Katie’s grave had been placed next to her grandmother’s, where she would rest secure between loving grandparents when Doogan’s father passed. Doogan’s plot was below his baby girl’s; her nanny had asked to be buried above her. The middle-aged woman had passed in her sleep six months later when her heart had just stopped beating. Another death Doogan laid at his bastard brother’s and traitorous dead wife’s feet.

His wife’s lover had killed her before the day was out. A gunshot to the head. Doogan had found Regan later in Katie’s room, the gun he’d used to kill himself lying on the floor beside him. The grief and guilt, he’d written before taking his own life, was more than he could bear. He’d believed Catalina. Believed Doogan was divorcing her to be with another woman and taking Katie from her.

Breathing in deep, he strode through the vaulted entryway and through the family room to the office on the other end of the room. His father’s call that he had visitors had pissed him off. The old man refused to tell him who the visitors were, only that they were friends, and someone Doogan needed to see.

There was no one person he wanted to see. The only person he needed to see, he assured himself, was better off without him.

Zoey.

She was better off without him, but letting her go proved to be impossible. He was the last person she needed in her life. A man who couldn’t protect a five-year-old child could never hope to protect a woman who loved adventure. And his Zoey loved her little adventures.

Pushing through the partially opened door to his office, he came to a hard stop, staring at the men awaiting him.

“There you are.” Chatham Doogan rose to his feet, his headful of thick gray hair standing on end in places, his expression surprisingly less somber than normal.

At sixty-seven his father ruled the Doogan mansion with an iron fist after his wife’s death. He told anyone who cared to listen that his precious Illy, Illandra Doogan, would never forgive him if he allowed her home to fall to ruin.

“Father.” Doogan nodded, though he didn’t take his eyes off the man that rose when Chatham did to face him.

“I thought you said visitors, in the plural?” Doogan asked his father.

Closing the door, he strode behind the desk and sat down heavily, watching Graham suspiciously.

“Well, the other three decided they could wait to see you.” His father scratched absently at his head, his gaze questioning. “They didn’t say why.”

“The Mackays felt the meeting would go more peacefully if they weren’t here,” Graham admitted, glancing at Doogan’s father. “Can I have a minute with him, Chatham? I’ll make certain we finish catching up before I leave.”

“Of course.” Chatham nodded, his gaze moving to Doogan warningly. “Don’t start another fight in here, Bromleah. Your mother will be screaming through the halls again if ye do so.”

The Irish was as thick and pure in his father’s voice as it was the day he stepped on American soil as a young lad in his mother’s arms.

“I’ll do my best,” Doogan assured him. “I never throw the first punch, though, if you remember.”

“You just piss a man off enough to do the job for you,” Chatham grunted. “Try not to piss young Graham here off. He’s likely the last friend ye have left in this world.”

No doubt, Doogan agreed silently, watching his father leave the room. When the door closed behind him Graham sat down, his gaze faintly amused.

“He never changes much,” Graham chuckled. “Always as opinionated and determined as ever.”

“Determined to run my life and have an opinion on every mistake he believes I’ve ever made,” Doogan agreed, though fondly. “The world’s a better place with him in it, though.” He sat back in his chair, watched Graham for long minutes, then shook his head. “This isn’t a good time, Graham . . .”

“Yeah, walking away from a woman and tearing her soul out at a time when she needs you most makes things a little iffy when you’re in love with her.” Graham nodded sagely.

Doogan could feel his molars grinding instantly, his jaw clenched so tight.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he gritted out.

Graham sighed heavily. “That Irish only comes out when you let those tightly held emotions of yours slip. Funny thing, though,” he pointed out. “I never heard that accent slip once when you were married, unless you were talking about Katie.”

He’d married Catalina when he’d learned she was pregnant. Love had never been part of the equation. He’d never told anyone that, though. He’d never allowed his memory of his daughter to be marred by the fact that she was conceived before his marriage to her mother. In his youth, he’d felt his child would be hurt by such knowledge.

How stupid he’d been. He should have divorced the day Katie was born and paid off the judge for custody. Had he known then what he knew now, he would have done just that.

“Is Zoey okay?” He pushed the memories back and focused on now. Focused on another loss so deep, so painful that dealing with it was taxing his patience.

“She’s fine.” Graham nodded. “Grieving. Missing you. Living with Dawg.”

Doogan sat up at that news. “Why is she livin’ with Dawg?”

That fucking accent was about to piss him off, Doogan thought, unable to control it just as he was unable to control the hell his life had become without Zoey in it.

“She’s grieving, missing you,” Graham repeated with a snort. “It broke her heart when you walked out and just disappeared. A few phone calls a week won’t heal it, dumbass.”

He just stared back at the other man, refusing to comment.

When he said nothing, Graham sighed heavily. “Dawg was right, it was best they not be here, because you’re determined to keep punishing yourself and Zoey right along with you.”

“You made a mistake comin’ here, Graham,” Doogan warned him, the anger he was trying to hold back slipping free in the low throb of his voice. “Perhaps you should leave.”

“Yeah, for now.” Graham rose to his feet. “But wait too long to fix this, Doogan, and I swear to you, I’ll help the Mackays run your ass out of town when you do return. Then you’ll understand the mistake you’re making.”

“Meanin’?” he snapped, rising as well. “And you’ll run me from no place that I decide to be, boyo. I promise ya that.”

The hard sneer that curled at Graham’s lips had his fists wanting to curl, to meet flesh and expend the fury rushing through him.

“You think your friends didn’t know why you married that bitch?” Graham snapped. “That we weren’t well aware she deliberately let herself get pregnant to trap the Doogan heir into marriage? That when she didn’t have a boy and you refused to touch her again, that she didn’t begin conniving to force you into paying her off for the rest of her fucking life?”

It was the truth. It was the reason he and Eli could never get along. Her younger brother had never wanted to see what his sister had become. He’d become estranged from his family when his parents refused to have her grave blessed, when Doogan refused to allow her to be buried next to the daughter Eli thought she loved. Just as Chatham Doogan had refused to allow his bastard son, Regan, to be buried in Doogan ground, swearing he’d sell every inch of the land if the ‘illegitimate spawn of evil’ was placed anywhere close to the child he killed.

Doogan understood, though. Eli hadn’t seen his sister’s spiteful nature; he’d still been too easy to use. She’d been certain he only saw what she had wanted him to see. Only believed what she’d wanted him to believe. That Doogan had broken her heart, taken her daughter, and left her with nothing.

Eli should have the truth by now. Doogan had allowed the file he’d ordered withheld made available to the agent. Eli wasn’t a boy, he was a man. If he couldn’t use a man’s intelligence to see what his sister was, then so be it.