by Lora Leigh
Tightening his hands on the steering wheel as his teeth clenched furiously, he hoped he came face-to-face with the bastard who had the delicate, too damned fragile Lyrica hiding behind a Dumpster, terrified for her life.
They’d made a mistake. Whoever had dared to strike out at her for whatever reason had made a costly error. Because he’d make sure they paid. They should have done their homework better, should have checked closer into the fact that Kye was a friend. The very fact that Kyleene Brock kept Lyrica’s number on her main contact list should have been a clue.
She was important to Graham.
He’d encouraged Kye in that particular friendship. Had gently pushed his sister in the other woman’s direction to ensure Lyrica stayed on the periphery of his life, at least.
He had no intention of becoming involved with her. He wouldn’t have become involved with her because of the simple fact that he hadn’t wanted to hurt her.
He didn’t want to break her tender heart.
Now that might not even be an option.
He’d make damned sure that he broke the bastard, ensuring the dynamics in his and Lyrica’s relationship would change, though. Whoever it was, he was a dead man walking.
As he sped toward the interstate, the Viper taking the curves with a roar of power as it easily gripped the pavement, he was aware of a pickup that he passed, as well as the man most likely driving it.
The highway entrance was just ahead, and, calculating his intended speed and that of the man behind him, he quickly revised the plan he’d been considering to rescue Lyrica.
“Incoming call. Secured. Encrypted,” the computerized voice announced.
“Accept,” he ordered tersely.
“Need help?” Elijah Grant, formerly with the Federal Protective Service and now part of the small team Graham headed in the county, asked as the headlights in Graham’s rearview mirror assured him the other man had turned around and was attempting to follow him.
With the motor Jed Booker had put in that truck, Elijah might just be able to keep up if Graham cooperated.
“I don’t have time to stop,” Graham stated. “If you can stay on my ass until we’re close, then I could use some cover.”
“You have to slow sometime,” Elijah told him. “I’ll be there and can slide in fast.”
“I’ll need the passenger seat. You’ll have to be able to keep up.” Hitting the interstate, Graham pushed the Viper faster. “If you can stay close, we’re not going far.”
“As long as we’re on the interstate I can keep up,” Elijah assured him as they roared up the ramp onto the all but deserted highway. “We hit more county roads and I’ll fall behind.”
The truck’s motor was strong as hell and the speeds the vehicle had been logged at amazed even Graham. It wasn’t nearly as steady on mountain curves as the low-built Viper, though, nor did it have the Viper’s full speed. But Elijah could at least keep him in sight on the interstate if Graham stayed at the speed he intended.
“You’ll be fine, then,” Graham promised. “Just follow me and keep my ass covered when I collect my package.”
“Got it,” Elijah promised. “Is there any chance of compromise?”
“Not short term.” The short call was safe, the security on the line still showing green rather than the yellow that would indicate possible encryption weakness. “Long term is iffy.”
“I’m on your ass, then, and prepped to cover.”
The line went silent, the call well within the limited parameter outside of which anyone could compromise it.
God, he hoped Lyrica was still safely tucked away at the last GPS pinpoint he had.
Glancing at the monitor, he tracked the destination and knew he was only minutes away from the exit leading to London.
She was only a few miles from the turn, on a little backstreet just behind one of the older, remodeled hotels that had been popular decades before. He knew the area and was fairly certain she’d found a way to push her slight body into one of the chimney alcoves that had mostly been boarded or bricked up once the fireplaces were removed.
She would be well hidden as long as no one managed to GPS her phone. Though tracking it and jamming it at the same time would be difficult. And tracking would be impossible once the battery was pulled.
Unless it was bugged.
But why bug it if they already had it jammed? And if it was bugged, they would have found Lyrica before Kye contacted her.
What the hell was going on?
Silently, he went over every piece of intel from the past few months and couldn’t find so much as a hint as to why Lyrica would be targeted. There were no current operations in the area. Graham and his team hadn’t been called out in months to provide backup or to cover any current investigations. And the Mackays weren’t even in the country . . .
The Mackays were on vacation overseas, out of reach of two of the young women who were well-known to be important to them and to Timothy Cranston. Could someone have decided to make a vengeance strike against Dawg Mackay while he was gone?
Hell, even that didn’t make sense. Dawg would return the second he knew one of his sisters was hurt or in trouble. If something happened to one of them, then he and his cousins would blow back into town like a vicious wind. There would be no hiding once Dawg began tracking the perpetrators. And once they were found, Natches Mackay would make sure a bullet found their brains, if Dawg didn’t beat him to it.
It didn’t make sense yet, but it would, soon.
Tires screamed but held as he hit the exit and shot through it, forced to lower his speed to make the tight turns that would lead into the backstreet he was looking for.
Elijah was all but on his bumper as Graham forced himself to slow to the legal speed limit. Whoever was looking for Lyrica would still be out there. There was no reason to make anyone suspicious before he managed to find her and get her out of town.
He wanted a chance to figure out what was going on and who’d decided to come after her with a gun before they had any more information other than the fact that she’d disappeared.
“Call Eli,” he ordered the computer.
“Yeah?” Elijah answered before the first ring finished.
