Wayne to infiltrate their system.

Crowe stared at it as Cameron pushed himself to his feet then moved quickly to where the cable appeared plugged in. Then they looked closer at the gap between the cable's end and the plug it went into.

"Man, that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Mike is gonna be wearing my shoe straight up his stupid a.s.s once I catch sight of him. Dumb motherf.u.c.ker. I should just shoot him."

"Good luck finding him," Jase grunted as he moved to reset all the hardware after the cable was pushed firmly into place. "He went AWOL after Rory sent him back to the office yesterday. Said he was d.a.m.ned sick of dark rooms and rolling commands. Though he didn't mention where he was going." The tech rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug.

"Oh, he'll be back," Cameron a.s.sured them. "That overconfident little p.r.i.c.k won't be able to help himself."

And Crowe had to agree with this estimation. Mike would be back simply because he wouldn't be able to bear his curiosity. Once everything was over, he would just show up again, demand a job, and go to work.

His cousins had warned him about the man's lack of dedication on the job, but Crowe had excused it. Mike had been a good friend, and until now his often irresponsible behavior had never threatened a mission.

As the monitors and computers came back online, Cameron stretched out his arm and tapped one of the upper monitors' touch screens, displaying the temperatures. Both Jase and Crowe then winced at his subsequent curses on every paternal and maternal line Mike may have possessed.

"d.a.m.ned sensors," he finished as he moved to one of the keyboards. "I've changed every security box on each door and every window myself through the night." He rubbed at the overnight growth of beard on his unshaven jaw. "I don't get it."

"What's going on?" Jase moved from his chair to stand behind the other man.

"What's going on?" Cameron snorted. "Either the thermostat on the heater has shot up to a hundred and fifty degrees in the library, or one or all of the internal thermostats on those security boxes is filled with gremlins. Because I d.a.m.ned well know they're not all malfunctioning."

"Jase, go check the library. Take one of the inside security agents with you. Don't go alone. And be sure to get one of the new earbuds before going down. Stay in direct contact with Cameron while you're checking them."

"Got it." Jase moved to the biometric cabinet, let the camera scan his eye, then punched in his security code. When the door opened, he pulled free the small communication device before setting the frequency to the one Cameron used at all times.

Jase left the room. Crowe watched the cameras as he moved through the house, making sure they were all picking up the tech's image and body temperature-as well as scanning for weapons-as he pa.s.sed each camera.

"Something's wonky here, Crowe," Cameron informed him. "And when I find out who's responsible, they might not survive it."

"You'll have to beat me to them," Crowe growled, interrupted by the ring of the cell phone he wore at his hip.

Pulling the smartphone free of the holster, he let the biometrics on the door scan his ident.i.ty, then pushed in his digital code and stepped out to the hall as the request for videoconferencing came through.

"What can I do for you, Sheriff?" he asked. "Things are kind of busy here."

"Make time," Archer demanded, his expression somber as he stared back at him through the phone's small display.

"I'll give you what I can," Crowe promised. "So get started."

"I received an email from Amelia last night. Did you know it went out?"

Crowe nodded. "I knew it went out, I don't know what was in it."

Surprise gleamed in the sheriff's gaze, causing Crowe to snort. "I'm not her warden, Archer. Besides, I figured if there was a problem you'd get hold of me."

"'Archer,'" the sheriff began, quoting Amelia's message. "'It's my decision after hours of consideration that I will not be pressing charges against Dwight, David, and Dillon Carter. To be honest, I don't even remember the exact nature of the altercation with them, but knowing them as I do, I know no harm was meant. The agents of Brute Force acted on the appearance of a threat, though none was intended by the suspected a.s.sailants. It is my wish that you would escort me to the jail at some point in the coming day and allow me to speak to them before officially making known that I will not be pressing charges. I ask this as a friend, knowing you're under no obligation to grant me this wish, and likely under great pressure not to. I would hope, though, that the friendship we've had over the years has meant as much to you as it has to me, because it is a request I would gladly grant you were the positions reversed. Sincerely, Amelia.'" Lifting his gaze from the printed email, Archer glared back at Crowe. "What the h.e.l.l have you done to her?"

"Sheriff, I'm well aware of your history with Amelia." Crowe drew the word out suggestively, reminding Archer of the fact that he and Amelia had been considered an item a year or so before the Callahan cousins returned to Corbin County.

"Cut it out, Crowe," Anna's voice snapped from somewhere on the line, causing Crowe to grin.

His sister had a habit of using the exact tone their mother had once used whenever Crowe was trying to maneuver her into letting him do something he shouldn't be.

Archer continued to wait.

