But she should have known. She should have thought.

“Not a guard dog, Lyrica.” Graham shook his head as he made another turn onto a more familiar road. “He left others to protect you. But I guess someone just wasn’t watching when you left town, because no one called me to let me know you couldn’t be reached until Kye asked to borrow my phone.”

Lyrica sat up then, turning sideways in the seat, her eyes narrowing on him suspiciously. “Dawg would not have left you to watch out for me while he was out of town, Graham. That’s not the same as some damned party,” she informed him with amused mockery. “You’re not family.”

“No, I’m your last defense.” His expression was hard, cold. “I’m the only person Dawg trusts who still has the contacts and the equipment needed if the unthinkable happened. I’ll get you back to the house, get you out of sight, then I’ll find out why no one contacted me and if anyone has contacted Dawg, why he didn’t call me. And he would have. Give me a few hours and we’ll know where we stand. Then we’ll know where to go from there.”

Know where to go from there?

“Twilight zone,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I’m in the freakin’ twilight zone.”

“Hell, twilight zone beats a casket any day of the week, don’t you think?”

Yeah, it beat a casket, but Lyrica was wondering at the cost. She knew herself and she knew that being alone with Graham wasn’t going to be a good idea.

Weary, her gaze blurry with exhaustion, she watched as he pulled the car around to the back of the house, then into the little-used garage. He stored the Viper there in the winter, but other than that, Kye had mentioned once, the garage wasn’t often used.

“Here we go. Hungry?” Shutting off the motor, he turned to look at her, concern filling the golden, almost amber color of his gaze.

“I need a shower.” She sighed. “I wasn’t exactly sitting in a bed of roses.”

“No, baby, you weren’t.” She didn’t pull back when he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Come on, let’s get you into a shower and I’ll fix you a bite to eat so you can sleep.”

Graham had to force himself out of the car. Moving quickly around the vehicle, he was there as she pushed the door open. He reached in and helped her easily from the low-slung little sports car, her delicacy amazing him even when it shouldn’t.

He couldn’t help pulling her against him as he watched her stumble just a bit. Dammit, she was exhausted, frightened, and living on sheer nervous energy at the moment.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, though she didn’t move, didn’t attempt to push out of his arms. Instead, she leaned against him, her head pressed against his chest, her weight settling against his naturally.

He was in trouble here, he admitted. But hell, he’d admitted that six months ago when she lay beneath him, giving herself to him so sweetly.

“Come on, little bit.” Swinging her into his arms, he almost grinned at the little sigh she breathed out. Her arms went around his neck, her head settling comfortably against his shoulder.

Damn her.

He was going to break her heart and he knew it. Knew it, and had no idea how to stop it.

What was worse, he’d end up breaking his own heart if he wasn’t damned careful.

—

“What do you mean she got away?” The voice rasped across the line as hard, icy brown eyes looked down from the apartment window to the alley below.

“I mean she wasn’t quite as weak as you led me to believe,” he informed his employer. “She’s cautious, resourceful, and damned fast. We lost her in a back alley.”

Hell, she was a fucking Mackay—did this bastard think it was going to be easy? He’d done his research before he’d taken the job. Enough so that he’d initially declined, only to have to reconsider after additional intel had come through.

“One woman,” his employer mused, “against a well-aimed projectile, should not have been resourceful enough, nor fast enough, to outrun it.”

“Turn the girl sideways and there’s a hell of a margin for error. She’s a skinny little bitch,” he snorted, knowing better. The woman was sweet curves and slender muscle.

“Was her phone used?” The man asked as though he were speaking to a moron.

He let himself grin. He’d make the bastard pay for that one later. In spades.

“She made countless attempts; none went through.”

“Check the report for the program I gave you. Look for encrypted numbers. Timothy Cranston, the bastard her whore mother’s sleeping with, is retired Homeland Security. Make sure he didn’t get through. Start running the tag numbers you should have taken of any vehicle coming into or out of the alleys you were watching. You did that, right?”

His gaze flicked over the bare windows of the deserted building across from him. “Taken care of. Nothing blipped even close to Somerset, or the names you listed.”

Silence filled the line for long seconds.

“Send me the tag numbers and vehicle descriptions, as well as any surveillance you should have taken,” he was ordered. “However she managed to get away, there’s no doubt she’s headed home, possibly back to her mother’s inn and Cranston’s protection. Do you have someone there?”

“There, at the lumber store, the garage, the marina, and the restaurant,” he replied, naming off each business she worked at.

“Well, at least you did something right,” the other man snorted.

His eyes narrowed as he stared at the reflection of his second in command behind him, listening in on the call.

“I tried,” he drawled.

The answering snort was pure insult. “Try harder. Get to Somerset and find that bitch. When I arrive there, I want a pretty new toy to play with, and I won’t be happy if I don’t have it.”

The call disconnected.

“Yeah, I’m real concerned with his pretty new toy,” he growled as his second leaned back against the wall thoughtfully and waited.

“Are we ready to head to Somerset?” Pulling his weapon, he checked the clip, reinserted it, then began packing the meager supplies they’d stocked the tiny, deserted apartment with.

“The van’s packed and your Vette’s ready.”

His brows arched. “New engine doing good?”

“Excellent.” The answer was delivered with cool precision and a light shrug. “Grog says it vrooms.”

He grinned, zipped up the pack, and gave a brief nod. “Let’s go hear it vroom, then.”

“You’re not going to match that Viper.” The comment had a grimace pulling at his lips as he opened the door and stepped out of the apartment.

“How the hell do you know? The fucker won’t tell anyone what he did to the bitch. If Jed did as I asked and put everything in that motor I wanted, then we’ll have a fighting chance,” he argued.

A snort sounded behind him. No comment, no argument. But that sound of disbelief made his ass itch.

Dammit.

He was supposed to be on vacation right now, not fucking around with some damned op in Mackay territory. If they caught him there then he was dead fucking meat. They didn’t like him much; he didn’t like them much. It was a mutual little dislike party and he made damned certain he stayed out of their line of sight, and out of sight of Natches Mackay’s rifle.

They may be getting on in age a little bit, but those men were still some mean fuckers. It didn’t pay to cross them.

He appeared to be doing more than crossing them, though—he had accepted the contract on a Mackay sister’s life.

Yep, he was going to have to be damned careful.

FIVE