“I’m telling you, she backtracked to the garage,” another snapped.

“I saw her take that last turn coming this way,” the first argued furiously. “Check behind the Dumpster.”

Footsteps shuffled, moving closer. There was the scrape of a shoe, of clothes against the Dumpster as someone breathed out harshly. The Dumpster shifted, but it didn’t move.

“There’s no one back there,” the second voice retorted in disgust. “I can see behind it and it’s clear. She’s not here.”

“Fuck!” The curse was filled with anger. “I can’t believe you didn’t see her come into the lobby.”

“She was supposed to be in her room, dammit. You didn’t see her leave it.”

“Fucking moron,” the other man growled. “Let’s go. She has to be close. She couldn’t have gotten far.”

Lyrica didn’t dare breathe. She couldn’t breathe. Terror was like a fever, weakening her, tearing through her senses, shredding her control. Her entire body shuddered, chilled, shock and fear racing the adrenaline tearing through her body.

How long she waited she didn’t know. She didn’t dare move from the precarious hiding place. They were waiting for her, watching for her.

Moving slowly and reaching into the purse she clasped desperately to her chest, she pulled her cell phone free. It hadn’t been working earlier. She’d tried to call her sister to let her know she’d arrived, but the automated message had told her to try again later.

Fingers shaking, she hit Alex Jansen’s number again. When it didn’t go through, she began calling every number in her contact list, one after the other.

None of them were going through.

“We’re sorry, but this number is no longer accepting calls. Please try again later.”

The message played again, the computer-generated voice completely unsympathetic to the small, barely muffled sob that escaped Lyrica’s lips.

Hands trembling, she pulled the phone from her ear, closed her eyes, and huddled deeper into the small crevice she’d found in the brick building behind the stinking Dumpster.

She was too terrified to move out from behind it, the stark, mind-numbing fear rising from the depths of her soul at the very thought of it.

She couldn’t make a call out. Her texts weren’t going through to any of her family. Not her brother or her cousins, not her sisters or her mother or even her mother’s lover, Timothy Cranston. She’d tried everyone and nothing worked. She stared at the muted display, fighting desperately to think, to figure out what to do.

Even Alex Jansen, her cousin Janey’s husband and chief of police of Somerset, Kentucky, was unreachable. And she needed help. Oh god, she needed help.

She had no idea how to navigate the alleys and backstreets of downtown London. She was trapped here with no idea how to identify who was after her or why.

Why?

What had she done?

She’d just driven into town to meet some friends for dinner, then to go shopping early the next morning. The party she’d been invited to at one of her brother’s friends’ home in a few weeks required a new outfit. She wanted to look good. She wanted to get new shoes, something girly and pretty. Something to draw attention . . .

She’d checked into the hotel just before dark then left for dinner at a nearby restaurant where her friends were waiting for her. She could have never anticipated that someone would be waiting to kill her when she returned.

She shuddered remembering the muted pop that the gun had made as she had quickly stepped back into the elevator. The bullet had missed her by inches. She could have been killed. She would have been killed if she hadn’t held that damned elevator door open.

What was she going to do now?

Dawg had taught her and her sisters how to fight. He and their cousins had taught them how to survive in the mountains. But she had no idea how to survive here, in this dark alley, without a weapon.

The vibration of her phone had her turning it in her hand, staring at it in breathless hope.

Lyrie, this is Kye. My phone is acting really wonky. Using Graham’s. Where the hell are you? I’ve tried to call all day.

The text shocked her.

Kye? Kye had gotten through?

Graham would know what to do. He would get hold of Alex. Someone. He would help her. He had sworn he would come if she needed him.

Desperation spurred her as she quickly typed back.

Kye. Need Graham. In trouble. Help me!

Would it go through? Oh god, please let it go through. She watched the bar, nearly crying out as the “Delivered” message showed next to the text.

What if he refused to help her? He wasn’t too happy with her but, god, she needed him now.

She was dead if he didn’t find a way to save her. And she really didn’t think she’d like being dead.

—

Graham stared at the text, his senses hardening, turning to ice at the realization that Lyrica was in trouble.

“Graham,” Kye whispered, her face pale.

Graham dialed Lyrica’s number quickly before hitting the speaker option and hearing his call go straight to voice mail.

Inputting the secure encryption key on the stealth phone, he quickly dialed her number again.

“Kye. Kye, please help me.” Terror lanced through her tear-filled voice and shoved a dull blade through his chest. Her voice came quickly across the line. “I’ve called everyone. No one’s call is going through.”

“Where are you, Lyrica?” He was moving as he spoke, watching the readout on the screen of his phone and hitting the jamming signal that would keep the call from being tracked even as the program tracked her location. “Quickly.”

“Graham?” The hope, the terror in her voice ripped through his guts like a dull blade.

“Quickly, Lyrica,” he snapped.

“London.” Her voice was hushed, shaking. “I don’t know where. I was running, trying to get away. It’s a brick building, down an alley close to the new London Suites in town. I’m behind a Dumpster. Some guys are trying to kill me! They haven’t found me yet.”

“I have your GPS. Turn the phone off and pull the battery now, Lyrica. And don’t fucking move. If you have to run again, find a safe place, insert the battery again for three minutes, then pull it. You hear me? I’m coming for you, honey. I’m just a minute away.” He tried to reassure her. “Now do as I said.”

“Graham? Please hurry.” The whimper of terror had his guts turning to mush as he grabbed his duffel bag from his bedroom closet and raced to the front door.

“Do as I said, now. They’re tracking you and I won’t be able to block it for long once I leave the house. Pull that fucking battery and stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

The call disconnected.

“Graham, what’s going on?” Kye was rushing behind him, fear filling her voice as well, though she spoke low, nearly whispering, as he jerked the door of his car open and threw the duffel bag in it.

“Stay here.” Turning on her, he caught her shoulders in his hands and gave her a quick little shake as he spoke just loud enough for her to hear him. “Do not use your phone, Kye, it’s being monitored. Do you understand me?”

Frightened gray eyes widened, dilating with shock and fear at the information.

“Why?”

“Someone’s trying to track Lyrica. Stay off the phone. Do not answer it. I’ll call Sam and she’ll be out here to get you soon. Leave the phone here; don’t take it with you.”

“What if your phone is being tracked, too?” she whispered, still following him as he moved around to the driver’s side.

“It’s not or I wouldn’t have gotten through to her. It’s encrypted and secure. No one tracked it. But I want you to go with Sam and stay there until I call.”

“You’ll call soon?” she implored, stepping back from the car as he revved the motor of the powerful Viper.

“As soon as I can, sweetie,” he promised. “Now get in the house and lock up until Sam gets here. Now!”