SIX

“We’re clear inside and out.” Elijah stepped into the kitchen, expression intent as he shifted the tool belt he wore about his hips into a more comfortable position. “Won’t matter if they have a bug every half inch in this place, they’re not going to broadcast through the diffusers I made.” There was pure triumph gleaming in his dark eyes as he propped his hands on his hips and stared back at Graham with a grin. “You and your little Mackay are wrapped up snug as a bug in a complete blanket of privacy.”

“Enough so that it would tip someone off?” Graham asked the other man.

The privacy was all well and good, but as much as he wanted it, he didn’t want to become suspect simply because nothing was getting out.

Elijah shook his head, shaggy hair falling over his eyes for a moment before he brushed it back. “The diffuser perfectly mimics normal broadcast interference while occasionally allowing a series of prerecorded television and radio conversations I put together to simulate normal, everyday conversations. In this case, phone calls, sports shows, and male conversations. There are no female voices or even hints of such. Trust me, you’re covered.”

It wasn’t the first time the man had created a device designed to completely stymie possible listeners.

“Any trace of watchers?”

The chance of anyone having identified him or suspected that Lyrica was in the vehicle with him as he drove out of London was thin to none.

“Nada,” Elijah assured him with another quick shake of his head. “And I have about a dozen motion cameras set around the property sending data to my laptop. If anything even resembling a human hits the program it’s running through, then I’ll know about it.”

Were their bases really covered so well?

“How could they know you have her?” Elijah kept his voice low, his back to the windows. “There’s nothing that could have connected her to you.”

Graham nodded absently before leaning against the counter behind him and crossing his arms over his chest as he considered his options.

Staring back at the other man thoughtfully, he considered the angles he could see. Elijah was doing the same, he knew. As laid-back and relaxed as Elijah appeared to be, Graham could detect the tension just beneath the surface.

“No one’s contacted me yet,” he murmured. “Dawg has a system set up . . .”

Elijah cleared his throat uncomfortably. “He took you off the list the night before he left.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, his gaze met Graham’s regretfully. “He didn’t say why. Brogan called me to let me know a few hours before I passed you heading out of the county last night.”

Graham straightened slowly, anger beginning to simmer inside him. “Then let them look for her. Once the bastard and his asshole cousins get home then I might let them know where the hell she’s at.”

“Come on, man.” Elijah grimaced. “Don’t put me in the middle here. Jed and Brogan find out I know shit and haven’t told them, then they’re going to try to hurt me.”

“Try” being the operative word.

“Then duck faster than they try to hit,” Graham growled. “The least he could have done was let me know he didn’t fucking trust me to protect his sister anymore.”

Elijah rubbed at the back of his neck as amused mockery filled his expression. “Maybe protecting her safety isn’t what he’s worried about, boss. Dawg has it in his mind it’s her virtue he’s protecting, I think.”

“And why the hell would he worry about that?” There were days Graham was damned thankful for his training and his ability to lie in the face of his own guilt.

Elijah laughed as knowing surprise filled his face. “Come on, man, you two get around each other and it’s like setting a fuse to dynamite. It just hasn’t exploded yet.” His brows lifted. “That I know of anyway.”

Graham’s jaw clenched. “Keep your damned mouth shut about her whereabouts,” he ordered the other man again. “Let’s see if any of them are smart enough to know where she’s at.”

He pulled her cell phone and battery from his back pocket then and tossed the two on the kitchen table. “I’ll call the airfield and authorize the chopper for you. Fly out to D.C. and meet with Doogan. Give him the battery and phone and tell him to find out who the hell is tracking it and how they managed to block her entire contact list from incoming or outgoing calls. When he locates the bastard, I want to know where the hell he’s at.”

“Damn, I have to meet with Doogan?” Elijah asked him in disgust. “Come on, Graham. That ain’t right. I’m convinced that man has bad mojo or some shit. Every time I get around him, I get my ass shot at.”

Graham’s boss wasn’t the sanest man in the world, but he focused his insanity at the enemy rather than at any friendlies.

“You have thirty minutes to get to the airfield. I want you back this evening and I want you taking care of those cameras. You keep the outside secure; I’ll work on keeping Lyrica out of sight.”

