She showed no fear whatsoever when it came to Harvey Feldman.

Deck had taken two contracts where he’d tracked, and rescued, kidnapped kids.

He’d also worked a situation with Chace that led to two kidnapped kids.

They were not calm and unaffected in the slightest.

That sour feeling in his gut, he pulled his thoughts out of that shit, tossed his cell aside, turned on his truck and guided it into traffic.

He drove three blocks.

Then he positioned.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later…

Deck stood, ass and shoulders to his truck, feet out in front of him, ankles crossed, arms crossed, shades on, eyes to the door.

The crew came out one by one.

McFarland was the fourth one out.

Deck had no interest in the rest but McFarland felt his gaze from twenty yards away and looked immediately to him.

Deck didn’t move. Not his shades. Not a muscle.

McFarland looked to the ground, jaw tight, pissed off and hustled to a black SUV that was idling outside the jail.

He got in and took off.

Deck watched him go.

Only then did he get back in his truck and drive away.

* * *

Late that night…

Deck’s eyes opened.

Emme was sprawled half on him, dead weight, where he’d put her when he was done with her and where she’d stayed.

The guest room was at the other end of the hall. Still, when he did her, he had to do it with his mouth on hers nearly the whole time, stifling her mews, moans, whimpers and, finally, cries.

Not to mention using her mouth to smother his groans.

The moonlight was coming in through her sheers, something he liked even though it was possible heat was escaping her windows, heat the curtains would trap. Still, the house was warmer and it was likely the boiler didn’t have to work as hard to make it that way.

She still needed new windows.

She was naked, something he asked for and got. Taking back that memory of McFarland leaving her that way, making that his.

He was awake because he didn’t sleep much. Usually when this happened, he got up, worked out, went for a run in the dark, worked or read. The last couple of nights with Emme, he lay with her cuddled close and let his mind wander. This was not an issue, he’d done that plenty in his years of short sleeps. It was just better with Emme’s strawberry in his nostrils, her soft body tucked close.

Now he lay with her but he was unsettled.

This was because, even with the nonverbal warning Deck gave him by standing outside the jail, McFarland had gone right home to his truck then right to the lumberyard.

He was met by Barry Holmes, and according to both Barry and Emmanuelle, Emme didn’t even see him.

Barry suspended him without pay pending the outcome of the investigation of the charges filed against him. He’d be terminated officially when he went down, but the deed was done. He was gone.

Barry also told him he would be officially terminated if he got anywhere near lumberyard property or anything associated with it, including vehicles, clients or employees.

McFarland took this and went away.

But it didn’t say good things he ignored Deck’s multiple warnings as well as Shaughnessy’s.

It was partly about keeping his job.

But Deck reckoned it was mostly about Emme.

Knowing he wouldn’t sleep and his mind too cluttered to enjoy lying there with his girl, he carefully slid out from under her. She curled around a pillow as he angled out of bed.

“Stay,” he murmured when Buford’s head came up.

Emme had a king-size bed. He had a California king but Emme’s bed was far from small. Even so, looking at the bed, Deck and Emme had been taking a quarter of it. His hound had claimed the other three.

Buford put his head back down on a groan. Deck reached out over Emme and ran a hand down his dog’s side. That got him a quieter groan.

He went to his bag, yanked out a pair of pajama bottoms and a thermal, tugged them on then rooted around for his book. Nabbing it, he moved back through the room, a room he still found it hard to believe Emme refinished by herself.

The floors had been sanded and restored, now gleaming. The same with the woodwork and mantel. Beamed wood ceilings, the wood cleaned and polished. Reskimmed walls, painted a soothing light green.

The furniture in there was not modern or antique. It was welcoming and comfortable with a bent to feminine. Two overstuffed easy chairs angled in a corner with ottomans and a table close at hand with a silver-based lamp. Heavy glass-based lamps on the nightstands by the bed. Soft cream sheets with green stitching. Downy, green-colored comforter cover. Warm woods all around, but with carving and scrollwork that gave it femininity and personality. Thick woven large area rugs on the floors, delicate patterns in them reflecting the room’s colors.

Nothing in your face. It was subtle. Attractive. Inviting. It wasn’t a room you slept in. It was a room you spent time in.

All created and chosen by Emme.

It was so remarkable she did this all on her own, it was almost humbling.

He liked that.

He also liked her room.

Maybe when they were deeper in their relationship and she was used to him and his sleeping patterns, he’d leave her in bed, go to one of those chairs, turn on that lamp and read with her close.

Maybe, if she could sleep through the light, he wouldn’t leave her at all, turn on the lamp by the bed and read with her curled into him.

He’d have to explain his sleep and ask.

He hoped she was up for the latter.

But now was not that time.

Instead, he headed to the family room to read but changed paths when he saw a light coming from the kitchen.

He wasn’t surprised to see Barry sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in front of him, robe on, slippers on his feet.

And he was again reminded that even as smart as he was, he could be dumb.

Barry, not a young man, was still a handsome one. Dark hair now densely silvered with gray. Dark brown eyes. Fit body. Not brawn. Not lean either. Tall.

His wife, as displayed in pictures in their house, had been stunning and given her eyes to both her daughters. When Deck met her, she could still turn heads.

And all their kids were the same, save Emme way back when, who was, she just didn’t show it.

Nor did Deck look for it.

Seeing Barry up late, drinking coffee and appearing reflective, Deck knew why.

Deck had not only shared that McFarland was an employee run amuck. He’d also carefully shared that he might have an unhealthy fixation on Emme. He had not, however, shared that Emme was seeing McFarland. Making that decision, which had turned out to be a mistake, was hers to share with her father and her boss.