“We’re not here to snipe at his background, Alex,” Timothy stated from where he sat behind the bar on the other side of the room. “Let’s hear what he has to say, then we can plan accordingly.”

As though agreement had been voiced, Tracker moved from the wall to step behind the bar with Timothy as the rest of them converged on the bar stools in front of the wide teak counter.

“Two million dollars,” Tracker stated as Timothy passed out a file folder to each of them. “The hit has to appear to be either an accident or a case of mistaken identity. When that girl the drug cartel killed showed up, I decided to use it to try to flush out whoever’s backing the contract. So far, it hasn’t worked. At last contact I was given one more chance before the down payment has to be returned and a new offer will go out.”

Graham opened the file to find pictures of Lyrica, notes on her various jobs, schedule, friends, and family. Along with it was the Mackay itinerary for the weeks they were on vacation.

“In checking out her background I learned that Graham Brock’s sister was a close friend and that her number was on Ms. Mackay’s contact list. They talked daily, so I took a chance that if she couldn’t contact her friend and her phone appeared to be malfunctioning then she would turn to her brother. Thankfully, the plan worked.”

Graham glanced up from the file. “You could have just called.”

“Not until I learned exactly whose phones were compromised.” Tracker shook his head before leaning back against the empty shelves of the former bar. “When she disappeared, my employer demanded the records of a tracking and jamming program he provided that would ensure no one accessed her phone. I sent it and waited. The only encrypted number he couldn’t pinpoint on the report was Graham’s.” He nodded in Graham’s direction. “For the rest of you, I was sent call logs, though text and discussion logs weren’t tracked, it appears.”

“Son of a bitch,” Timothy exclaimed. “How was the encryption cracked?”

“From what I can understand about the program, it’s usually hidden in a download of some sort,” Tracker answered. “A picture, website, whatever. Backtracking, I was able to identify a URL common to the unencrypted numbers of those on Lyrica’s contact list. How it got into the encrypted numbers, I haven’t ascertained just yet.”

“A lot of work,” Alex muttered. “A hell of a lot of money. The question is, why? What does Lyrica know that has her marked?”

“My question as well,” Tracker answered. “And one of the questions I initially asked upon taking the job. I’m known to be the nosy sort.” A mocking smile tugged at his lips, though his gaze remained stone cold. “The answer I received was that the contract was a vendetta, not a personal strike.”

“Fuck!” Natches hissed, his voice low, vibrating with menace. “Our old enemies perhaps?”

The homeland terrorist group had been silent for years.

“My sources say no.” Once again, Tracker answered the question. “I’ll be honest, gentlemen, I’ve spent more time trying to track who, what, and why on this contract than I’ve spent on any other. There are no answers, though I have managed to cross out every Mackay enemy I could identify.”

“What about my enemies?” Timothy asked.

“That one I can’t answer,” Tracker informed him. “You have far too many, Timothy, and even more than even I can identify.”

“It’s not Timothy,” Natches stated.

“Then who?” The question came from Rowdy, who was sitting at Timothy’s right, every line of his body tense and filled with fury.

“I don’t know.” A quick shake of his head was the only indication of Natches’s confusion. “But it’s not Timothy. There’s something familiar to this program, though; I just can’t identify what. It’s as though I’ve seen it somewhere else, heard of it, or something.” He tapped one particular page. “Lyrica’s phone went off-line here.” He pointed to the included graph as he turned to Graham. “Is that where you had her pull the battery?”

Graham checked the graph then.

“That was it.” He confirmed the time. “I kept the call brief, just long enough for my GPS to pinpoint her, before I had her disconnect and pull the battery from the phone.”

Natches frowned again, shaking his head. “That shouldn’t have worked.” He sighed. “Not with the program I’m thinking of.”

“Good luck tracing it,” Tracker retorted. “My second in command has been working on it nonstop for the past three months since we were given the contract, and even her sources haven’t been able to identify it or its creator.”

“Angel?” Graham asked him, remembering the tiny bundle of dynamite that had fought viciously with the mercenary. “She’s still putting up with you?”

Tracker flicked him an irritated glance. “Stay the hell away from her, Graham. Angel’s no flavor and I won’t have her become one.”

What the fuck? He blinked back at Tracker as the Mackays and their friends glared over at him.

“The ‘flavor’ comments are starting to piss me off,” he told them all. “And I never had any intention of inviting Angel into my bed. That woman knows her way around a knife far too well.”

“If the comments bother you, then stop sleeping with those rich, spoiled little heiresses with too much money and too little brains,” Natches snorted.

“Really?” Graham grunted at the comment. “Are we going to go there, Natches?”

The other man looked up and the calculated menace in his gaze had an answering expression that tightened Graham’s own expression.

“Enough,” Rowdy warned them both.

“Angel has been in the apartment next to Lyrica’s since we accepted the contract,” Tracker informed them then. “She’s also been shadowing her wherever she goes when she leaves the apartment. And I should tell you all, she just left again.” He glanced at the watch he was wearing. “That woman doesn’t sleep a lot, does she?” He glanced at Graham as he made the comment.

Graham gave him a level stare in return until the other man gave another of those crooked, mocking little grins.

“Angel couldn’t have been shadowing her or I would have known about it,” Dawg stated, his voice hard as one finger tapped soundlessly against his open file. “I’ve had someone following her since she moved back to her apartment . . .”

Tracker stared back at him knowingly. “Jim Bailey. A hell of an investigator and bodyguard, but he has nothing on Angel. Hell, she even rode with him a few nights after convincing him he was the best thing since sliced bread. He’s not taking the job seriously and spends more time on his cell phone than he does watching for tails. His belief is that only a fool would go after a Mackay and risk their wrath.”

“Fucker!” Natches breathed out, fury lending a dark roughness to his tone that had his cousins flinching. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Leave him in place,” Tracker suggested. “Whoever the contract’s backer may have in place to follow Lyrica won’t be watching for anyone else, though Angel hasn’t detected anyone yet. When this is over, discuss your bill with him maybe. Until then, use him.”

That was what he would have done, Graham admitted.

“What information is coming to you from your backer?” Timothy asked.

“It’s in the back of the file,” Tracker informed him. “I convinced him I had to complete another job after my first attempt on Lyrica fell through. As far as he knows, I’m not due back for another week. I had hoped my time here would reveal the backer’s identity, but that hasn’t happened yet. That’s why I came to Timothy. I have two weeks after my supposed return to complete the job and give this man Lyrica’s lifeless body. If I don’t, he’ll find another team. If that happens, there won’t be a warning. She’ll just be dead.”

Like hell.

Graham could feel his fury burning chaotically. He wouldn’t allow all the vibrant, sensual energy that filled her to be silenced. She was too much a part of his life, too important to him to allow her to be threatened.