“I think you were fifteen the last time I saw you,” Chaya commented long minutes later. “All long legs, long hair, and a chip the size of Texas on your shoulder.” She sipped at the wine again while Sam waited. She didn’t have to wait long. “John David still hasn’t accepted the fact that you’ll never marry and give him grandbabies, has he, Sam?”

Sam shot her a hard glare before pushing past her and stalking to the kitchen, where she checked the empty bottle on the counter before pulling another from the fridge.

She normally detested wine, but the moscato she’d discovered had become one of her new favorite drinks. She’d tried a lot of drinks in the past year. Remaining silent as she worked the cork from the bottle, Sam cursed Doogan to hell and back. Somehow, he’d fucked up. He’d had to. Otherwise, the former agent wouldn’t be here drinking the last of one of her few remaining bottles of wine.

“The next time I arrive home to find a Mackay camped out in my fucking apartment, someone’s going to regret it,” she stated, pouring half of the bottle into a wineglass.

The bottle held two good glasses and that was it. She had a feeling she would be drinking both rather quickly.

Finishing her wine, Chaya placed the glass on the counter, braced her hands flat against it, and leaned forward slowly, her expression cold.

“Zoey,” she said softly. “It’s explanation time, Sam. Did you put that rather deep mark on her neck, or did Doogan do it?”

Sam stared at the wine filling the glass. Yeah, she just might end up breaking out her reserve bottle. Tipping it to her lips, she drank half the glass, the light sweetened fruit taste washing over her taste buds and sinking into her senses.

Lowering the glass, she turned her gaze back to Chaya. “I’m not sleeping with Zoey. And I don’t know about any damned mark on her neck.”

The bastard. The least Doogan could have done was remained consistent. For the first time in as long as she’d known him, it seemed he’d marked a lover’s neck. He never did it. He claimed it was against his sexual policy or some shit.

Chaya eased back, though her expression didn’t change.

“You know, Sam,” she drawled as though amused, “I’m in a rather odd mood tonight. Why don’t you just tell me a little fairy tale? A story I might be interested in. Natches finds it rather amusing to try to get his ass out of trouble like that. You can give it your best shot if you want to.”

“Suck my dick, Chaya,” she muttered. Lifting the glass, she finished it, then refilled it.

Did she even have enough wine to make tonight palatable?

Chaya chuckled at the sarcastic demand.

“Penis envy doesn’t become you, Sam,” she chided her gently. “Now, you know, it’s always better to give me the explanations I’m asking for. Otherwise, I can become a problem. Do you want me to become your problem, Sam?”

Sam grimaced at the threat. She remembered the first time Chaya had made that statement.

“I’m not a kid anymore, and you’re damned sure not my fucking bodyguard these days,” Sam informed her.

“No, I’m Zoey’s fucking family.” Chaya’s voice sliced like a frozen dagger. “Don’t turn this into a battle. I’m better at it than you are. And we both know damned good and well you’ve had something you’ve wanted to tell me for a year now and can’t get up the nerve to do it.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “You think I’m scared of the Mackays, Chaya?” She had to laugh at that. “Don’t fool yourself. I highly respect all of you, but I’m not scared of a single damned one of you.”

“Then you’re not near as smart as I thought you were.” Chaya crossed her arms over her dark T-shirt. “Is Doogan sleeping with Zoey? And if so, why?”

“Why would any man sleep with her?” Sam shrugged, trying to ignore the little flare of cutting jealousy. Not that she’d ever had a chance with the black-haired little imp, but hell, she cared . . .

“Sam.” Chaya’s expression warmed for a second, compassion shadowing her eyes. “Don’t you think I know how much you care about her? And we both know Zoey’s in trouble. A trouble you can’t fix for her.”

No, she couldn’t fix it. God knew she wished she could. Hell, she’d even tried to. Wished it had been her Zoey had responded to, that those pale green eyes had lit up at the sight of her, rather than the sight of Doogan.

“Something happened last year,” Chaya continued, her tone softer now. “Something that’s eating Zoey alive and causing you to camp out in your car and watch her place far too often. Now Doogan’s here apparently, sleeping with her. I want to know what’s going on.”

“So you can tell Natches and her brother?” Sam snarled. “So they can lock her down so deep and bury her in so much protection she runs from all of us? That would get her killed faster than keeping my fucking mouth shut.”

Chaya’s expression never changed. “You know better. But push me on this and I will go to Natches. Trust me, and I’ll do what I always do with her. Ensure her protection myself without alerting the men in the family. And before you play so charmingly dumb, I know about Zoey’s little hijinks with Clay’s group of bikers. I know about the races, the motorcycle, the black leather, and the fact that she has horrible nightmares of killing a friend.” Fury flashed in her gaze. “Now tell me what the fuck is going on before I kick your ass myself.”

The problem was, Chaya Mackay, despite the fifteen years she had on Sam, could probably do just that. Kick her damned ass.

Sam pulled free the last bottle of wine and jabbed the corkscrew into the cork. God, she should have bought that bottle of whiskey she was considering just after Doogan showed up.

Rather than using a glass, she tipped the bottle to her lips and took a long drink. Setting the bottle carefully on the counter, she stared back at Chaya silently, thoughtfully for long minutes.

“She was drugged last year,” Sam stated then. “A hallucinogen used to brainwash the victim into believing they had done something they hadn’t done, according to Doogan.”

Chaya stiffened, her expression turning completely emotionless.

“Go on.” She nodded.

Sam swallowed, the action difficult as her throat tightened with remorse and regret.

Briefly she explained the state she’d found Zoey in at her sister’s patio door that cool spring night. Icy cold, dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and brief sleep tank. Her suspicion that Zoey had been drugged had her calling her father rather than an ambulance. The Mackays were like royalty to DHS. She had no doubt they could pull diplomatic immunity if they put their minds to it.

Her father’s orders to hold tight, that Doogan would be there, had infuriated her. But Zoey had been adamant that she had to confess to murdering Harley Perdue. An act Sam knew Zoey simply wasn’t capable of committing.

The blood Doogan had taken from Zoey that night had affirmed his certainty of the drug used on her. Sam’s meeting with Harley at the convenience store had assured her Harley was indeed alive. Then he’d disappeared and Sam hadn’t been able to reach him since.

“He has breakfast with us at least twice a week,” Chaya revealed. “Though Natches doesn’t even tell Dawg and Rowdy about it. When we found him, probably just before daylight after you met him that night, he was barely alive. Someone had tried to carve his insides with a knife. And came damned close to doing it. They also managed a few hard blows to his head. He barely remembers what happened. Two men attacking him, the knife slicing him up, but little else.”

“Wonderful.” Sam pushed her fingers through her hair, her fear for Zoey increasing. “Chaya, he has to show himself to Zoey. She has to know he’s alive.”

“We have to figure this out first,” Chaya retorted. “Why is Doogan sleeping with her?”

That one, Sam was really hesitant to answer.

“Don’t play with me, Sam,” she snapped. “Why is he sleeping with her?”