“Good night, gentlemen.” Doogan headed for the door. “Perhaps tomorrow the three of you can keep your minds on the meeting.”

He intended to be waiting when Zoey arrived home. He’d just have to see how firm her resolve was in having that pert little butt spanked and then penetrated. Those August boys never took a woman alone, and greatly enjoyed taking their women anally.

Hell, Doogan thought, she’d probably blow his mind there too.

Several things were for damned sure, though. If she even considered heading to Texas or California, then she’d deal with him. And he’d be having a talk with Billy Ray very soon.

Very damned soon.

Leaving Graham, Eli, and John to chortle over Natches mumbling now, Doogan headed back to Zoey’s. Before turning onto the street that passed the converted warehouse, he parked beneath a heavily leaved oak tree on the street bordering the apartment. Shutting the motor off, he reached behind the passenger seat, removed a set of night-vision goggles hanging from it, and pulled them on over his head.

As thorough as he was, still, he nearly missed the single presence positioned just across from the front entrance of Zoey’s apartment. The heat signature he caught sight of was watching the front lane leading into the building, his profile to the back entrance of Zoey’s home, though any lights would draw his attention.

Positioned on the roof of the discount store, cleverly tucked between two vents, Doogan would have missed him if the watcher had settled into position just a few inches deeper into the small area.

Well now, who was so very interested in Zoey tonight that hadn’t been interested in her before?

Fortunately, there was something very familiar about the height and demeanor of the watcher. Doogan knew the men he worked with, especially those he’d sent out for shadow ops training as he had that one.

There was no way to get his truck up the lane to the back of the warehouse without being seen, though. And until he was certain if the watcher was an enemy or friendly, then he’d just as soon remain hidden. Leaving the vehicle parked where it was would draw attention as well. Mackay attention no doubt.

That left maneuvering it, in the dark and without lights, along the narrow path sheltered by heavily leaved oak trees that bordered the back of the property. It was doable, if he was lucky. And he was feeling lucky.

Securing the night-vision glasses to his head, Doogan slid the vehicle into drive, the sound of traffic among the nearby streets hopefully enough to cover the smooth purr of the motor as he used the trees to hide his turn onto the sidewalk, then along the property bordering the warehouse until he came to the line of sheltering trees.

Keeping a wary eye on the watcher’s position, Doogan eased the truck along the tree line, then into the garage with surprising speed. Using the fob Zoey had given him, he ensured that the security was reset, turned off the truck, and stepped from it.

Careful to keep the lights out, he moved quickly and quietly up the metal stairs, the night-vision goggles firmly in place. He made his way quickly through the upper level to Zoey’s room, where he’d have a clear view to the roof across the clearing. Tearing the goggles off as he reached beneath the bed, he pulled the rifle he’d stored there free and stepped to the curtained window.

Zoey’d be returning soon and he’d be damned if he’d let some bastard take her out. Even if it meant revealing himself in her life to her brother and cousins. He eased the barrel of the weapon to the edge of where the curtains met and adjusted the night-vision sights.

His lips thinned at the sight of the watcher in clear view now, night vision attached to his head as well and staring back at Doogan.

His cell phone vibrated with an incoming text.

I got this, the message read.

Got what?

Your back, bro! the watcher typed back. Your back!

“Fuck!”

We need to talk. Now! Doogan demanded.

Later. Don’t get distracted. Protect Zoey!

No! Now! Doogan demanded. Will come to you!

Later, bro!

Have to talk . . .

There was no answer. The message waited; the icon indicating that it was unread stayed next to it.

“Damn you!” He checked the rooftop again, but it appeared deserted. Son of a bitch, what the hell was Harley up to?

Later, bro, his ass. That damned kid was going to end up pissing him the hell off. And his mood was already iffy after hearing Zoey’s threats to head to California.

Dammit. Those August brats were family to her. Third or fourth cousins, he was certain.

Kissing cousins.

Like hell.

Pacing the bedroom, he waited for her return; the thought of her allowing those damned women-sharing bastards to touch her was more than he could tolerate. He’d be damned if he’d allow it.

Raking his fingers through his hair in frustration, Doogan refused to delve into the reasons why he was so damned pissed off over it. Because he’d never cared before who or what a woman was doing. If he found himself disapproving of a woman’s actions or interests, then he simply moved on. There were plenty of women in the world.

There was only one Zoey Mackay.

And that thought didn’t set well with him at all.

—

Sam Bryce stepped from her pickup; the glimmer of a vehicle parked on the dirt path behind the evergreen shrubs at the far end of the parking lot drew a heavy breath from her.

God, she was tired, and she knew damned good and well that the owner of that car wasn’t out to just check out the scenery. He had far better things to do with his time. And he had a key to her apartment. She had no doubt he was waiting for her.

Striding across the narrow strip of grass to her patio, Sam slid the patio door open and entered the apartment. Just to find out how very wrong she was.

“Let the light out, Sam.” Chaya Mackay rather than her husband stood leaning against the counter separating the kitchen and living area, a glass of Sam’s favorite wine held loosely in her hand.

There was a weapon clipped to her waist, a sheathed knife strapped to her thigh. Chaya wasn’t there for friendly conversation or tips on a new cookie recipe, she guessed. Son of a bitch, Mackays were getting on her last nerve.

“You know, you’re about as ballsy as any Mackay,” Sam groused, sliding the door back into place with a heavy push.

Chaya lifted the glass and sipped at the moscato Sam was so partial to. The look wasn’t one Sam found any comfort in either.

“You sleeping with Zoey?” Chaya asked as she lowered the glass and stared into the clear, perfectly balanced sweet wine for a moment.

When her gaze sliced back, piercing and curious, Sam wondered if somehow that Mackay arrogance had rubbed off on the wives. Maybe it was contagious. She’d make a note not to get too close to any of them from here on out.

She arched her brow mockingly now, though. “Is she in my fucking bed, Chaya?”

She tossed the shoulder pack she carried to a chair before stomping to her bedroom and removing her weapons. She locked the Glock as well as the smaller backup strapped at her ankle beneath her jeans in the wall safe, while she tried to figure out why the hell Zoey’s cousin’s wife was there.

“Come up with an explanation for what I haven’t asked yet?” Chaya stood in the doorway, her voice amused, her golden-brown eyes like amber ice.

“You haven’t asked a question yet,” Sam snorted. “Ask. Then I’ll worry about the answer.”

She toed off her sneakers and pushed them beneath the chair next to the wall. The cap she wore came next before she began working the hair bands from the ponytail she kept her hair confined to while on duty.

All the while Chaya watched her with such clinical detachment it was unnerving. The other woman’s years away from DHS hadn’t weakened her stare in the least.