The pressure was there now, just behind her temples, threatening to develop into the agonizing strikes of sickening pain.

Programmed.

Rubbing at her temples Zoey fought to find a way around it. Natches and Chaya played a little game whenever they couldn’t tell each other something directly. They proposed a little story to the other. A “what-if,” their daughter Bliss had laughingly confided. Zoey understood imagery, imagination, painting words into pictures, but she couldn’t find an image to push past the pain to the truth. If she could, she’d sketch it, paint it, give a picture to the hell she knew waited beyond the pain, then she’d do just that. She could face it, if she knew for certain what the truth was. Was it blood and death? Or was it a voice whispering in her ear, painting memories into her brain that weren’t really memories?

The pain was building in her head, sapping her strength, her ability to think.

Pushing back that particular angle of the problem facing her she turned back to Doogan instead.

He was there because of an investigation, he’d told her. Top-secret stuff she’d thrown at him, irritated at the answer. Somber, filled with regret, his gaze had remained on hers as he nodded at the description. Then he’d pulled her into his arms and drew her to bed. Not for sex, though. How he’d known she’d needed him to just hold her, just protect her for a few hours while she slept, she didn’t delve into at the time. But he’d done just that. He’d held her, his arms wrapped around her, her head tucked against his shoulder as he sheltered her while she slept.

Her thoughts held her until Billy pulled into the parking lot behind the gallery and activated the retractable roof to slide into place.

Davis Caston was waiting for her, just as he promised, a check already made out to her when she turned over the paintings. He eyed a quiet, brooding Billy warily.

She had to give Billy credit, though. Every time she’d asked him to accompany her anywhere, he’d always played Mackay bodyguard perfectly. Just as he did this time. Albeit silently. Mackays rarely did so silently.

Thanking the gallery owner as well as the buyer, Zoey felt satisfaction fill her. It had been months since she’d made a really good sale. And this one rated there at the top. She might even be able to squirrel a little away.

“We did good then?” Billy flashed her a smile as he opened the car door for her.

“Yes, we did. I can now officially pay my bills next month,” she stated happily, sliding into the passenger seat of the little convertible.

“And your loss in the race.” He winked cheerfully, closing her door and striding to the driver’s side. Minutes later, the top down once again, they were heading out of town to the bank Zoey used. One outside Somerset, and she always hoped, her family’s nosiness.

Billy cleaned up good, she admitted. Black jeans and a dark gray cotton shirt buttoned conservatively, the cuffs rolled back only twice and neatly at that. Dark blond hair, a little long with the slightest wave. At twenty-three, he was considered one of Somerset’s newest bad boys. Zoey considered him a friend, except on race nights.

On race nights she didn’t let friendship interfere.

“I’m going to beat your ass next race,” Zoey promised, smothering a yawn.

“Sure you will,” he laughed, glancing at her as she leaned her head against the headrest tiredly. “Take a nap, Zoey, I swear I won’t speed. I’ll wake you when we get to Danville.”

“Make sure of it,” she muttered, letting her eyes close as she slid her dark sunglasses over her eyes. “Or I’ll tell Natches.”

“You’d think those boys would get weaker as they got older,” Billy sighed. “I think they get stronger as they get older.”

Zoey had no doubt in her mind. They also got more protective and confrontational. Not to mention more nosey.

The lack of sleep the night before and the pure irritation had exhaustion tugging at her. With the easy speed Billy kept the car at and the warmth of the day, she was nodding off, slipping into a light nap despite her best intentions.

How long she’d slept, she wasn’t certain, but before she knew it they were pulling into the bank’s parking lot. Depositing the check, she glanced around the bank casually. She swore she could feel someone watching her. No one in the bank paid any attention to her, though. Shrugging the feeling away, Zoey collected her receipt and returned to the car. Once Billy got on the road again, she slipped back into a light nap.

She could hear the music, and Billy’s low voice as he sang along with it. She was comfortable, the music soothing. For a while.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Billy suddenly yelled, fury pulsing in his voice as the car surged with speed and her eyes snapped open in alarm.

“What . . . ? What the hell?” Zoey came awake in a snap as she was suddenly staring at a hole in her windshield.

“Get down!” Billy screamed furiously, shifting gears and pushing the little car harder.

Turning her head, Zoey peeked between the two sports seats, eyes wide as she saw the car racing behind them and the male passenger aiming at them with a handgun.

“Oh God!” Flipping around, she stared at Billy in horror. “Dawg . . . they’re all out of town, Billy. Dammit, I didn’t bring my fucking guns either,” she cried, suddenly terrified.

“Jack. Call him.” Tossing her his phone, his hand went back to the wheel, the other one shifting gears as the little car screamed around the curves. “He has friends close. Call!” he screamed as another shot hit the windshield.

“Billy?” Jack answered, his dark tone curious.

“Jack, help us!” Zoey yelled above the whine of the motor as the windshield shattered in front of her face. “We’re about three miles past the county line heading back from Danville in my car . . .”

The line disconnected.

“He hung up on me.” She turned shocked eyes on Billy. “He hung up on me.”

“He’s getting help!” Billy was fighting the steering wheel, pushing the car as hard as he could, the back end fishtailing around a hard curve. “Jack don’t waste time.”

She wished she’d texted Doogan before she left. Hell, now she wished she’d had Dawg go with her after all. No one would have dared attack her in this way.

Billy’s phone rang.

“Jack . . .” she answered desperately, nearly crawling into the floor as a bullet whined close to her ear.

“Zoey, listen to me.” Doogan’s voice was calm. “Billy’s coming up on a side road on his right. Take it.”

“Side road ahead on the right,” Zoey cried out as more shots rang out. “Take it.”

“Oh man, that road will kill the car . . .” he moaned.

“Take it!” she screamed as a bullet shattered the dash between them.

Billy cursed furiously as he slung the little car into the turn. The back end fishtailed as Billy fought the wheel, the veins in his neck standing out, a snarl on his lips.

“Jack there?” Billy yelled.

“He’s here,” Doogan answered.

“Yes,” Zoey answered, bracing herself with one hand on the dash, her feet digging into the floor as the car rocked, tires sliding before biting into asphalt and propelling the car forward.

“Oh, my poor car,” she cried as more shots rang out, pelting the back of the car as the pitted road banged the undercarriage.

“Zoey, ask Jack if he remembers what happened in San Diego,” Billy yelled.

Before she could ask, Jack’s voice came over the phone.

“Tell him I got it,” Jack growled. “You’re almost there, Zoey.”

“We’re almost there . . . Billy!” Turning, she saw his head slump. “Billy!” she screamed. “Oh God. Doogan . . .”

The car was still racing hard and fast as dozens of cycles poured from the trees bordering the road. Zoey ignored the sound of return gunfire and a crash of metal behind them as she fought to control the steering wheel.

Suddenly, a tall lanky body jumped from one of the cycles to the back of the car and lifted Billy, tossing him literally on top of Zoey as the other man slid into the seat and seconds later brought the roadster to a smooth stop.