"Coming?" he asked. He smirked when he saw Jack already had his pants off and was rapidly pulling everything else away.

"I need a shower." Jack looked hopefully towards the bathroom and wiped at the sweat on his face with his shirt.

"No, you don't," Riley nearly growled. He just wanted Jack now. In him. Around him. Holding him.

"Jesus, Riley." Jack was fisting himself, and in a quick move, he had the bedroom door locked, and he was grabbing at lube.

"I don't need much," Riley insisted.

"Shut the fuck up. I'm not hurting you." Jack smoothed the cool liquid over Riley. It wasn't soft or sensuous; it was claiming and marking and animalistic. Riley held onto the headboard, gripping hard to the carved wood, so tight he felt one of the ornate posts give from the strain and loosen under his weight. He whimpered as Jack finished preparing him and pushed his way in. Jack was fast and hard, and his fingers dug into Riley's hips. Every thrust forward was met by Riley pushing back. Riley was going to be covered in bruises tomorrow.

"What… happened? Tell… me," Jack demanded with each push, but Riley couldn't tell him yet.

He released one hand from the carved posts, his other arm taking the full strain of this cowboy fucking him into the mattress. He was so close. It didn't matter what was in his head; this was primal and now. The head of his dick was wet, and the friction between hand and pillow was getting him there. He felt Jack stiffen above him and nearly howl with his completion. The feel of his lover inside him and the pain of short nails carving into his skin was enough to send Riley into an orgasm so hard he saw black. Jack pulled himself out and fell back on the bed, and every single muscle in Riley's body betrayed him. He collapsed where he was, right on top of the wet patch. He really didn't give a shit.

"What happened today, Ri?" Jack asked between breaths.

Riley loved it when his husband shortened his name like that. So much affection and familiarity dripped from the single syllable.

"I don't know. Jenkins looked like an accountant and told me this stuff about a guy in Martha's Vineyard, and then he received a text and left. I paid the bill."

"Were the Feds cool with what they got? Is it enough?" It was a simple question. Riley answered it in his head just fine, but the words to actually form the sentence were too far away for him to grab hold of. "Ri?"

"Someone shot him."

The silence was dangerous. It was the calm before the storm.

"Who? Jenkins? Who shot him?"

"I don't know."

"When?"

"When I was paying the check."

"In the restaurant?"

"On the sidewalk." Riley didn't want to recall the blood or the spray of brain matter up the wall.

"You were inside the restaurant?" Jack was still deceptively calm, and Riley winced before turning his face to look right at him.

"I was inside."

"What if you hadn't been, Riley? What if you had walked out with him?"

"The shot was pretty much dead center." Riley indicated his forehead with a tap of a finger. "They knew who they were aiming for."

Jack closed his eyes, and in a single motion, he rolled to his feet and grabbed at his jeans. He began to get dressed, wearing a very determined expression.

"Jack, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to find Agent Jones," he spat, "and I am going to kill him."

Riley's chest tightened, and he pushed himself to stand between Jack and the door. "No. Don't rise to it."

"That… suit… put my husband in the line of fire. I. Will. Kill. Him." Jack stopped centimeters from him, and Riley had never felt as vulnerable as he did being completely naked in between Jack in a temper and the cold wood behind him.

"Jack. Stop. This isn't something you can solve with your fists."

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not. Come on, Jack. It's over."

Jack stared at him mutinously, but then something snapped in him, and instead, his eyes filled with worry. "Are you going to move out of my way?" he asked. "No." Riley's voice brooked no discussion. "I can take you."

"You can try."

"I am so fucking pissed, Ri."

"I know. I don't blame you. But please… Jack… we have Hayley to think about now."

Jack's shoulders relaxed, and little by little, the rest of his tense muscles loosened visibly. He closed both of his large hands around Riley's face. His grip was so tight, and the kiss that came with it was forceful. Riley could taste blood.

"Never again." Jack wasn't asking for a discussion; he was demanding.

"Never again."

C

HAPTER

17

Living with a daughter had Riley doing things he'd never thought he'd ever do. With Jack's family, he had always been involved in what the kids were up to on the periphery, but to actually have to dress up for Halloween was a new one. He was Dracula, and the face paints left a mess on the covers when Jack, aka The Cowboy That Had Risen from the Dead, made love to him in full makeup. Riley had pointed out there was no such character as the one Jack had chosen. Hayley had, with a very serious expression on her face, informed Riley that Halloween was pretend.

He didn't think he could love her more.

Thanksgiving was this huge family dinner, and Donna had chosen to hold the entire thing at the place where she was living—Neil's house at the practice. The combination kitchen/dining room was an old converted barn and was big enough for assorted Campbells and Hayeses to congregate. Older tables were pushed next to the large oak table in the center, and the whole thing was covered in red cloths. Donna was in her element, and she had Sandra on kitchen duty. Jim was playing super grandpa, and Neil and Josh spent a long time discussing sports. Eden had bought her journalist, and Riley was thankful big time as it put a smile on Jack's face that he had someone to talk horses with. Riley managed to corner his sister for a ten minute chat.

"Sean is sure making himself cozy," he started, and then cursed to himself because the words sounded a little off even to his own ears. To her credit, Eden didn't rise to the big brother baiting.