by Lora Leigh
“I was going to Dawg’s,” Rowdy said softly, suspiciously, as Tim finished collecting the blood Bliss had protected in her closed fist for DNA. “But Natches was running late to watch the marina.”
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 . . .”
“Someone just attempted to abduct my daughter.” Her voice broke causing her to swallow tightly before going on. “To know why a grown woman is trying to ingratiate herself into four teenagers’ lives. A mercenary, she sells herself to the highest bidder, along with those two.” She flipped her hand to Tracker and Grog. “A killer. What makes you think my daughter is any of your concern?”
“Fuck. Let’s go . . .” Grog hissed behind Tracker. “Now.”
“As I said, I obviously stepped out of line, and in my concern didn’t consider my words . . .”
“And what is your concern?” Chaya cried out, the sound of her voice causing Natches to wrap his arms tighter around her.
“Easy, Chay,” he whispered gently, but his eyes were on Angel, just as Rowdy’s were.
Rowdy wondered if his cousin saw that flash of complete devastation in those odd eyes as she glanced away for a second before meeting Chaya’s gaze again. She was just standing there, taking Chaya’s fury on her slender, young shoulders as though she deserved it for some reason.
“Don’t any of you pretend you haven’t asked yourself why she’s so interested in our children.” Chaya’s gaze went around the room, fierce and demanding.
“Rowdy, Natches.” Tracker stepped forward, easing himself in front of Angel as Grog stepped closer as well. “We’ll be going now. If you need our assistance, please don’t hesitate to call the service. They’ll get a message to us.”
“This is the wrong time to leave, Tracker.” Rowdy sighed, pushing his fingers restlessly through his hair. “The question is easy enough.”
“The question shouldn’t have been asked.” Grog’s gravelled voice, rarely heard whenever Tracker was around, came with the broad soldier’s step to the other man’s side. “We were here when your family needed us, without charge or question. We could have refused that contract on Lyrica instead of trying to find out what the hell was going on and gone on with our lives. No one the wiser.”
“I want to know why?” Chaya demanded, her voice rising as Natches stared back at Tracker and Grog coolly. “Tell me, Grog. Tracker.” She faced them with a strength and confidence that came from years as a DHS agent working with Timothy’s maniacal temperament.
“Rowdy,” Tracker stated softly. “We’re walking out of here. We came to help, and it was obviously a mistake . . .”
“She has a point, Tracker.” He breathed out roughly. “We’ve all been asking ourselves why since you showed up last year. If you walk out of here without answering that question it’s just going to make all of us real nosy. You know what happens when Mackays get nosy.”
“Don’t turn this into a war,” Tracker warned for his ears alone. “Wrong move.”
“If it becomes a war, then you’ll start it. I’d hate it, we all would. But if Mackays were suddenly in your business without so much as an introduction, you’d be asking the same questions.” Rowdy had his suspicions, they all did, but they’d pushed them back, ignored them, hoping Tracker would explain his actions before their patience was worn too thin. The attempted abduction had placed their security in the forefront of all their minds, though, and the question of friendly or unknown enemy was now imperative.
The knowledge of that was in Tracker’s eyes. He was a smart man, a damned intuitive man; he had to have known this was coming, and still, he’d remained in the area.
“I don’t need your protection, Tracker.” Angel pushed herself between the other two men, her expression still, her eyes like fractured sapphires frozen forever in whatever catalyst had shattered them to begin with.
“I wasn’t trying to protect you,” Tracker assured her. “I merely wanted to get back on the road.”
And he was lying. Rowdy saw it in his eyes. And she knew he was lying. Lowering his gaze to stare into hers Rowdy saw her knowledge as well. She knew the man she followed had placed himself between her and the Mackays as though concerned for her welfare.
“Why do you think I give a damn about your kid?” Angel faced Chaya without so much as a hint of anger, reserve, or concern. “You’re not a stupid woman, Chaya.” Pure confidence cloaked her, the appearance unmarred by so much as a hint of doubt.
Chaya’s nostrils flared as suspicion narrowed her eyes.
“Come on kids, let’s play nice on the playground.” Dawg stepped forward as though anything could break the tension at this point.
“Stop.” Natches’s gaze went to Dawg instantly.
He knew what his cousin was doing. Dawg would always stand before Natches and the world if his cousin would allow him to do so. What Dawg didn’t want was the truth . . . Not right now.
