“I promised Dawg I would stay away from him,” she told Sierra miserably, her throat tightening with emotion again. “He’s never asked me for anything, Sierra, until now. And he asked me to stay away from Brogan.”

“I’m sorry, Eve,” she whispered sympathetically. “But really, Dawg had no right to ask that of you.”

Eve shook her head. “He told us when we first came here that all he asked was that we never betray ourselves or our family. As far as he’s concerned, Brogan has betrayed his country, and to believe in him, to be with him, means I’m tarred with the same brush. To Dawg, that’s betraying not just myself, but my family, my friends, and the nation. And to Dawg, that’s the worst thing I could do.”

It had all been said lovingly, of course. And Dawg had hated saying it to her; she had seen that. But that was how he felt.

“But you don’t believe he betrayed his country,” Sierra stated.

Eve shook her head. “No, I don’t. I can’t believe he would do anything so vile, Sierra. He’s arrogant, proud as hell, and so damned stubborn he probably makes people want to shoot him. But I can’t see him betraying his country.”

“And you’re in love with him,” Sierra said softly. “Aren’t you?”

Eve sighed wearily. “I don’t know. I know I can’t stand the thought of denying myself something I want this badly. But I also know that if that’s the problem, then he’ll break my heart. There’s no doubt in my mind he will. And in turn, I’ll break my brother’s heart.”

Brogan might not mean to. He may hate it, but it wouldn’t stop it from happening.

“Do you think you can keep that promise, then?” Sierra asked her.

Eve gave a bitter laugh. “Dawg saved us, Sierra. And I hate myself. I hate myself until I’m sick to my stomach with the fact that the one thing he asked of me seems to be the very thing I can’t give him. And he deserves so much more.”

* * *

Dawg hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

He’d been in the parking lot when Timothy had come around the side of the bar and called him back, bringing him through the side entrance to meet with him and John. What the hell Timothy was doing there, he hadn’t yet figured out.

He’d heard Eve’s voice as they passed the partially closed door, and stopped just to make sure she was okay.

Now, as he heard the pain in her voice, aching regret filled his chest, he felt like a traitor himself. Hell, he hadn’t meant to hurt her, or to make her feel as though she had disappointed him.

He rubbed at the back of his neck again as he turned and followed Timothy up the hall to John Walker’s office. Once Timothy closed the door behind him, Dawg leaned against it, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at the former—he was doubting the resignation story now—Homeland Security special agent and the supposedly unassuming bar manager.

There was too much going on here, he thought.

Suddenly Timothy was lurking in the back offices of Walker’s Run, no doubt because that was one of the only two rooms in the lower levels where the security cameras could be viewed.

When Timothy had texted earlier to meet him there, Dawg had assumed they were meeting in the actual bar, not hiding in the back. And that made sense only if Timothy was conducting an operation.

“What are you up to, you little fucker?” Dawg growled.

Timothy grinned at the insult as though it were a compliment.

Little bastard.

At least he didn’t look like a reject from the CIA anymore. His clothes were actually pressed, his hair combed. And he did smile more now than he had before Mercedes and the girls came into his life. Though Dawg admitted that the thought of Timothy Cranston with then svelte, model-beautiful Mercedes Mackay was just freaky.

“Why do I always have to be up to something?” Timothy asked.

“The last time I asked you that question you called me a suspicious little bastard who needed to go home and get fucked so I wouldn’t be so paranoid,” Dawg pointed out thoughtfully.

Timothy grimaced good-naturedly.

“Do I have to ask again, or send you home to your girlfriend minus some very important equipment?”

Timothy chuckled at that. “You are too paranoid, Dawg. Even your cousins tell you that.”

They did.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not up to something,” he pointed out. “Now, tell me what Brogan Campbell has to do with whatever the hell you’re up to, and how do I keep him away from my sister?”

Timothy sighed, then leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him.

“Dawg, do you really think it’s possible for your sister to be interested in a traitor? Doesn’t that go against the Mackay DNA or something?”

“Are you saying he’s not a traitor?”

Timothy’s eyes widened innocently.

“Innocent” and “Timothy” in the same sentence was damned terrifying.

“How the hell would I know,” Timothy protested. “I just thought that, knowing Eve’s intuition about people is pretty damned good, it seems funny she could be fooled by a man betraying his country, that’s all.”

“That’s all, huh?”

Timothy nodded with apparent honesty. “That’s all.” He held his hands out in a gesture of sincerity.

Sincerity and Timothy?

Had he just entered the fucking Twilight Zone?

“You’re pulling an op again and you’re allowing Eve to be dragged straight into the middle of it. Now tell me what the fuck is going on,” Dawg demanded.

“You’re asking the same questions I am, Dawg,” Timothy admitted. “Who Brogan Campbell really is, and what the hell is going on. What I am fairly certain of, based on the fact that he’s lived in the same house I do for the past two and a half years, is that he’s no traitor. And I’m fairly certain he’s not going to wait much longer before Eve’s little heart is torn in two between you and the only man I’ve seen her interested in since she came here.”

Dawg straightened from his position against the door, stalked to the desk, and flattened his hands on the top of it as he leaned forward. “He will get her killed, Timothy. How do you think your lover, her mother, will feel when she finds out you let her walk smack into the middle of this and didn’t tell me what the hell is going on?”

Timothy shrugged. “If I knew what was going on, I would of course tell her first. That’s her daughter, and Mercedes has an amazing capacity to not just love her children, but also to accept the choices they make.”

“Even if one of those choices gets them killed?” Dawg growled.

“That’s what we’re for.” Timothy sighed then. “To keep that from happening.” His smile was tinged with acceptance and resignation. “Isn’t that what loving them is all about, Dawg? Letting them find out who they are, and doing all we can to protect them as they do?”

“Fuck me.” Dawg growled in resignation as he moved back and let himself fall into the chair behind him. “Just let me kill Campbell myself. That would be so much easier.”

“Can your conscience handle it, then?” Timothy asked.

“Natches’s can,” Dawg suggested. And he was certain it could.

“No doubt,” Timothy agreed. “But we’ll be the ones who will know the truth as she cries. As she haunts the house and wonders what could have been. Is that what we want?”

“She’ll be alive,” Dawg pointed out logically.

“Will she? Are you sure about that?”

Dawg’s lips thinned.

“Would you have been, if something had happened to Christa in that first week after she returned to Somerset?”

No, he wouldn’t have been, Dawg admitted. He would have been a dead man walking.

Rising from the chair, he stared down at the Homeland Security agent. “You know what the hell is going on.” Dawg was damned certain of it. “If anything happens to her, I’ll know whom to discuss it with.”

“All we can do is pray, Dawg,” Timothy said heavily, the fact that he was worried about her clear in his voice as well as his expression.