“We’re close. Give me enough room to allow me to back into the alley. There’s no exit there.”
“Got it.” The truck immediately slowed. “I have cover ready. I’ll pull in behind you. Give me a second to check the rooftops before you move.”
“Got it.” Disconnecting, he drew to a stop, then reversed quickly and backed to the end of the alley that the GPS had pinpointed as Lyrica’s location.
She had to be here.
God help him if she wasn’t.
God help whoever had her if they’d found her. If she was hurt, he’d find them, and he’d ensure they regretted that mistake in ways they could never imagine.
—
The sound of vehicles pulling to a stop caused Lyrica’s breath to catch. She didn’t dare move. The glow of lights was shining all around her, possibly compromising the shadowed little alcove she was hiding in.
Her back was killing her and her legs were cramped. It felt like she’d been there for hours, still too terrified to move, to do anything more than just breathe. Silent tears slipped from her eyes. She’d prayed silently, certain each sound was a return of the assailant.
And he had returned at least once.
She’d watched his shadow, felt fear screaming through her as he’d tried to shift the Dumpster, moving it enough to wedge himself in between the side of it and the wall, as he seemed to be attempting to look behind it.
He’d thrown the lids open instead and looked inside. He may have glanced behind it, but he’d cursed silently, moving around the alley and kicking boxes seconds later.
She’d nearly screamed in fear at the sound of glass breaking and another cat squalling seconds after he left that second time.
Now the lights would make it far easier to see her.
Moving
slowly and biting her lip at the agonizing feel of her cramped muscles being forced to move, she moved into position to run. Crouched, forced to huddle on her hands and knees, tears falling from her eyes again, she promised herself if they caught her, she wouldn’t beg.
A Mackay didn’t beg, she reminded herself. If one did, then she would have done so by now. She would have begged Graham to explain last winter. She would have begged him to love her, perhaps. There wasn’t a lot she would have begged for, but those things, at one time, she might have considered.
If only Graham had managed to get here in time to save her . . .
FOUR
“Roofs are clear,” Elijah confirmed as Graham checked the clip to his handgun before pushing it back into place and chambering the first round.
“Keep your eyes open,” Graham ordered.
As he stepped cautiously from the Viper, the motor still throbbed powerfully, waiting for the lightest touch to throw it into gear. Leaving his door open, he stepped around to the passenger door, opened it quickly, then moved into a protective position at the edge of the Dumpster.
“Lyrica, move it,” he commanded.
For several long seconds nothing moved.
“Lyrica, baby, come on, move it. We don’t have a lot of time.”
What if she’d been found? What if she’d had to run again and hadn’t been able to reengage the battery in her phone to contact him?
He was ready to turn to Elijah and order him to call in the team when he heard the first sob. A second later her dark head peeked around the far edge of the Dumpster and she was moving to him.
Her pale face, filled with stark fear and hope, was scratched, the shoulder-length mass of silky black hair falling mussed around her face as she struggled to get to him. Reaching out, he shoved the Dumpster a few inches out of the way and reached in and grabbed her shoulders before hauling her into his arms.
“Oh god. Graham.” Sweet, warm, and far too fragile, she laid her head against his chest, her trembling fingers fisting into his T-shirt as she shuddered in his arms.
“Let’s get out of here before we’re seen.” Moving quickly, he eased her into the passenger seat. “Get down as far as you can, and keep your head down. Let’s get you out of town before anyone’s the wiser.”
Slamming the door closed, Graham loped around the front of the car, gave Elijah the signal to head out, then slid into the driver’s seat and threw the vehicle into gear. Before accelerating he pushed her head to his lap and pulled the jacket he kept behind the passenger seat over her head and shoulders. Then he followed Elijah with a surge of power.
“We’re moving slowly out of town,” he told her as he felt her fingers pressing against his thigh, her cheek far too close to the erection swelling beneath his jeans. “We’re going to just take it easy, draw no attention to ourselves, and once we reach the interstate we’ll make sure no one’s following.”
“What about your tags?” Her voice was muffled, her heated breath wrapping around the heavy flesh of his shaft like a wicked, ghostly touch.
“Tags are counterfeit,” he grunted. “Think James Bond.”
She was silent for several long moments, but her nails were flexing against the denim covering his thigh in a sensual little caress sure to drive him crazy.
“Are you and Dawg related?” There was a heavy sigh of resignation in her voice. “The Jeep was like that before I bought it.”
Graham had to grin at the thought of Dawg’s Jeep Wrangler.
“Did he change the engine out before he let you have it?”
“Of course.” She sighed. “Took him and Natches two weeks to get it ready for me.”
Graham didn’t doubt that a bit. The male Mackays were careful bastards—the females of the family, on the other hand, were far too soft, gentle, and fragile.
“We’re coming up to the next alley. There are two men in the shadows up ahead. Don’t move, baby.”
The windows of the Viper were dark enough that he was certain she wouldn’t be seen, especially with the black leather jacket covering her. The figures remained motionless where they were hidden between the two buildings, no doubt watching his and Elijah’s vehicles carefully.