“You’re not answering me, Mrs. Makay,” she said softly, a shadow of bleak, hollow pain turning her voice from ice to a whisper of beauty.
“Girl, you’re testing my patience,” Chaya informed her disdainfully. “And you don’t want to do that.”
“Bliss is my sister . . .” Angel stated. “I care, because she’s my sister.”
“Whoa. Fuck me . . .” Dawg stepped back, his eyes huge, going from Angel to Natches with the same shock reflected in his voice.
Natches laughed. Genuine amusement. It was frightening for the very fact that nothing said was the least bit funny.
“Good try, sweetheart,” he drawled. “I was a bastard, but I was a careful one.”
“You are not my father.” Her eyes flickered over him with something approaching humor. “I would have had to kill myself.”
“Then how is Bliss your sister?” Natches growled. “Kid, you need to take this act somewhere else, fast.”
Angel didn’t answer, but Tracker and Grog both moved closer to her as she stared back at Chaya, eye-to-eye. The silence was deafening now.
The same arch of brow, the same curve of lips. Darken her hair, or was hers lightened? Son of a bitch. Rowdy almost stepped back as his eyes narrowed at the roots of the blond strands. Just the smallest hint that the blond wasn’t entirely natural.
There had been something familiar about her. Something that didn’t make sense. But this was unbelievable.
“That’s not possible,” Natches stated in that voice that made Rowdy worry that Trudy was going to come out and play. “Chaya has no other children. Just Bliss.”
But Chaya wasn’t speaking. She was barely breathing. Her gaze was going over the other woman’s face and if Rowdy wasn’t mistaken, she was trembling.
“Is Bliss your only child, Mrs. Mackay?” Angel asked and for a moment Rowdy glimpsed fear in the woman. Angel was renowned for her lack of fear. She would, and had more than once, charged through flames, a flood, and it was rumored, a category five hurricane to follow Tracker and Grog.
Chaya still hadn’t spoken. Her gaze kept going over Angel’s face as though searching, desperation and agony reflecting in her eyes.
“Stop this,” Natches snarled. “Get her the fuck out of here, Tracker.”
Angel swallowed tightly and Rowdy realized the girl was holding on to the icy façade she placed between her and the world with the thinnest thread.
“Angel.” Tracker said her name softly, gently, his hand tightening on her upper arm. “Let’s go darlin’.”
Angel stared into Chaya’s eyes, the fractured blue of her own eyes appearing more like a shattered sapphire than before.
“Is he your lover?” Chaya’s voice caused Rowdy to flinch. Hoarse, filled with such pain that for a moment Rowdy’s gaze flashed murderously as it caught and held Tracker’s.
“No, ma’am,” Angel answered, that unfailing politeness never cracking.
“Angel . . .”
The younger woman’s breath seemed to hitch, and if Rowdy wasn’t mistaken, her lips nearly trembled. “I’m so sorry I’ve upset you and your family,” she said then, her tone so unfailingly polite and sincere Rowdy felt his throat tighten. “I promise, I won’t bother you anymore. I’m ready.” Reaching around with her ot
her hand she patted Tracker’s fingers gently as they lay on her upper arm. “I guess we’re heading out after all.”
No one stopped her.
Rowdy watched Chaya, the paleness of her skin, the agony in her brown eyes as she watched the young woman leave. In Natches’s eyes there was pure, demonic wrath. If Rowdy didn’t stop him, he’d go after the girl. What really scared Rowdy was the fear he’d find that damned gun he’d named Trudy.
Outside, the sound of the powerful motorcycles revving caused a brutal flinch to jerk Chaya against her husband. Tearing out of his arms she raced from the office, a harsh sound of pain escaping her throat as the sound of a cycle racing through the parking lot to the exit echoed through the room.
Chaya stopped at the door, her fingers tight on the wood, her breathing rough, loud.
“She’s lying,” Chaya whispered, tears roughening her voice as Natches pulled her into his arms again, holding her to his heart as her fingers clenched in the material of his shirt. “She’s lying . . .” she whispered again.
Rowdy met Natches’s tormented gaze and in them he saw the suspicion that Angel wasn’t lying.
“She’s lying . . . That’s not my baby. Oh God, that’s not my Beth . . .”
If Rowdy wasn’t mistaken, even Chaya wasn’t convinced.
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