“Not a whole lot,” Graham admitted. “The dumb moments aren’t nearly as numerous as they were before Rowdy and Kelly married, though, from what Dad said before he died. Rowdy and his cousins used to be some hell-raisers.”

“Yeah, now they’re just hell to be around,” the agent grunted.

“There is that.” Graham almost chuckled at the thought. “By the way, when reporting to Doogan, don’t give him the name of the contact that brought the information in.” He refrained from mentioning Tracker’s name. “Doogan doesn’t need to worry himself over some things. That contact is one of those things.”

“No kidding.” Graham could almost see Elijah pushing his fingers through his hair and rubbing at his neck. “Okay, I’ll call the bastard back. I put a few more cameras up while I was out and tied the entire program into this number. If you hear it ping, check it. Your number’s secondary and it might mean I’ve somehow been compromised and you’re in deep shit.”

Reentering his bedroom, Graham moved into the huge walk-in closet just inside the doorway, where he’d installed the monitors and controls to his own hidden camera system.

“Got it,” he murmured. “Check in on schedule and keep your eyes open.”

“Always,” Elijah promised.

Disconnecting the call, Graham closed the closet door, moved to the wall behind it, and depressed the hidden release there. The wall slid down soundlessly, revealing a large security monitor and a dozen different views of the property surrounding the house.

Elijah was stationed on the hill across from the house, looking down on an angle that afforded him a view of the back gardens and pool area as well as the side of the house and front drive. The other views were clear of human intrusion, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

He depressed the control once again and the wall slid back into place but the restless feeling inside him still plagued him.

Something wasn’t right. It was nagging at him, refusing to come together. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Something he had a feeling could very well end up tipping the scales out of his favor and into his enemy’s if he didn’t figure it out quickly. If he didn’t figure it out before he lost Lyrica forever.

NINETEEN

Emerging from the bathroom several mornings later, her only covering the lacy black panties with a tiny, vividly pink bow just above the cleft of her rear and a matching bra sporting a bow between her breasts, Lyrica came to a stop at the sight of Graham stepping into the bedroom wearing nothing but loose black cotton pajama bottoms. Carrying a large tray in his hands with several covered dishes, he was obviously surprised to see her awake and showered.

“Breakfast?” A flush washed through her at the gleam of interest reflected in the glitter of gold in his eyes.

“Breakfast works.” Clearing her throat, she moved for the silky robe she’d left lying on the bottom of the bed.

“Please don’t.” The rasp of command that filled his tone was tempered only by the hunger that filled his gaze. “You look perfect the way you are.”

Perfect the way she was? Oh Lord, she was barely dressed. The lacy lingerie was no more than a tease, covering only what it had to.

Moving to the bed, Graham set the large tray in the middle of it before carefully removing the covers he’d placed over the food.

Fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly fried bacon, diced fresh tomatoes, and golden brown toast.

“Come on.” Motioning to the bed with a jerk of his head, he climbed into the center and waited.

She didn’t make him wait long.

This was another memory for her to tuck away and take out when it was over and she was forced to return to reality once again.

“No sandwiches this morning?” She grinned, secretly hoping she’d never see another sandwich in her life.

“Kye and I eat out a lot.” He chuckled as she tasted the eggs and bacon and almost moaned at the taste of home-cooked food.

She could see why, she admitted, as the taste of the fresh tomato exploded against her tongue. For something so simple, the meal was exquisite.

For the next few minutes they were silent, the food consuming their attention until finally Lyrica sat back, replete, and eyed the amount still left on the plates.

He must have scrambled a whole carton of eggs, she thought in amusement.

Lifting the coffee cup nearest her to her lips, she sipped and hummed a sound of appreciation. Just the way she liked it. A little coffee with her cream and sugar.

“How do you drink it like that?” He chuckled, lifting his own and bringing it to his lips.

No sugar, no cream, just straight, rich coffee.

Lyrica suppressed a shudder, but not the doubtful look she gave him. “It’s a little strong for me,” she admitted, holding back what she was sure would have been an embarrassing giggle.

Setting the cup on the bedside table, Graham moved the tray to the dresser before returning to the bed, propping himself against the headboard as he retrieved the coffee and watched her closely.

“You surprise me,” he said then. “I expected you to become bored while you were here. I didn’t expect you’d find so many ways to entertain yourself while we were trying to track down whoever’s responsible for the attempts against you.”

The night before, she had finished a spreadsheet she’d been trying to find time to complete for Dawg’s lumber store. The night before that, she’d finished the new menu layout for the restaurant Natches and Janey owned. A detailed supply list was still awaiting her attention for Natches’s garage in town as well as an advertising plan for the marina Rowdy and his father, her uncle Ray, owned.

“I keep a lot of little projects for downtime,” she admitted, curling her legs to her side as she leaned on the pillows propped against the headboard and faced him. “Between the four main businesses Mackay Enterprises began with, and the two apartment buildings Dawg, Natches, and Rowdy bought, a pawn shop Janey had to have, and a convenience store Eve and Brogan just added, there’s always a new program needed, a shopping cart to set up, or an inventory system to improve.”

Tilting his head, the dark blond and light brown strands of hair falling over his forehead, he watched her curiously now. The short length of his beard and mustache, his bare chest.

He was the image of a rakish pirate, scars and all.

Reaching out, she touched a circular scar at his shoulder, a whisper-caress over flesh that seemed not long healed. Below it was a long, thin scar that the light mat of curls covering his chest didn’t hide near as well as one might think they would.

“That one was a long time ago.” Remaining still, one broad palm resting on her ankle, the other resting over his bent knee, he watched her with a faint smile. “Dad and I were hiking above the house. I was fourteen, bouncing around, showing the old man up.” Fondness touched his expression for a moment. “I tripped on something, damned if I remember what it was, and went head over heels back down the damned incline. When I came to a stop, my shirt was sliced open and my chest along with it. The first time I ever saw Dad scared.”

There was a warmth to his voice as he spoke of his father.

“Kye rarely mentions your parents,” she said softly. “And there are no pictures in the house of them except the one in the living room.”

A single five-by-seven that sat next to the formal couch on a cherry side table.