Theirs weren’t the only vehicles on the small side street, though. Another had pulled out behind them, and a pickup waited just ahead to turn onto the street. Each of them was carrying more than one occupant, giving Graham a reasonable assurance of security as they passed.
Elijah’s left turn signal blinked on; a second later Graham flipped the right signal of the Viper on. They’d converge at the entrance to the interstate a mile or so away.
Where Graham was keeping the appearance of casual boredom, Elijah on the other hand was moving a little fast, his body language nervous as he appeared to be watching everything and everybody and to be suspicious of it all.
If someone was going to follow any of these cars, it would be the pickup with the redneck acting like he had something to hide. And if anyone did follow him, Elijah would take care of it.
Keeping his speed just a mile or two above the limit, the driver’s-side window down halfway, country music loud enough to assure anyone who cared to be nosy that he didn’t give a damn who saw him, Graham continued toward the interstate.
The tags showing on the car were Lexington tags. The direction he would take would make it appear he was heading that way. And he’d make damned sure no one but Elijah was anywhere around when the tags flipped and he made the turn toward Pulaski County and Somerset.
“This is crazy.” Lyrica shuddered as they neared the entrance ramp and Graham flipped his turn signal on again. “Why would anyone follow me like this? Why would they try to shoot me, Graham? It’s been over a year since Dawg, Rowdy, and Natches helped Brogan take down the rest of that homeland terrorist group. Besides, that was Brogan’s deal. Why come after me?”
Because the Mackays had far too many enemies?
“Hell if I know, baby, but we’ll figure it out.”
“Stop calling me ‘baby,’” she snapped, her ire clear in the sharp retort. “I’m not your latest flavor of the month.”
He snorted at the title. “Lucky for you. If you were, instead of snapping at me like a little brat you’d be putting that pretty mouth to a much better use. Sure you don’t want to reconsider the position?”
She was still, silent. He realized he was holding his breath as he awaited her answer. Damn, her lips were so close to the throbbing, steel-hard shaft that he could barely hold back the demand that she release him, that she show him the sweet heat of her hungry little mouth.
He was crazy.
Evidently he had a death wish, because there was no doubt Dawg Mackay would kill his ass if he ever found out Graham had touched his sister. Or that he’d encouraged—hell, begged—her to touch him in such a way. And that didn’t even count what Natches Mackay, her cousin, would do. Natches’s daughter, Bliss, was a Mini Me replica of Lyrica, so Lyrica gave the other man a hint of what his daughter would look like as she grew older.
Lyrica was Natches’s favorite among Dawg’s sisters, it was said. And it was rumored Natches had threatened to take his very elite, well-blooded sniper rifle out of retirement for any man stupid enough to hurt her.
And she would be hurt, Graham admitted. He was the wrong man for her. And this was the wrong time for him.
“Can I please sit up?” Querulous and tense, her impatient voice almost had him grinning as he sped up, the Viper cutting through the night with smooth power.
“For now,” he relented. “But try to keep your head lower than the headrest, just in case.”
She came up immediately, the jacket flipping from her head and pulling forward to rest on her lap.
“I need water.”
From the corner of his eye he watched as she licked her lips, as much from nerves as thirst, he guessed.
“In the bag at your feet.” Glancing at the rearview mirror, he watched Elijah’s lights pulling closer.
�
��Incoming call. Secured. Encrypted,” the computer announced.
Lyrica’s head jerked around to him as she tore off the plastic surrounding the water bottle’s lid.
“Accept,” he commanded.
“Hey there, buddy.” Elijah’s voice was friendly, relaxed. “It’s getting lonely out here.”
The other man was alone with no apparent tails.
“How about pancakes?” Graham drawled.
“Sounds great. Same place as before?”
“Meet you there,” Graham agreed before disconnecting the call.
Elijah would shadow their retreat and meet them back at his house. Increasing his speed, Graham drove comfortably, all too aware of every move Lyrica made beside him as she lifted the water to her lips, drank, then stared into the night silently.
She was thinking.
A writer, a thinker, Lyrica was the quiet one of the four sisters Dawg had found six years before. At twenty-four, she spread her work between her cousins’ various established businesses but hadn’t settled on any one vocation.
She wasn’t content. Graham had seen the restlessness just beneath the surface over the years. He’d ached to help her relieve it, and though he knew better than to touch her, he couldn’t seem to release the need to do just that.
“Dawg picked the wrong time to go on vacation.” She sighed, lifting a still-trembling hand to brush back the long fall of heavy, inky black hair that fell over her brow.
“Or was someone just waiting for Dawg to be absent long enough to get to you?” Graham asked softly.
That thought had been bothering him since he’d headed out after her. Why would someone strike now? Was it coincidence? Like the Mackays, he didn’t believe in coincidences. Someone had known that Dawg, Rowdy, Natches, and their families would be gone, and they had waited, believing that getting to Lyrica would be easy.
But they hadn’t counted on Graham. They’d jammed her phone, but nothing could have jammed the secured satellite and cell encryption on the stealth phone he used.
“Why would anyone want to get to me, though?” Her voice was firm—the trembling fear that had been in it when he talked to her on the phone wasn’t there now. “What would be the point?”