And the ideas he had for that threatened to make his jeans damned uncomfortable.

“But Doogan gets me shot at,” Elijah muttered, repeating the earlier accusation. “I don’t like that man, Graham.”

“Damn, Elijah, what makes you think I care if you like him?” Graham glared at him, amazed at the agent’s cowardice in the face of the new assistant director of Homeland Security. “Tell him I said if he gets you shot, I’ll shoot him. How’s that?”

“Does he listen to you?” Elijah frowned back at Graham far too seriously.

“For god’s sake, are you two?” Doogan wasn’t that bad. The man was a little eccentric, but Graham knew he wasn’t actually dangerous. He just tended to get a little overly daring when he had the right agents for the job. No doubt he would consider Elijah the right man for some job that could put him in the line of fire. But hell, that was part of the job description.

Right?

Invariably, someone did get shot if they weren’t extremely careful.

Graham was always extremely careful.

It sounded as though Elijah needed to learn caution.

“I feel about two whenever I get around that bastard,” Elijah muttered. “Hell, I was almost cryin’ for my mommy last year when he hijacked my ass from FPS. And trust me, my momma wouldn’t give a shit. That should tell you how desperate I am.”

“You have twenty minutes to get to the airfield,” Graham stated blandly. “Give Doogan my regards.”

“Give Doogan your regards?” Elijah grumbled mutinously as he threw Graham another disgusted look. “I’ll give him something. My damned Glock shoved straight up his ass. That’s what I’ll give him.” Then his dark eyes narrowed. “And you’re forgetting something. Sam Bryce knows exactly who went after her last night. You think she’s not going to tell her boss?”

Sam Bryce knew better. Until he gave the word, she wouldn’t say shit if Dawg himself held a gun to her head.

Elijah turned then, opened the door, and stalked from the house as Graham continued to stare at him expectantly, intently.

The fact that the agent wasn’t happy with his current orders didn’t worry Graham. Elijah would follow the program whether he liked it or not.

The question was whether the man would keep his former commander out of the loop. The fact that Lyrica was Brogan Campbell’s future sister-in-law and that Elijah’s orders were more personal than agency related threatened Graham’s assurance that he would do as he was told.

Fuck it.

Knowing he’d been cut out of Lyrica’s protection list without so much as a notice changed all the damned rules. He wasn’t risking possible exposure to call Dawg, his cousins, his buddies, or his friends. If they didn’t like that then they could kiss his ass.

Lyrica’s safety, and her place in his bed while she was there, was more important than Dawg’s paranoia where his sister’s virginity was concerned.

Pushing his fingers restlessly through his hair at the thought, Graham moved to the door Elijah had stalked through and tested the lock. He then pulled the shades down over the windows before adjusting them to allow him to glimpse anyone moving outside, while hiding the inside away from curious eyes.

Moving through the house to adjust the rest of the shades similarly, he took his cell phone from the belt holster he wore and quickly pulled up Sam’s number.

“Hey there,” she answered, her voice soft, her tone familiar. “How’s it going?”

“As expected,” he answered. “Sis still there?”

“Still sleeping.” Amusement filled her voice. “She was up most of the night pacing the floors and cursing you.”

Graham grinned at the knowledge that Kye had no doubt cursed him loudly.

“Sorry about that. She may be staying there a while longer.”

“Not a problem. She filled the car with cases, so I think she may have suspected. Tell me, did you contact the lost puppy’s owner?”

The lost puppy. No doubt Lyrica would be incensed if she knew the title she’d been given for the call.

“Naw. It’s a cute little thing, though.” He grinned as he spoke. “I’m thinking about keeping it for a while. It’s lonely around here by myself.”

Silence filled the line for long moments. “The puppy has a home, my friend. Don’t forget that. And the owner might not be the sort to appreciate anyone thinking he can steal it away.”

“Then I guess they should have been more careful about the care and security of the little thing,” he growled. “As well as the fact that they dropped a friend from puppy-sitting duties without informing him. I might have been more inclined to give the puppy up if he had.”

Sam laughed.

The muffled sound was rich, filled with amusement and wicked knowledge.

