"Nosy frickin' neighbors," Bruce muttered when the curtains of the house five down from hers parted, casting a white line of light into the darkness and illuminating the face that peered out at his car. Again. Luckily, he wasn't in it, having learned his lesson the previous night when a man walking a dog kept doing laps. He'd finally had to pull out, park around the corner, and sneak back like a goddamn burglar.

So tonight he was lying flat out on the grass of the front lawn straight across the street from her place, cozying up to the thick shrubbery hugging the white picket fence. The modest bungalow behind him was like every other house in the neighborhood, older but well-maintained, the original midcentury style updated and added to over the years, its narrow lot adorned with mature trees. Except it was dark, empty. He'd checked it out after noticing the FOR SALE sign.

Ignoring the crack in his back, he propped himself up on elbows and lifted his night-vision goggles to do another scan around her house through the tunnel he'd cleared in the underbrush.

All secure.

A noise brought his head around. You've got to frickin' be kidding me. The dog walker was at it again. Annnnnd the face was back at the window. How long before busybody number one or busybody number two called the only cop who lived on the—

Bam. Her door opened and out she came, looking down the street with a cell phone up to her ear.

"Goddamn frickin' suburbia," Bruce muttered.

She talked for a few seconds, then turned and went back inside.

He'd just finished with the long exhale when she reappeared, still on the phone. And, oh, look, she had a flashlight. He could hear her voice as the light flicked on and she started walking. If she stayed on that path she was going to—

She swung the beam up to the house behind him as her foot stepped off the curb.

Shiiiiit. Bruce army-crawled his way into the opening under the branches and worked on pulling his legs in tight. He moved with painful slowness to avoid giving himself away. And painful it was. Thorns plucked, then punctured, digging into flesh, carving paths across his back as he inched his way up. He ended up in a ball with his feet still sticking out, but it was unlikely she would notice him. Unless she came right onto the lawn. Or started checking leaves for black spot.

It was his car that held her attention, though. Fortunately, they'd all taken precautions-those plates were going to lead her down a dead end.

"I'm sure it's nothing," he heard her say as she walked by. She was wearing those ugly plastic things on her feet—Crocs, or whatever—and flannel pants, plaid, green and white from what he could tell in the dim light. She looked warm, comfortable, ready for bed.

Damn sexy.

Knock it off.

All three of them ended up circling his car a few times. And sure enough, she wrote down the plate number on her palm before they went their separate ways, everyone back inside.

Bruce counted to thirty in his head before attempting to pull out. Unfortunately, things had moved around, branches dropping down behind him, all that vegetation sealing him in with its snug, stabbing embrace. Getting out was going to cause a lot more damage than getting in.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. He managed to reach it without too much bloodshed and heaved a sigh when he saw who was calling. The next shift had arrived. "Perfect timing," he spoke into it with a low whisper.

"Hey, man, where you at?" Adam's voice came at him.

"I'm stuck in the bushes across the street from her place."

Silence.

"Just come and help me out," Bruce hissed.

Cue the snickering. "Be right there."

Bruce felt Adam's approach before he saw him, all that weight causing vibrations across the packed earth. If it hadn't been for that, he might have missed the silent shadow of a hunched-over man whizzing by the white pickets. Adam may have been built like a Mack truck, but he could move with the quiet efficiency of a Prius.

Bruce waited a few seconds, giving Adam a chance to pass through the gate before blowing a soft whistle.

The barbs behind him were pulled apart, Adam's smug face taking their place. He was dressed like Bruce, all in black, but with a dark knit hat pulled low on his forehead to eliminate any reflections off the bald spot nobody dared to mention.

Bruce sat his ass on the ground. "Thanks." He reached over his shoulder, trying to assess the damage.

Adam stayed bent in front of him, keeping his voice low. "If yer into getting all scratched up, I know a couple of wild gals I could set ya up with." Always on the alert, Adam's focus went out to the street. He started scanning the area as he lifted one hand to wiggle his fingers and continued on with, "They've got them long, fake nails, all polished up and fancylike."

Bruce had a sense of where this was going. "Please. Don't."

"Now, if yer ever given the privilege to mount one of those beauties and ride her 'til the bell rings, I guarantee ya she'll sink those suckers in like she's trying to brand ya. Hell of a lot more fun than playing around in this mulberry bush."

"Rambling rose."

Adam's eyes locked onto his face. "Scuse me?"

"My mother was a master gardener. It's a rambling rose."

Adam sat down on his haunches. "You and that brother of yers creep me out sometimes."

"You're one to talk. That rodeo sexcapade was making me nauseous."

"I think the word yer looking for is jealous."

Bruce angled his head to look past the big bastard's chest. If Adam was around, Ben wasn't too far off. "Where's your better half?"

There was a low hum. Adam lifted a forefinger. "Hang on." He plastered his cell to his ear and gave a couple of one word answers. It had to be Ben. The two of them had worked together so long, each was aware of the other's habits and nuances. It made them stronger as a team, but weaker individually. With someone always watching your left, you tended to become a little right-minded.

"He went to fetch me some burgers," Adam said, tucking his phone away.

"Ah." Food. The man's other weakness. Fueling all that muscle was a job unto itself.

Adam reached for the infrareds and straightened just enough to get a view over the killer shrubs. "How's our girl?"

Our girl? Had they all adopted her as their own for chrissakes? A rush of possessiveness hit Bruce from out of nowhere, an emotion he had no right to. She wasn't his. She wasn't theirs. No, she belonged to another, and at some point, once that man decided to get on with his life, he was going to come and reclaim her—and God help anyone who tried to stand in his way.

Bruce had the sudden urge to shove himself back inside the bush and let the thorns have their way with him. He hauled himself up instead, grabbing onto the hand Adam offered. "She's fine. Just watch out for those idiots with the armbands. I saw a few of them hanging around earlier. I'm guessing her gym guy doesn't think we're up to the task. You'll spot them easy enough. Their stealth abilities are somewhat limited."

"Pssh," Adam blew out. "Amateurs."

Bruce stuck to the shadows as he made his way to his car, confident that Adam and Ben would keep her safe. Steve would arrive to relieve them just before dawn. She was in good hands. So why the sudden urge to rip open her front door and stand guard in the hallway?

Two more nights of this and then her brother would be back and things would return to normal—as normal as they had been anyway—and it would be a relief. Seeing her every day was obviously having some weird effect on his mental state. It needed to stop. It needed to stop now.

He closed the car door with a quiet tug, turned the key, and pulled away before anyone had a chance to spot him.

END OF CHAPTER EIGHT

I'm curious as to what you all think of Bruce.

This is one of my favorite chapters. I don't know why. It could be that I have a bit of a soft spot for Adam. He doesn't appear often in my stories but when he does, he always cracks me up.

Please vote and/or comment if you liked it. It really helps an author maintain a spot on the hot list, which in turn helps us get noticed!