...“Me first!” Paul cackled, and came running with his hands outstretched, opening and closing in claws. “Booby-catchers, here we—”

“Hands off my woman!” Pete roared, loud enough to deafen. His breath was enough to knock Lauren flat, like mustard gas.

Still, she was grateful. He had his brother well-trained. Paul stopped short, his face sagging in disappointment.

“But Pete, you said we share everything!” he whined. Just like he had since he was five.

“Money and beer, but not my woman. Lori is all mine. Now go check on your brothers. We gotta get out of here before someone calls the sheriff.”

Lauren sagged.

What about Mark?

“You and me, sugar doll,” Pete crooned. “Think you got time to give good old Petey a quickie before we go treasure hunting?”

Lauren thought she’d be sick right there.

Leave it to Pete to have a one-track mind.

More like a deep ditch.

But guys who walked in deep ditches couldn’t see out of them, could they?

“A quickie,” Lauren breathed, nearly choking at the thought.

“Yeah. You been wanting me all your life. I figure, the two smartest McTeagues, we oughta get together. Every way we can.”

The sad thing was, Lori and Pete probably were the two smartest legitimate McTeagues, now that Uncle Zeppo was dead.

Lauren wanted to yell for someone to drop a truckload of chlorine into the gene pool.

“A quickie,” she repeated. “Why not?” She didn’t have to tell him that her idea of a quickie was totally different from his, did she?

Pete didn’t see the razor-edged smile she wore as a plan filled her head. He had his face buried too far in her hair to hear the chill purr in her voice.

He released her arms, to wrap around her front. He pressed a wet, slobbery kiss against her ear and dug his fingers into her padded bust.

Lauren threw timing away as a shudder of nausea threatened to turn into a tidal wave.

Spinning, she twisted and ducked low and flung herself upward, managing to catch him under his chin with her head, in his groin with her knee and his gut with her elbow.

Combined assault was the only way to flatten a McTeague.

Pete went flying backward, toppling benches, and smashed into the back wall of the shelter. Wood creaked and groaned, and dust and debris flew up in the air as he sank to the cement floor.

Lauren flew down the switchback steps, jumping four at a time. Mark lay on the fifth flight down, sprawled on his back. Paul was just getting a groggy Parker and Pat up and moving. At least one brother had landed on Mark.

A silent terror, Lauren landed on them and sent all three flying with hard chops of her hands and feet. In her mind, she shrieked triumphant revenge for years of being picked on by the four while Lori cowered in her room or ran shrieking for Uncle Zeppo to intervene. The rigors of the Marine Corps were a cakewalk compared to the self-control and strategy training she had learned while growing up with the McTeagues.