The marina, Kelly, Zoey, and the girls, Zoey knew. They were never, at any time left to work at the marina without one of the men close by. Today, Natches and Chaya were scheduled.

Zoey saw the look the men shared and she knew, she absolutely knew in that second that no one should have known that Rowdy wasn’t going to be here, but they’d known Natches and Chaya were running late.

Tim finished sealing the evidence bag, then handed it over to Alex.

“I’ll contact Mark and Tyrell and we’ll have a team in place by morning,” Alex stated, the ice in his voice as scary as it was in Rowdy’s.

Mark and Tyrell owned a private security firm out of Virginia staffed with all former military and Special Forces personnel.

“I want to know why.” Rowdy’s tone was graveled, a certain indication of his level of fury.

“There’s been no chatter where Somerset’s concerned,” Timothy informed them. “I would have known immediately if there were.”

“Tracker’s here.” Alex turned to the group as they all glanced to the office window where three black, powerful motorcycles were easing through the police cruisers still parked outside. “Looks like he has Grog and Angel with him.”

Tracker.

Rowdy watched as the other man secured his cycle, then straightened and pulled the full face helmet from his head and stared around with narrowed eyes.

Six-four, black hair, and intense blue eyes, the mercenary had seemed to take an interest in staying in the county lately. Dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and heavy black motorcycle boots, he looked like a fight waiting to happen. Unfortunately, he was far more dangerous than he appeared as well.

Grog, Tracker’s suspected brother, was just as tall, his eyes a startling shade of vibrant green, propped one foot at the side of his cycle before setting his helmet on the chest rest in front of him.

Between them, Tracker’s second in command, Angel, drew every male gaze in the parking lot as she pulled her helmet from her head and released the long, sun-kissed blond strands of hair held captive beneath it.

Silken waves fell to just below her shoulders, giving her face a softer, sensual appearance. Until Rowdy glanced at her eyes. An intense violet blue, like a sapphire starburst she often had to use contacts to disguise, the color distracting from the fact that a complete lack of mercy gleamed in their depths.

That was, if a man got around to looking in her eyes.

Today she was dressed in figure-hugging jeans with leather chaps strapped to shapely legs, boots similar to Tracker’s, and beneath the leather riding jacket she slid from her shoulders and threw over the seat of the cycle, she wore a tank top that did nothing to hide her feminine curves.

Angel was an enigma within a group he and his cousins had found impossible to pull any concrete information in on. Even Timothy, if he could be believed, knew very little about the group. He trusted them though, and that always managed to rouse Rowdy’s suspicions.

“What the hell are they doing here?” Rowdy growled as the three moved past the officers positioned outside and entered the convenience store.

Seconds later Angel stepped into the office, her gaze going immediately to the girls who stared at her with some kind of damned hero-worship. Somehow, Angel had managed to “run into” the girls and their mothers enough times that Rowdy had begun to see a pattern.

“Angel.” Annette’s face lit up with pleasure. The girls moved to the other woman, delight filling their expressions as she was pulled into one of the group hugs the Mackay daughters were prone to bestow. “I thought you left.”

For a moment, Angel’s face softened and Rowdy swore he glimpsed relief on her face.

“We were on our way.” Her voice was so damned gentle Rowdy was taken aback. “When I heard the report the four of you might have some trouble I thought I’d come back and check on you.”

She touched Annette’s hair so softly Rowdy doubted his daughter felt it, then touched each girl in the same manner. The action appeared completely subconscious, as though to assure herself they were all safe.

Rowdy lifted his gaze to Tracker. The other man was hiding it well, but he was furious, no doubt with Angel’s determination to be there.

“How can we help?” The chill in his voice nearly had Rowdy smiling.

“I don’t know if I can afford you and your group, Tracker,” he began wryly.

“There’s no charge, Mr. Mackay.” That comment brought Angel’s attention to him immediately.

Rowdy saw the roll of Grog’s eyes as he leaned against the doorframe and the look of suffering patience on Tracker’s face as he slid a glance to Angel.

“Tell him, Tracker.” Not once did Angel glance back at him nor did her expression change.

Tracker turned his gaze to Rowdy and nodded firmly. “No charge. She won’t leave until she’s certain the girls are safe. We may as well have something to do while we’re here.”

Oh, they were going to have a talk soon, Rowdy decided. Angel wasn’t known for her soft heart or compassion toward little children. She wasn’t known for her compassion or mercy to anyone or anything.

“I assume you’ll be keeping the girls together?” Angel spoke softly, but it was the girls’ mothers whose gazes she sought. “If you do, I would like to spend some time with them.”

She wanted to protect them.

“Angel.” Tracker’s muttered warning was quiet enough Rowdy didn’t hear it; he only saw the other man’s lips moving.

“Zoey, why don’t you and your sisters take the girls to the other room, get them some drinks or something,” Rowdy suggested. “Give us a few minutes here.”

The four sisters were moving instantly and pulling the girls from the office. As though sensing their wives were leaving the protection of their brothers and cousins, Eve’s, Piper’s, and Lyrica’s husbands along with Doogan, stepped into the store with them, placing themselves in defensive positions.

As soon as the girls were herded from the room, regret flickered in Angel’s gaze for a moment before her shoulders straightened and she was staring back at them with cool unconcern.

“Why are you so concerned about our children?” Chaya, always suspicious, but no doubt in full paranoid mode now where her daughter was concerned, voiced the question.

“I apologize.” Ice dripped from Angel’s voice now but Rowdy caught the look of regret, of pain, that haunted her gaze for just a moment. “On second thought, I’m certain you have this covered . . .”

“You have insisted on placing yourself in a position to gain our daughters’ trust and affection,” Chaya continued, furiously, and Rowdy doubted she caught Angel’s subtle flinch. “And I want to know why. Because I know women like you and I know it’s not for the sake of those kids out there.”

Rowdy watched Angel’s face and for the briefest moment, he saw the soul-deep hurt flash in her eyes. Chaya had just wounded the younger woman far deeper than she would have believed.

“Chaya, that’s a little harsh . . .” Christa objected.

“Women like me.” Angel seemed to muse on the comment, her voice soft, without ice, without emotion, as she faced Chaya. “What kind of woman do you assume I am, Mrs. Mackay?”

“My damned name is Chaya,” she was informed, a snap in Chaya’s normally pleasant tone. “You’ve been here for a year, and I see you at least once a week. You’re no child nor an employee so you cut the Mrs. crap right now.”

Rowdy hadn’t heard that tone since she’d first come to Somerset over a decade before.

As Chaya spoke, Angel stared back at her, unblinking, her expression even more emotionless, if possible. The starburst blue of her eyes went from sapphire to chipped ice, though.

“What kind of woman do you think I am?” Angel asked again.

“Chaya.” Rowdy stepped forward, laying his hand on her shoulder easily. “We’re all upset . . .”