"We argued over the alleged altercation," he growled. "She wants to show them mercy. I want to boil them in pig fat, peel the hide from their flesh, then de-bone them like f.u.c.king chickens."

Archer groaned.

"Geez, Crowe, tell us how you really feel." Anna's disgusted exclamation had him shaking his head at her.

"Did that argument include the information that this isn't the first alleged altercation," Archer mocked.

"It did," he agreed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Crowe." Anna moved behind Archer's shoulder, her expression concerned. "Listen, you are not going to make her press charges."

"As much as I love you, baby sister, b.u.t.t out," he growled.

"Then let me say it." Archer sighed, his raptor gaze piercing as he stared back at Crowe. "Listen to her, Crowe. Let her talk to them, let her get this out of her system. Those boys might have scared her this time, but there's more behind this than you know..."

"Yeah, they had bad lives. They were beaten and deserted," he snapped. "So join the f.u.c.king club. The rest of us don't get drunk and threaten to rape and cut out the heart of an innocent person."

The h.e.l.l she was going to drop those charges.

"I'll be there this evening around six to pick her up," Archer stated, his voice suddenly hard, alerting Crowe to the fact that he wouldn't be swayed easily. "And I will be bringing her to the jail to talk to them, and I will heed her wishes unless a d.a.m.ned good reason to do otherwise comes up."

Crowe narrowed his eyes on his friend. "You're speaking to me, Archer, as though I'm not a reasonable man," he drawled, knowing he was getting ready to be d.a.m.n unreasonable.

"No, I'm talking to you like a man who has no idea of the depths of mercy and compa.s.sion his lover possesses," Archer stated coolly. "I do. I've worked with her, Crowe. I've worked with the people she helped and the people she took more than one f.u.c.king beating for, and I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll see her sacrifices wasted because you're unaware of the nature of the people you're dealing with or the men she's protected, agreeably, for far too long. Come to the jail with her, let her talk to them. Then talk to her yourself."

Gritting his teeth, Crowe held back the snarl that threatened to erupt. "I'm sick and tired of being told how I don't know people-"

"Not people, Crowe," Archer sighed. "The people of Corbin County. It's different here and you know it. The very fact that the socials are still so successful should tell you that. I'll see you this evening."

The call ended before Crowe could tell the man to go to h.e.l.l. Or question him about the beatings Amelia had yet to tell him about.

An oversight he intended to correct. Quickly.

Letting himself back into the control room, he had no more than begun reading the diagnostics on the video and audio systems when the system itself sounded an alert.

Unauthorized attempted access, main gate. Alert, unauthorized attempted access, main gate. The computer's mechanical voice repeated the warning as both Cameron and Crowe moved quickly to the monitor displaying the front gate.

"Holy Mother of G.o.d," Cameron hissed through his teeth. "Is that who I think it is?"

Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, Crowe let a grimace tighten his face before breathing out his own curse.

"Yeah, it's him," he snapped.

"Do I let him in?" Cameron asked doubtfully. "He's gonna be as p.i.s.sed and mean as a rattler in August."

"That's his normal disposition," Crowe sighed as he stared at the glare the attempted intruder was directing at the screen.

f.u.c.k you, Crowe, John Caine mouthed at the camera. Let me the f.u.c.k in. Now.

"Let him the f.u.c.k in," Crowe breathed out. "I'll go downstairs and see if I can distract him long enough to get him back out the door."

"Yeah, good luck," Cameron muttered. "Didn't someone tell me old Sorenson's main suite was his now?"

Crowe slammed the control room door on the question and stomped down the hall to the curved staircase and the brother he wished he could send packing for just a little while longer.

CHAPTER 16.

Sweetrock's spring-summer social season always began on the last weekend of April. The opening event, the Corbin County Winter Ball, was an event every young girl, teen, and female adult looked forward to all winter. It was considered more exciting than the senior prom because everyone could attend. Old, young, and in between, everyone had the chance to dress up and dance the night away.

Beneath the walkways of the dance square, pipes had been laid decades ago that carried heated air and kept the bricks free of snow and ice.

Nothing short of a blizzard or ice storm ever stopped an event during the social season. And not even that stopped the Winter Ball.

One of the most important phases of planning the ball was ensuring that every woman, teenager, and preteen girl who wanted a gown for the highly popular event was able to acquire one.

Donations of gowns and cash to the fund that sponsored it were always given diligent attention. Sponsors often attended yard sales, estate sales, and buyouts in search of gowns to add to the collection.

Volunteers helped with alterations, while accessories were gathered and made available by the same means.