“You are in so much trouble, my friend,” she continued, laughing. “And I can’t wait until the fireworks. I think your sister and I will find front-row seats to the spectacle.”

No doubt they would, and sell extra tickets in the process for the hell of it.

Graham snarled silently. “I used to like you.”

“Sure, you did—that’s why you tried to stick me with good ole Doogan when I applied for this position. I haven’t forgotten that, you know.”

Doogan really wasn’t that bad, Graham told himself as he disconnected the call and shoved the phone back into the holster pocket. Hell, he’d never had much trouble out of Doogan himself.

Except for that little fiasco in South America.

Graham frowned as he set the alarms to the house and the fenced main yard.

There was the accident in Russia . . .

He paused and stared out at the pool.

Doogan had nearly gotten them both killed in Cuba a few years before . . .

Okay, so maybe he was that bad, but hell, Doogan had a dirty job. For as long as Graham had known the man, Chatham Doogan had carried a hell of a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. No matter how many times things had gone from sugar to shit, Doogan couldn’t have done better . . .

Well, he could have refrained from sleeping with the daughter of that dictator in South America. And no doubt he could have held back just a little when he beat the shit out of that Kremlin guard for hitting his little wife . . .

Dammit.

Doogan was a damned good friend anyway.

—

Lyrica slept until late afternoon, awakening with a dull headache and weary resignation. She was stuck with Graham until Dawg returned home. That knowledge didn’t help the pressure building in her temples in the least. The memory of the flames consuming her earlier only increased her certainty that if she didn’t get away from him, and quickly, then there would be no denying him, no matter what he wanted. No matter how much it would destroy her.

Rising from his bed—his bed.

Yep, she was all but officially part of the Graham Brock fuck-me club. The one she had sworn to his sister she would never join.

Kye was going to kill her, there was no doubt. And it wouldn’t be a merciful end.

Graham’s sister would cut a friend out of her life so fast for becoming focused on her brother that it would make her head spin. She didn’t care about letting anyone and everyone know that hooking up with her brother was a betrayal of their friendship. And she had stuck to her word every time it had happened.

Lyrica might have focused on Kye initially because of her fascination with Graham, but it was the friendship that had grown in the past year that had become more important to Lyrica. That and the knowledge that Graham went through women nearly as fast as other men went through underwear.

Graham of course didn’t wear underwear. That little piece of information had been relayed by last June’s bimbo, DeeDee or something. She’d been very smug, very triumphant as she informed Lyrica and Kye of that little fact after his sister made the same observation concerning his women.

Not that DeeDee seemed concerned with keeping him. She hadn’t been. Evidently it had been enough to achieve the status of his flavor of the month. She hadn’t lasted a month, Lyrica thought with a grimace. Kye had instantly squealed on the other woman to Graham, informing him with sisterly disillusionment that whether or not he wore underwear was information she really hadn’t needed.

DeeDee had been dropped instantly.

The other woman still blamed both Kye and Lyrica for her untimely exit from the bed of the Stud of Pulaski County, as Lyrica’s sister Zoey called him.

It wasn’t far from the truth.

Moving quickly from Graham’s bed to Kye’s bedroom and slipping into the massive walk-in closet her friend had invited her to make use of whenever she needed, Lyrica hurriedly chose jeans, a violet silk top with tiny straps, and violet sandals.

There was no point in even glancing at the bras hanging in the corner; Lyrica knew they didn’t fit. Kye was far more ample in her cup size. Clothes in hand, she locked herself in her friend’s bathroom, showered and dressed, then dipped into Kye’s vast store of makeup and hair care products.

An hour later, she stepped back into the bedroom only to come to a stop, her head lifting defiantly at the sight of Graham as he leaned casually against the bedroom doorway.

He’d changed from the light cotton pants he’d worn earlier. Jeans, a white button-down shirt, and boots covered the lean, powerful body, but nothing could hide the aura of seductive intent that filled his expression.

“You could have told me you were awake.” The gleam of hungry interest in his eyes had a flush rushing through her face.

For a second the memory of what had happened in his bedroom before she’d collapsed into the bed flashed before her eyes.

Graham sitting between her spread thighs, his tongue buried inside her. The way he’d pushed her into the chair next to the bed and buried the head of his erection between her lips.

