by Lora Leigh
Sitting down on the chair next to the table he pulled off the first boot, then the second.
Yeah, she’d slept next to him, fully dressed, a time or two. But never like this.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she ground out between her teeth.
“Too bad.” He grinned. “You want to sleep? We’ll sleep and then leave together.”
Her lips thinned, eyes narrowing as she shot him a look of promised retribution before turning and going to the bathroom. He was so damned stubborn, so bossy. The man was a freak when it came to demanding.
And sleeping with him was a very bad idea. And yet, she knew she would do just that.
She hurriedly brushed her teeth, removed her jeans and shirt, leaving her clad only in the boy shorts and tank top she wore beneath them. Something he’d seen her in plenty of times, she reminded herself. She changed the bandage on her leg at the unsightly dark stain of blood beneath it, and hoped a few hours’ sleep would help the healing process.
When she was finished, she left the bathroom, went straight to the bed, and climbed beneath the blankets. She didn’t even pause at the sight of him already propped against the pillow as he typed a message into his phone.
“No later than noon,” he warned her, turning his head to stare at her, his green eyes darker, the latent sensuality on his face causing her breathing to shorten once again.
“Fine. Turn out the light so I can sleep.” She felt like she was suddenly strangling on the heat and desire flooding her body.
She knew this was a very bad idea.
The light went out; the powerful body next to her was close enough that she could feel his warmth. That she didn’t feel so alone.
And she was tired.
So very tired.
FIVE
She was tough, she’d told Tracker before he’d left her in Somerset the day before. She didn’t need his help. She didn’t need protection.
When she’d risen from bed she’d ignored Duke, showered, changed the bandage on her leg again, and dressed in a pair of dun-colored mission pants, matching T-shirt, and the well-worn ankle boots she used while on a job.
She strapped the knife Chaya had given her so long ago to her thigh. The small Glock she carried was holstered and clipped in the small of her back and hidden by the loose fit of the T-shirt.
It didn’t take long to collect the few items that weren’t already stored in the duffel bag she carried while Duke showered. Within an hour after waking she picked up the bag and followed Duke from the room to the Jeep.
It was just another job.
She’d done this so many times she could handle it in her sleep, she told herself as Duke drove away from the hotel.
She would stay at the clients’ home, protect their daughter, and when the threat was taken care of, she’d go to another job.
That simple, that easy.
She stared out at the sun-drenched scenery as Duke drove through the town’s busy business center and into the more rural area leading to Natches Mackay’s lakeside home.
She fought the emotions roiling inside her. Years of anger, pain and betrayal, hopes, dreams, and nightmares.
“Momma was supposed to come get us.” She assured the little girl who lay so still and silent, her face and pretty dress covered with a heavy layer of dust and so much blood.
She patted Jenny’s face, sobbing, her own tears making it hard to see, the fear and the pain that Momma wasn’t coming clawing at her chest. “Momma was supposed to come. . . .”
“You okay?” Duke’s voice pulled her back from the destructive memory. “You’re too quiet.”
“I’m fine,” she forced herself to answer him, just as she forced herself to stay in the Jeep, to breathe, to keep from screaming out in rage.
Inside, the emotions threatened to break through the carefully built defenses she’d erected over the years. She’d gone to war since she was a child, fought, protected, been forced to kill, and never had she felt so off balance as she did now.
Never had she been so aware of the fact that she had spent far too little time doing anything other than going to war.
It had simply been her life. Kill or be killed. Protect or die. That was J.T. and Mara’s motto. Protect or die. It was the motto she’d been raised with right along with Tracker and Chance.
“You’re too quiet.” Once again Duke interrupted her thoughts, pulling her back from that place where she could hide from the implications of what was coming just a little while longer.
“I’m working,” she stated, concentrating on the road rather than the scenery, refusing to track the remaining distance to their destination.
“You’re lying.” The accusation wasn’t unexpected.
“Leave me alone, Duke.”
“I was fifteen when I met Chaya the first time. Did you know that?” There was a heaviness to his voice, an edge that she didn’t understand.
“What does that have to do with anything?” She needed to hide just a little while longer, and he wouldn’t let her.
“The first time I ever saw her was the day she arrived with a dozen DHS agents and dragged my parents from our home in handcuffs. It was the same time I learned they were part of Freedom League, and working closely with Natches’s father, Dayle.” The statement wasn’t filled with anger, fury, or betrayal. It was a statement of fact.
Chaya had been the agent involved in uncovering Dayle Mackay and the remaining Freedom League members as the traitors they were, Angel remembered.
“My parents were Trent and Marie Mackay. Trent Mackay was responsible for the command that sent that missile slamming into the hotel in Iraq. He’s the reason she believed her daughter was dead.”
Angel turned to him slowly, seeing the two-fisted grip he had on the steering wheel, the savage expression on his face.
She watched his jaw work as his teeth clenched and she knew the toll this confession was likely taking on his pride.
