Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(92)

Delilah shook her head, her eyes wide. It was like something off daytime television. All the treachery and drama but with none of the happy endings.

“Of course,” Zoelner took another hasty sip, “when the FBI found out Mac was using Bureau resources for personal pursuits, they fired his ass.”

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “It just keeps getting worse and worse.”

“Eh.” Zoelner shrugged. “It all worked out in the end. After all, Boss took him under his wing and made him a Black Knight. And it’s a pretty sweet gig, if you want to know the truth of it.”

Delilah’s brain was spinning. She had to shake her head like Fido shaking off water after a bath in order to organize her thoughts. “O-okay, but I still don’t understand what any of that has to do with me.”

“Mac’s going to buy back the ranch. It’s his second goal in life.”

Huh? “Uh…pull out the non sequiturs much, Zoelner?” she asked. Then what he’d said sank in. “Wait. His second goal in life? So, what’s his first?”

Zoelner smiled sadly. “His first goal is to make sure he doesn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. To make sure he doesn’t fall in love with a gorgeous, thrilling woman who’s so used to being the center of attention that she could never be happy living way out in BFE Texas. Hell, he even named his motorcycle Siren to remind himself of the kind of woman he should avoid at all costs.”

It was all making sense now. That stuff he was rambling on about in the motel. She shook her head, her heart a pounding fist inside her chest.

“And then you walked into his life,” Zoelner said, lifting a brow along with his coffee mug. “Delilah Fairchild… The epitome of beauty and vitality and,” he motioned toward her position behind the bar with his mug, “the literal center of attention of everyone who comes in this bar.”

***

Black Knights Inc. Headquarters

Twenty minutes later…

“President Thompson trusts the Secret Service.” Mac watched as Boss glanced curiously at the files in his hand before continuing. “But these are his daughters we’re talking about. And since the NSA thinks the online chatter concerning the supposed abduction of one or both of his children is credible, he’d feel much better if a Black Knight was stationed near each of the girls…uh…women. Not to interfere with the SS Agents, but simply to…augment security…to watch. From the shadows were the words he used. And that means—”

“Wha! Wha! Wha!”

Mac glanced across the conference table. Not in a million years would he ever get used to the sight of Ghost, Mr. Spooky himself, with a baby in his arms.

“Sorry,” Ghost muttered, pushing up from the table while his big hand patted his daughter’s back, shushing her. “Diaper change. Carry on without me.”

Inexplicably, in the last three weeks, Black Knights Inc. had gone from a full-time custom motorcycle shop/covert government defense firm to a part-time nursery. And who would’ve ever thought that one cooing, pooping, slobbering bundle of joy could turn each of Mac’s teammates into baby-talking, Sesame Street-watching, fighting-over-whose-turn-it-is-to-give-the-kid-a-bottle idiots?

Okay, yeah, if Mac was being completely honest, he’d fallen into the idiot category, too. In fact, just last evening, he and Ozzie had nearly come to blows over who would give little Jenna Beth her five p.m. feeding.

“Hey, Steady,” Boss said, dragging Mac back to the present. “You know Abigail Thompson, right? POTUS’s youngest? Didn’t you two go to school together?”

With Ghost’s defection, Ozzie, Steady, and Mac were the only Knights left at the conference table with Boss. Ozzie, as usual, was nose-deep in a laptop. And Steady looked…Mac tilted his chin…weird.

What was that expression exactly?

And then recognition struck. Recognition because that look of panicked discomfort was exactly how he felt every time Delilah walked into the room.

Delilah…

Ten times a day he had to stop himself from mounting up on Siren and roaring over to her bar. Ten times a day he had to toss his phone aside lest he dial her number. And ten times a day he had to remind himself of the danger she posed to his future plans, his future sanity, his…heart.

“Sí, we went to school together,” Steady acknowledged, trying, and failing, not to fidget in his seat. “But I wouldn’t say I know—”

The sound of boot heels racing up the metal stairs from the floor below caught everyone’s attention, cutting Steady off mid-sentence. The sound of boot heels and…what the hell is that?

And then Mac knew. Dog claws. It was dog claws clacking against the treads. His heart lurched, then stopped altogether when Fido burst onto the scene, tongue lolling, goofy grin splitting his furry face, doggy goggles sitting atop his head and…Mac tilted his chin again…a freakin’ red bandana tied around his throat like he was the canine version of the Red Baron or something. He’d heard Delilah had attached a sidecar to Big Red for Fido. Now, he could imagine them tooling around the city together. And the picture in his head was…well…adorable.

Then his eyes lifted…

Did the floor drop out from under him? Was he falling through space? Or was that simply the feel of his stomach sinking into the soles of his boots?