“I don’t want to fight you, Graham,” Doogan snapped, forcing his fingers to uncurl. “Leave this be.”

“She cries all the time. She’s like a ghost. She turned the remaining details and the position of overseer of the pact over to another agent and isn’t even interested in it now.” The surprising information had Doogan staring at Graham in confusion now.

“Why would she do that?” he questioned the other man. “It makes no sense.”

“She said she’s done with it.” Graham shrugged. “Hell, she’s a Mackay, who knows why they do things. And as you said, it’s none of my business.” Contempt filled his voice. “The day will come when I’ll tell you the same damned thing, though. She’s none of your business. And you’ll listen. I promise you that, I’ll make sure of it.”

Before Doogan could question him further, Graham stomped from the office and from the house. He didn’t stop to keep his promise to the old man, Doogan thought, sitting back down wearily. No doubt, he’d catch the blame for that one eventually.

Because it was his fault.

The thought had him glowering in brooding anger at the fireplace across the room. Empty, cold; the dark bricks looked like the yawning mouth of empty fucking dreams from where he sat.

Fuck.

“Yer makin’ a mistake, boy.” His father stepped into the room, watching him with that patient, somber expression Doogan hated. “That woman was drawin’ ya even before Katie was taken from us. Even I heard the way ya spoke of that woman causin’ havoc in Kentucky whenever. And it was no coincidence ya petitioned your godfather for the annulment when ya did. Ya knew ye couldn’t stay away from her, didn’t ya?”

He’d petitioned his godfather, a bishop in the Catholic church, for an annulment. Catalina was fighting it though, swearing they shared a bed, when they hadn’t.

Doogan stared into the fireplace with the desperation of a man searching his soul rather than the empty space that only rarely held the warmth it was created for.

“Ah, Brom, yer mother will be yellin’ at ya later, ya know,” his father warned him. “Call it drafts in an old house all ye need to. We both know the sounds of her wailing and tears, don’t we, son? Tonight, they’ll keep us both awake, aye?”

Yes, his mother haunted them. He’d accepted it the night of Katie’s death. They eerie sounds of his mother’s cries had sent chills racing up his back. He only prayed tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights, though he knew better. He swore he could feel her staring at him now, her Irish temper ready to erupt.

“She was a fine woman, yer mother.” Chatham sighed heavily. “Loved to do the things that made a man terrified for the loss of her, she did. Rode those horses hell fer leather, laughin’ with joy when they reared and thought to take the reins from her. And she’d loved that wee little girl a’ ours, didn’t she? I thank the Lord daily she left us before Katie was taken. We’d have lost ’em both had she not.”

“Stop . . .” Doogan snapped.

“Stop, ye say,” his father grunted. “Stop, Da. I’ll hear na more, Da,” he snarled. “Well, ye’ll be hearin’ your mam tonight, ye will. Mark my words. When the midnight hour opens the doors betwixt here and heaven, she’ll be a-ragin’ at ya. Mark ma words she will be.”

Doogan came to his feet furiously. Casting his father an irate glare, he stomped from the room, determined to escape the truth.

“Run, boy, all ye like. She’ll be waitin’ for ya when ya return,” Chatham yelled at his retreating back. “And ya know she will be.”

Run? Hell. He’d stopped running from his mother’s temper when he was a lad. Because his da was right. She was always waiting when he returned.

Two Weeks Later

Cumberland, Kentucky

Zoey pulled her suitcase through the house, the padded wheels almost silent, the weight of the bag negligible with the ease of movement.

Good thing, she thought; now wasn’t the time to be carrying it.

With that thought, she entered the kitchen to face the family that had gathered around her, supported her, comforted her. And now, she hoped, was willing to let her leave.

Sitting with the various Mackays, in-laws, and out-laws as she liked to call them, was Harley. Harley Matthews though, rather than Perdue. Leaning back in a kitchen chair, his shaggy dark brown hair lying around his face, his blue eyes quiet and intense, he gave her a little wink when he caught sight of her.

He’d been a little worse for wear the night Jack had tried to kill her and Doogan, but his head was harder than anyone imagined, it seemed.

“Hey, sis,” Dawg greeted her gently. “Everything good?” He asked her that every morning. He worried, and in the time she’d spent with him, the hours they’d spent talking, she understood why. Just as, she hoped, he understood why she’d felt smothered and restrained by that worry.

“I hope the cleaners are finished at the apartment because I’m going home.” Zoey faced her family in her brother’s kitchen as they sat around the huge table drinking coffee.

Dawg, Natches, Rowdy, and their wives; Timothy and her mother; her sisters and their husbands were all present that evening. Timothy had arranged the meeting after receiving the final report on the status of the pact between the three motorcycle packs. Zoey had turned the negotiations over to the female agent who had assisted her for the past two years, her heart no longer in the adventure.

With the report on the pact were the final reports on Jack’s activities and the events that led to his death at his brother’s hand.

Billy was home from the hospital and under the care of several medical techs provided by Homeland Security. The motorcycle pack Jack had led was finally released with the exception of Jack’s three co-conspirators and the firing of several human resources employees from Fort Knox.

The past weeks had been hell. She just wanted to go home, hide, and figure out what to do after the news she’d received herself that day sank in.

Everyone stared at her silently, their gazes moving from the suitcase at her side, then back to her face.

“You don’t have to leave, Zoey.” Christa spoke gently from Dawg’s side. “You know we’ve enjoyed having you here.”

“I’m ready to go home.” She couldn’t rage here. She couldn’t cry, grieve, or let herself find the comfort she’d learned that morning that Doogan had given her before he left.

“All right.” Dawg nodded, shocking her with his answer as well as the somberness in his gaze. “Do me a favor, though?”

“What?” she asked warily. He’d agreed far too easily.

“Let me and Natches come over in a few days and redo the security. I’ll never sleep at night worrying about you and the baby otherwise.”

She froze for a second before her gaze jumped to her sisters. But they were just as shocked. They hadn’t told. Then Zoey turned slowly to her mother.

Her mother, Mercedes, stared at Timothy, a frown on her face, her arms crossed over her breasts.

“Timothy?” she questioned him warningly.

“Not me.” Tim’s hands went up, denial creasing his face and filling his eyes. “Stop glaring at me.”

“I knew you were at the doctor’s office this morning,” Dawg sighed. “Jenkins is an OB/GYN, Zoey. I’m not a fool, sweetheart.”

No, he wasn’t a fool.

“You are not to tell Doogan,” she informed him, suddenly afraid he would do just that. “None of you are.”

“Zoey.” Graham drew her attention. He was Doogan’s friend, the one person in the room who would call him the quickest. “That’s not our place, sweetheart. If you want Doogan to know, then you can tell him. We’re here for you, though. However you need our support.”

However she needed their support.

She needed Doogan, ached for him, missed him desperately. He’d called her several times a week since he’d left, checking on her, sometimes just discussing the day when he called late at night. But he hadn’t mentioned coming back. He hadn’t told her why he left as he had.