“I already knew who sent that missile to the hotel,” she told him, ignoring the surprise in his look. “J.T. and Mara realized who I really was because the news of the arrests in Kentucky had been a hell of a sensation at the time. Then they pulled in everything they could on Chaya. But I was only nine at the time, so they didn’t tell me what they learned. I didn’t remember anything about Iraq until I was fifteen, and then I started asking questions. Once Tracker told me you were a Mackay, it didn’t take long to piece together your real identity.”
The look he shot her was so shocked and filled with offended male pride it almost caused her to be amused. Unfortunately, even offended Mackay pride didn’t have the power to affect the sheer terror building inside her.
“I’ve known since about two seconds after Tracker told me you’re a Mackay,” she stated. “But you’re not to blame for his crimes any more than Natches is to blame for his father’s crimes. Or I’m to blame for Craig’s.”
Duke let that sink in for a moment. “Did your brother tell you that Ethan and I stayed with her and Natches for a while after the arrests?” he asked her when he turned his gaze back to the road.
She could only shrug. “Is it important?” She couldn’t imagine why it would be. “If I don’t blame you for your father’s crimes, then I won’t blame you for being forced to spend time with Chaya.”
He grunted at the comment.
Not that she was completely fair-minded, Angel admitted. There had been a week or two that the knowledge that Duke’s father, Trent, had been the cause of Jenny’s death had sliced at her like a particularly sharp dagger.
The knowledge had dug inside her, infuriated her, until she remembered the man that helped rescue her in Uzbekistan. The same man that nearly lost his mind a year later when a knife had been pushed in her back, piercing her lung; and a year after that, she’d been hit by a pickup driven by one of the men that had kidnapped a pret
een in France. Last year, she swore she remembered hearing him pray when she’d taken a bullet in her side—that one had nearly killed her.
Ethan had to work hard to fix her that time. He operated on her right there in the same shack where they’d busted two terrorists holding a young couple they’d kidnapped while on honeymoon. Tracker and Duke both had yelled at her later. They always yelled at her later for not being careful, for being reckless, for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
She’d spent a week in that shack with only short periods of lucidity that included listening to not just Duke and Tracker yelling at her, but Chance and Ethan as well.
“Ethan and I weren’t forced to stay with Chaya and Natches,” Duke objected, shooting her a cryptic look. “They took us in. The rest of the family was still under investigation. Chaya wouldn’t let social services take us, though. She looked at us and told the agent in charge that she wouldn’t allow another child to suffer, just because hers had been taken from her. When my uncle arrived from Montana and convinced my father’s parents to let him take custody of us, Chaya and Natches actually suggested letting us stay with them. Ethan and I needed to leave, though. Needed distance, despite Chaya’s objections.”
Angel wanted to roll her eyes at the point he was obviously trying to make, but that would take at least a measure of levity. And that was something she just didn’t have and couldn’t fake right now.
“I really don’t want to hear about her,” Angel told him, her tone carefully bland. “Not now. Not later. I’ll protect her daughter with my own life if need be, but I want nothing beyond that, and I won’t give anything beyond that.”
She couldn’t. She simply didn’t have the emotional fortitude to bear the pain it would bring.
The way it was, her heart clenched as ridiculous hope threatened to awaken inside her when Duke turned onto the one-lane, gravel road. She breathed in deep, reminded herself of the many difficult jobs she’d been on. She’d survived those, she could survive this.
“Will Bliss be there?” she asked, more to keep herself from exploding inside.
“She’s with family outside the county at the moment. I think two Navy SEALs, two rangers, and two DHS agents can keep up with her until Natches and Chaya get back to her.”
She nodded. What he wasn’t saying was the fact that Seth and Saul August, distant cousins from Texas and hardened Navy SEALs, had arrived in the county just hours after the attempted abduction then disappeared. They were no doubt watching over her along with the others.
“How’s she handling it?” Angel felt as though she were strangling on her own fears as they drew closer to Natches and Chaya’s home.
“She’s scared.” Duke shot her a worried look as he made the second turn onto yet another gravel road. “Confused. But she’s a lot like you, Angel. She’s doing her best to learn how to help those around her protect her. I know Natches is both proud as hell and terrified of the strength he’s seeing in her.”
She nodded at that.
Bliss looked like a feminine version of her father, all the savage male lines blurred and softened to an exquisite beauty even at fifteen. She was like Natches inside as well, Angel always thought, no one else. She was strong, determined. What no one ever mentioned about Bliss, though, was the fact that a personal challenge was like a drug to the girl. When she won, it was a high for her.
The final turn was made, and Angel knew the twenty-year reprieve was over. She would once again face her mother as a daughter. But she wasn’t three any longer, she reminded herself. Chaya couldn’t quell anything she had to say or any decision she made with no more than a look. It was a privilege the other woman had thrown away the day she refused to come after her daughter.
As the house came into view, she felt it.
First, she felt the sights coming from two directions, the knowledge she was being tracked by a sniper. It was an unmistakable feeling, but in this case, she didn’t feel the sensation when a finger lay on the trigger. She was being watched, nothing more. But she also felt a veil slam down over her emotions.