The feel of it.

The taste of him.

The release that had torn through her each time.

“Have you contacted Dawg yet?” Pushing her hands into the front pockets of her borrowed jeans, Lyrica forced herself to break the lock he had on her gaze.

“Not yet.” There was an edge to his voice that had her frowning back at him in confusion.

“Have you tried to?” That little glimmer of anger in his gaze was her first indication that if her life hadn’t already gone to hell then it was well and truly on its way there now.

“Can’t say that I have.” An arch of his brow, a tightening of his lips, and Lyrica felt her heart begin to race furiously in excitement.

Glancing away from him, she prayed for patience for several long seconds before focusing on him once again.

“Why haven’t you contacted Dawg? You have to get ahold of him.” How else would he know she was in trouble? That she needed him? “He, Rowdy, and Natches need to come home. What if Zoey’s in trouble, too?”

There was just one of Graham, and there were two men after her. What if he was hurt?

She felt her knees weaken at the thought. Graham could be killed . . .

But so could Dawg, Rowdy, and Natches. There was Alex, her cousin Janey’s husband. And Shane Mayes, the new sheriff. His father, Zeke, and stepmother, Rogue . . .

Oh god, everyone she knew would try to help her and they could all be hurt. What had she done? By coming back to Somerset she was placing everyone she loved directly in danger.

“I think I can handle this, Lyrica,” Graham assured her as her head spun with the knowledge of what could happen. “Dawg should have thought of what would happen if I learned I was taken from the list of those to be contacted if you were in trouble. Now he can guess as to who’s protecting you.”

“Pissing contest,” she said faintly, trying desperately to keep her wits about her.

She would have to find a way to leave the house and Graham. She would have to figure out where she could go, where she could hide. She couldn’t ask anyone she knew to help her. She couldn’t countenance pulling anyone else into danger, even her mother’s lover, Timothy, an ex–Homeland Security agent.

Timothy would never trust random agents to protect her. He would instantly contact Dawg. Then her brother and their families would fly home. Hell, Timothy would have them flown home.

She had to leave.

And she was going to have to do it quickly.

—

Graham watched as Lyrica’s face whitened, her slight body almost swaying only seconds after she informed him that Dawg had to return. Now she wasn’t arguing with him, wasn’t insisting that he call—she was angry.

Terror.

He could see that deep well of fear shadowing her eyes as her mind worked through the implications and the danger to those she loved suddenly rushed through her mind. And, having realized it now, that swift, mercurial little brain of hers was searching, sorting, considering, and weighing her options.

Her escape from him.

He almost grinned. At least she was thinking of him, no matter how angry he made her.

“I’m sorry you were dragged into this. I should have thought,” she finally said, shaking her head before staring back at him with such vulnerability it tightened his chest, and for the first time in his life, he felt something where his heart was supposed to be—melting.

Hell, someone besides his sister really gave a damn if he lived or died for them.

“Lyrica, sweetheart, this is a child’s game as far as I’m concerned,” he snorted. “Whoever had the balls to come after you hasn’t been covering their tracks as well as they thought they were. I won’t know just who they are but where they are, and exactly what the hell is going on, within forty-eight hours. And trust me, once I have the answers, I’ll have their hides for even daring to think they could strike out at you without repercussions.”

He was amused.

In the past hours he’d reached out to several underground contacts and sorted through the rumors and hints of jobs up for grabs. What he was piecing together was damned interesting. Even more interesting was the fact that if he was right, then his prey would be within striking distance even sooner than he’d imagined.

All he had to do now was wait for Elijah’s return to begin making contact and making the commander of that little group sorry he’d ever dared to take such a job without talking to Graham.

“Children don’t play with guns.” It was obvious he wasn’t convincing her.

Straightening from the door frame, he stepped back. “Come downstairs. I have the house secure, so we don’t have to worry about being overheard. And I have dinner ready.”

“I can move back into the room I normally use, then,” she stated, instantly piecing that one together.

Graham chuckled. She had always had the most incredible ability to make him laugh. He’d always liked that about her.

“We’ll discuss that,” he lied, amused. “Over dinner.”

Turning and moving down the hallway, Graham restrained his satisfaction when he realized she was following him.