Each gown had to be returned in the same shape it went out, with the exception of any normal cleaning requirements. Other rules governed the gown transactions as well. For the most part, those rules were adhered to. After all, most parents and adult recipients had no desire to have their name printed in the local paper, listed on the courthouse wall, or announced over local radio as owing the Social Planning Fund anything, whether it be a dress or the required volunteer hours.

This was the reason the socials were so successful, with such a high rate of resident partic.i.p.ation and donations, in an age when few small-town yearly traditions were surviving.

The upcoming Winter Ball was the first of the events that Amelia had worked toward for seven years. The theme was Fantasy Winter Wonderland, and each grotto would be decorated accordingly. One had winged fairies, figures volunteers were still working on, that would seem to flutter above the ground in welcome. Another was decorated as Pegasus's stall; a large white horse figure had been completed the year before. There was a grotto with a large looking-gla.s.s screen that projected the image of a magical advisor.

Gargoyles filled another grotto. Three-foot elves held a tea party in yet another.

Volunteers would be costumed with tiny wings and pointed ears and would play the Old Worldstyle hosts.

For Amelia, knowing that the plans she'd initiated were progressing-even though someone else now carried the t.i.tle of coordinator-was bittersweet. That Anna had demanded the position only to inform the committee she would of course find a reliable co-coordinator was incredibly amusing.

There were only six months to the Winter Ball and only eleven months to the Fairy Ball. Dozens upon dozens of wings were waiting in auxiliary storage, and still more were being made or fitted. Some guests were making or purchasing their own, and still others had volunteered to serve as non-fairy hosts.

Standing in front of one of the twelve grotto easels, studying the design layout she'd created, Amelia leaned close and carefully sketched in the winged foal that a group of high school design students had created for an end-of-semester project.

They had contacted Anna that morning to inform her of the creation, which had been completed the week Wayne had been identified as the Slasher, to add to the county's social fairy ball weekend. It had proven Ruth Anne's declaration that partic.i.p.ation would suffer for the ill will held toward Amelia thanks to Wayne Sorenson and Amory Wyatt. And it had reminded Amelia that no sacrifice she had made in the past would change that.

She couldn't even blame town residents for their fear. Wayne had shed blood for generations. He had murdered his victims unhindered and unsuspected no matter the law enforcement agencies or private investigation firms hired to track down the Slasher's ident.i.ty.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on here?"

Amelia's eyes widened as she jerked back from the drawing and swung around to meet the furious gaze of the man everyone believed was her brother. If she could have chosen someone to be her brother, she had to admit, John would have been on the short list of possible choices.

Staring into his stormy gray eyes as three of Crowe's bodyguards flanked him in the foyer, she shrugged as though weary of battling the reality of her position any longer.

"Ask Crowe," she suggested with a tight smile, still less than pleased with the fact that Crowe had not supported her concerning the Carter brothers. "They're his flunkies, not mine."

Poor Rory Malone. Amelia hid her amus.e.m.e.nt as he directed a chastising glare her way. He really didn't deserve that, but he was one of the black-clad shoulders she couldn't see over whenever she wanted to leave the house. And he was also one of the men pounding on the Carter brothers the day before.

"Amelia, I told you, I don't hire flunkies," Crowe growled as he entered the room from the dining room.

He wore snug, low-slung jeans and a black shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled to just below his elbows, the tail tucked into the belted band of his pants. The dark colors called attention to his hard abs and powerful thighs.

He'd exchanged the boots from yesterday for a pair of more traditional cowboy boots, though he'd opted against a Stetson.

She only smiled. A tight, mirthless curve of her lips that held not so much as an ounce of amus.e.m.e.nt. She ignored his glare, just as she had been ignoring it all day.

"Call off the d.a.m.ned flunkies, Crowe," John snapped. "I do live here with my sister when I'm in town whether you like it or not."

Crowe grunted at that, though he did give the security personnel a tight nod to dismiss them.

Amelia shook her head as Rory turned and left the room. "As long as you remember that's the relationship," Crowe drawled.

Anger flashed in John's gaze.

"Screw you," he muttered, the anger hardening his tone as Crowe leaned against Amelia's mother's antique wood cabinet, his arms crossed over the broad width of his chest.

Crowe only chuckled at the suggestion as Amelia turned back to the colored drawing she'd been working on.

"How long will you be in town this time?" Crowe asked him.

"Until I leave." Lazy disregard filled John's expression. "Do you mind if I talk to my sister for a few minutes or is she under some d.a.m.ned house arrest I wasn't aware of?"

Crowe straightened slowly. "Since when do you have a problem with your sister's protection, John?"

The latent warning in his tone had Amelia turning back to the two men with a frown.