She’d survived because of that shield that held back fear, mercy, even pain whenever she faced combat. Training, J.T. called it. The mind’s knowledge that the heart had no place there, that emotions would only weaken her, defeat her.
A mile later Duke turned onto the paved road that led to the house. Heavy evergreen vines and shrubs bordered the road on the side the house sat on. Growing tall and appearing impenetrable, the thick, thorny vines of the wisteria twisted and grew within the shrubs, and she knew the smaller, thickly growing vines were a trap just waiting for the unwary.
There were three ways past the natural border that grew nearly eight feet tall. The break at the front of the house when the gates across the driveway were open, another on the lake side of the house, and one that led into the mountains at the back of the house. All three were gated and armed with motion detectors as well as security cameras.
Natches Mackay was not known for his trusting nature.
“Angel, this is going to be okay.”
She turned to him, staring at him, seeing him, and hearing him as she felt herself shutting down inside.
“Of course it is,” she agreed. “It’s just another job, Duke. Nothing more.”
The front door opened and the couple stepped out.
Tall, black-haired, still handsome and powerful, Natches Mackay wrapped his arm around his wife’s back, holding her beside him as he whispered something to her.
His wife didn’t reply. She stared at the Jeep.
Angel slid from the vehicle, saw the flash of distaste in her mother’s expression before it was carefully controlled, and reminded herself—it was just another job.
She’d faced other women that looked at her and saw a killer rather than an agent. A woman that was beneath them because she didn’t wear silk blouses and linen slacks, makeup, or pretty jewelry.
There was a flash of pain as Chaya’s gaze dropped to the knife Angel wore, though. But Angel had expected that as well. The knife had been given to her because she wouldn’t stop crying before Chaya took her to the woman who was to keep her while Chaya was out of the country. It was given to her to shut her up, she guessed. Nothing more.
Keeping her head held high, her chin up, her shoulders straight, she walked at Duke’s side, aware of the look Natches obviously shared with him but refusing to attempt to decipher it.
“I’m glad to see you made it.” Natches nodded to her as they stopped at the single step to the cement porch.
Angel merely nodded in return. What did he expect her to say? She’d more or less been forced to show up.
“Come in. I put coffee on when you turned into the drive,” Chaya invited, turning from them and leading the way to the house. “I’m sure you have questions.”
“I’ll need to know how much time I have before your daughter arrives back at the house. And I’d like a chance to walk through the property, ascertain its strengths and weaknesses for myself, then we can discuss any concerns I might have over coffee if you like.” It was just another job.
So why did it feel as though she was breaking apart behind that shield she was hiding behind? And why did the memory of her own screams when she was only three haunt her?
• • •
Duke caught Natches’s concerned look as he and Chaya turned back to them slowly. Restraining himself was never easy for the other man, Duke knew. He would have been more prone to drag Angel into a hard embrace as he welcomed her to his and Chaya’s home. Chaya would have beat him to it. The need to drag Angel to her, to hold her daughter was like a hunger burning in her eyes.
Until Angel had stepped from the Jeep, her military correct shield in place, her “soldier” face more than just an appearance.
He’d felt her shut down. The second that door had slammed shut on her emotions, he’d felt it. Just a
s he’d felt it every time it happened after he’d joined Tracker’s team five years ago. This wasn’t the woman Duke knew. It was the woman she’d been at one time, but in the past few years, she’d softened until the hardened edge only showed itself minutes before going into danger.
The problem was, Angel wasn’t merciful, she wasn’t nice when she stepped into the soldier role. And neither she nor Chaya needed more pain at the moment.
“Very well.” Chaya surprised him when she gave a sharp nod, but Duke caught the edge of her tone. “Would you like a brief rundown of the house or would you prefer to go through each room on your own first?”
Angel turned to her slowly, her blue-ringed gray eyes flat and hard.
“A brief rundown would be preferred, then I’d like some time to go through on my own,” she replied, the ice in her voice nearly causing Duke to wince.
He’d give anything to warn her first about the one room he was sure she had no idea existed.
“Natches, would you like to show Angel around?” Chaya requested as she laid her fingers against his arm. “I’ll take Duke to the kitchen for coffee and a slice of Ms. Tully’s buttercream cake. I know how he likes that.”
Angel showed no reaction, no preference either way.
“I can do that.” Natches kissed her cheek gently, the tenderness, the obvious love he felt for her apparent in the gesture. “We’ll be right back.”
“Come along, Duke, you can tell me how Memmie Mary’s doing,” Chaya stated, turning her back and moving for the kitchen. “We rarely see the cousins these days. . . .”
Angel turned to Natches, watching the gentleness in his expression slowly evaporate as his gaze flickered with disapproval.
That look almost pierced the distance she placed between her and the situation. For some reason, his disappointment threatened to matter.
“I don’t have a conflict with you, Natches, and I have no intentions of doing or saying anything that will hurt Bliss’s mother unless she strikes first,” she assured him, watching the disappointment ease, though his expression remained somber. “I’m here to do a job, just as I offered. Nothing more, and nothing less.”