“You were lucky. Damned lucky, girlie. That van should have crumpled your Jeep instead of just throwing you into that ravine.”

Thankfully, Lyrica had been hit from the passenger side instead of the driver’s. Otherwise, the force of the blow would have probably killed her.

“His lights were off,” she whispered, her heart beating so fast it was hard to speak.

The gleam of the full moon against chrome had been her only warning, giving her a fraction of a second to lessen the impact. Still, she’d been unable to avoid it. That, along with the sharp twisting of the wheel, had unbalanced the Jeep and sent it careening into the ravine.

“I saw that.” Her rescuer nodded, watching her in concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? No double vision or anything?”

She felt her lips tremble.

“I’m alive, right?” For a moment, she couldn’t understand why she was alive.

“Amazingly.” Eyes somber, the aqua green of her gaze staring down at Lyrica in concern, the woman brushed back her dark bangs and nodded. “I was sure you weren’t for a few minutes there, though.”

The sound of a powerful motor accelerating toward them, tearing along the blacktop, had her sighing in resignation.

A Mackay hadn’t arrived first, it seemed.

The young woman crouched in front of her was suddenly on her feet, one hand reaching behind her back as she moved to the front of the car. Tires screamed behind the little sedan and Lyrica watched the woman’s gaze narrow for a moment before she seemed to relax.

Black as death, the top down, the Viper came to a rocking stop, seeming to shudder in the sedan’s headlights.

Graham jumped from the open car as the sound of another powerful motor came screaming around the curve. Just as the Viper had, the Corvette’s tires screeched in protest as the engine suddenly began powering down, finally coming to a stop just ahead of the Viper.

“Lyrica.” Graham was in front of her, kneeling in the dirt next to the sedan, his hands going over her much as the woman’s had done.

“It wasn’t mistaken identity,” she whispered, staring into the golden hue of his eyes. His eyes went gold only when he was pissed. Or when he was aroused. She rather doubted it was arousal at the moment.

“Are you hurt?” He didn’t answer her.

His hands cupped her cheeks, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that seemed to mesmerize her.

“I’m scared.” Her voice trembled, shocking her with the weak, horrified sound of it. “Someone really wants me dead, Graham.”

“Come on, baby, we have to get you out of this car. Angel has to go.” Reaching down, he lifted her gently from her seat as her hands gripped his shoulders, her head falling against his shoulder.

She’d known it the moment she’d realized the van was going to plow into her Jeep—the attempt on her life in London hadn’t been a mistake at all. It had been deliberate.

“Get the hell out of here before the ambulance arrives.” Graham snapped out the order as he lowered her into the passenger side of the Viper.

She was aware of the woman getting into the sedan, the driver of the Vette jumping back into it. Just that fast, the two were pulling quickly away and racing from the scene of the wreck.

As the other vehicles sped into the night, Graham hurriedly closed her door before running to the driver’s side and jumping in.

“Call Dawg,” he ordered crisply.

The order didn’t make sense until Dawg’s voice crackled through the car’s stereo system.

“I have her,” Graham snapped, the Viper continuing to accelerate as he raced away from the wreck. “You know where we’ll be.”

“Status?” Dawg seemed to be snarling.

“Quick exam shows no broken bones or internal injuries,” he reported. “I’ll know more once we reach the safe house.”

“Contact immediately if that changes,” Dawg ordered him. “I’m with Alex, coming on the scene now. We’ll contact you once we’re finished.”

The call disengaged as the Viper flew around the curves of the road leading away from her mother’s inn, where she’d been heading.

They were heading toward the lake, she realized.

The top was still down, though the lights of the dash were dark and she realized the car’s headlights weren’t on, either. She couldn’t see the road well enough to know if they were driving along the mountainous road or racing into hell.

Looking over at Graham, Lyrica realized he was wearing glasses. Sunglasses? They were dark, wrapping around his face with the faintest hint of color at the very edges.

She had to have died, she thought.

None of this could be real.

None of it made sense.

Just as she was certain they were going to go tearing off the road and flying into oblivion, the car’s lights were suddenly back on and Graham was tearing the glasses off, dropping them onto the console next to him. The headlights revealed a mile marker placed about a half mile before the turn leading to his home.

The Viper slowed enough to take the turn comfortably, without the scream or whine of the tires’ protest.

“We’re almost there, baby.” Broad, powerful fingers covered hers where they rested on her lap and gave them a gentle squeeze.

She stared down at his hand. His fingers laced between hers, dark and broad, safe. Once again, he’d saved her. Once again, it was Graham who’d reached her first, who’d raced to her rescue as though he had no other purpose in life.

There was no escaping him, no escaping the heat and the hunger that shadowed her every waking and sleeping moment, she realized.

She belonged to him, and not just because he had saved her life. She had belonged to him since the moment she had met him.

Whatever he wanted.

However he wanted her.

For as long as she had, she was his.

—

Graham pulled the Viper into the garage, aware of the door closing securely behind him as he turned off the ignition and pushed open the door. Moving quickly, he strode around the vehicle, jerked Lyrica’s door open, and reached in for her.

She was staring at him as though she’d never seen him before. Those emerald eyes, dark with shock, filled with terror, stared back at him with such heavy fear and confusion that he felt his chest clenching in fury.

As he’d raced to the scene of the wreck earlier, he’d realized how very close the present was coming to the past. Except this woman belonged to him. For whatever reason, he couldn’t walk away from her, couldn’t get her out of his head.

Long ago and far away, he thought. That night seemed a lifetime ago. The explosions, the gunfire ripping around them, and the woman in his arms, with her bright green eyes and black silk curtain of hair that, despite the short length, he had imagined more than once was Lyrica’s.

As she died in his arms, her lover, the man he had once called a friend, stood over him with a hard, cold smile, his weapon aimed at Graham’s head, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“House is secure,” Elijah called from the kitchen as Graham snapped back to the present and stepped into the house, Lyrica cradled in his arms. Elijah’s expression was tight, savage as Graham passed him.

“No word on the van that hit her,” Elijah reported as Graham strode quickly through the kitchen and took the stairway at the back of the house that led upstairs to his room. “Angel’s mounted video camera recorded it all, though. Angel was coming around the curve behind Lyrica just as the van raced toward her from the side road. Timothy will have it within the hour and begin breaking it into frames for evidence.”

He was going to kill the bastard, Graham promised himself as he moved quickly into his suite.

“Pull up the advanced security protocols,” he ordered Elijah as he strode through the small sitting room and into the large bedroom.

There, he laid a still, silent Lyrica on his bed, the uncomfortable feeling that he had no idea what the fuck to do now almost overwhelming him.