She was still thinking, though. That wasn’t a good thing. Had she pushed aside whatever plans she was making after those first few minutes, then he wouldn’t have been nearly as concerned. But she was still building on whatever plots and plans were rolling through her mind.

Making his way downstairs, he listened for the pad of the leather soles of her sandals. He recognized the outfit she wore, but he’d be damned if he would let his sister ever wear it again. The way it shaped Lyrica’s pretty little body would be forever branded into his mind.

The violet silk of the strappy little top did very little to hide the fact that she was braless. The slim fit of the jeans hugged her hips and thighs like a lover’s caress and made him damned jealous. Hell, he wanted to touch her like that. Delicate little toes gripped the thongs of the sandals and revealed the pearly pink of the polish she’d painted them with. The whimsical color was so damned girly and flirty he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.

“Have a seat.” Gesturing to the small table sitting in front of a set of shaded windows, Graham moved to the counter and the plate of cold sandwiches he’d just finished making when she passed the silent alarm he’d set to notify his cell phone of movement.

Still silent, she moved across the room and pulled out one of the four chairs.

Damn, when had he begun actually sensing when Lyrica’s Mackay genetics were kicking into overdrive and that far too intelligent brain of hers was beginning to plot world domination? Or at the very least, some scheme designed to make him totally insane.

Normally, Kye was right there with her. At those times, he actually developed heartburn. Now, though, it was worse. It wasn’t heartburn—the hairs at the back of his neck were actually starting to lift in primal warning.

Snagging a bowl, he dumped a healthy portion of potato chips into it then lifted the platter and moved both to the table where Lyrica waited.

As she watched him with wide, shadowed eyes, her hands clasped nervously in her lap, he had to restrain the curse hovering on his lips.

Son of a bitch, he was going to spend all his time trying to find ways not just to keep the assailants out, but to keep Lyrica inside as well. And there was no way to be effective at both.

Placing the platter and bowl in the center of the table, Graham retrieved the plates, set them out, then filled two glasses with ice and sweet tea while he considered his options.

There were several ways he could forestall what he sensed would be an attempt by her to run, to protect everyone she loved by trying to hide, rather than dealing with this. Each would be completely effective, though all but one had several drawbacks.

Keeping her tied to his bed was his particular favorite, but if she wasn’t into that, then he doubted he’d find much pleasure in it. He could lock her in the basement and seduce her there. The apartment-size lower floor was secure, all but unbreachable, and fully furnished. There were far too many pieces of furniture that she could use as weapons once she realized she was pretty much a prisoner, though.

That left one last option. Confronting her with it.

Pulling out his chair, he straddled it, placed his forearms on the table, and watched her, waiting, knowing it was coming.

That gleam of mutiny. The fiery fight that filled her, the temper that was always just out of sight, making an appearance.

“Don’t you stare at me like that, Graham Brock,” she ordered him, voice low, lips tightening. “No one died and made you the boss of me.”

There it was.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he suggested softly, hearing the deep, unconscious rasp of command in his voice. A sound he’d rarely heard since coming home. “Convince yourself of that if you have to, Lyrica. Whatever helps you sleep at night. But if you slip out, if you run, if you give even a fucking second’s thought to facing this alone, then I promise you—take it to the fucking bank and cash this one, sweetheart—I will make damned sure you understand exactly how I can, and I will, ensure you never do something so stupid again.” Sitting back, he placed two sandwich halves and a handful of chips on her plate, pushed it to her, then served himself.

Her eyes hadn’t left his face. His expression hadn’t changed.

“Wanna try me?” he finally asked.

Pounding hard and heavy already, the pulse at her neck throbbed harder, faster. Her face was flushed, her gaze edged with an arousal he’d more than anticipated.

She cleared her throat before answering him. “Not at the moment.”

“And here I was hoping you would.” His teeth bit into the sandwich and he was rewarded with the faintest twitch of reaction from her.

Hell no, she had no intention of trying him. At least, not anytime soon. And in this case, he’d lied—he’d prayed she wouldn’t. Some lessons were best learned through pleasure rather than a need to prove exactly who was more dominant, who was the boss when it came to doing what he did best.

Protecting what he claimed as his.