Waving Elijah from the room, Graham locked the door before turning back to her, his eyes tracking over her slender figure.
She was dressed in white shorts and a sleeveless shirt. White leather sneakers covered her feet, though her clothes and the shoes were dirt streaked now. Her fragile arms and legs were scratched and heavily bruised, the sight of them striking a match to the rage already simmering inside him.
“Dawg and the others will be here soon,” he told her, striding across the room to stand beside the bed. “Are you leaving with them, Lyrica, or are you staying here?”
He didn’t expect her family to demand she leave, but with Natches, anything could happen.
She looked up at him, vulnerability darkening the emerald depths of her eyes as her lips trembled momentarily.
“Answer me,” he growled, his fingers curling into fists at his sides at the thought of her being taken from him again. “If they demand you leave, Lyrica, what will you do?”
She licked her lips nervously, the resigned fear that filled her eyes slowly evaporating as that sparkle of determined will began to return.
“What do you care?” she demanded mutinously, color beginning to return to her pale face as she pushed herself into a sitting position.
Before he could answer, a determined knock at his door sounded.
“Graham, let me in!” Kye cried out. “I know she’s in there. Let me in.”
Grimacing at his sister’s demand, he turned away from Lyrica’s question and moved to the door instead. As soon as he unlocked it and pulled it open, he was all but run over by his sister in her haste to get to her friend.
“Oh my god.” Coming to a stop in front of Lyrica, Kye rocked back on her feet, staring at her friend in shock. “Lyrica, sweetie, you have to stop getting into trouble,” she demanded, her voice thick with tears. “I don’t know if my nerves can take much more.”
His sentiments exactly, Graham thought with a spurt of affection for his sister.
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that—promise,” Lyrica said with heavy irony. “Why don’t you be a real friend, Kye, and get me some clothes or something? I really need a shower.”
Kye glanced back at him in question.
Nodding, Graham let his gaze move over Lyrica one more time. She wasn’t shaking now, and the terror that had held her in its grip seemed to be relaxing marginally. Not that he could blame her for any of it, but he needed her fighting.
“In a minute, I’ll do just that,” Kye promised as she turned and dragged the chair Graham kept by the bed into place where she could face Lyrica.
Graham watched in resignation as his sister sat down, crossed her jean-clad legs, and stared at her friend like a prosecutor prepared to drag a statement free.
“Ah, Kye,” Lyrica groaned, her head hanging as she braced her hands on the mattress beneath her. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t have any answers for you. I swear I don’t.”
Graham leaned against the door frame, almost grinning at the mutiny in Lyrica’s voice. His sister could be a demanding little wretch when she wanted answers, and that look on her face was well-known.
“I haven’t asked any questions yet,” Kye snorted. “I was more concerned with how you’re feeling.” Concern filled her face as she reached out to push back Lyrica’s hair and check the scratch on her face. “Lyrica, I told you not to be out driving at night, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Lyrica sighed.
“You didn’t listen to me, though, did you?” Kye demanded almost angrily.
“Kye, regardless of what you think, I don’t obey your every whim.” Amusement mixed with the exasperation in Lyrica’s voice. “Come on, I’m okay, right? Let’s just focus on that. And once you get me some clothes, I can get a shower and face my brother and cousins and god only knows who else before they arrive here soon.”
Kye’s head lifted, her eyes narrowing as she turned on Graham then.
“I’m not leaving again,” she stated stubbornly.
Graham frowned back at her. “You know the rules, Kye,” he reminded her. “You can stay with Sam, or I’ll have you flown out to California. It’s your choice.”
He didn’t leave room for argument.
“I hate this,” she snapped. “Lyrica’s my friend, Graham. She shouldn’t be stuck here alone.”
His eyes widened at the outburst as a deliberate chuckle left his lips. “What am I? She’s not alone, Kye. I’ll be here and god only knows who Dawg Mackay will try to force me into allowing to stay. I won’t have you endangered by this, and besides, how am I supposed to seduce her if you’re here to run interference? Think about that one, since it was your damned idea.”
Whatever argument was brewing in her sharp mind was thrown into reverse as Lyrica suddenly swung her head around to look at him, her eyes narrowing as he turned and stalked from the room.
He might as well put it out in the open now, he thought. He’d be damned if he’d let Kye’s little rule about being her friend affect his chances of keeping her in his bed any more than he’d let her brother’s objections.
She was his. He’d already made his mind up, and by god everyone else could step the fuck back or else he’d just push them aside. As of tonight, her objections could go to hell. She wanted him just as damned much as he was aching for her, and he was damned well about to do something about it.
—
Lyrica turned and stared back at Kye, who seemed to look at everything in the room but her.
“What have you done?” she asked her friend wearily. “Kye, dammit, I thought we agreed that sleeping with your brother was against the friendship rules or something.”
Kye’s gaze swung back to her then, the militant light gleaming there making Lyrica’s neck itch in warning.
“Well now, that was just before someone decided to try to kill you, right?” Kye burst out, her hands gripping the arms of the chair so tight her fingers paled. “This is one of those exceptions to the rules. I told him if he had to seduce you to protect you, then I’d rather you be his lover than see you dead.”
Lyrica blinked back at her, her stomach tightening at the reminder that dead had become a possibility earlier.
“How do you get this stuff into your head?” she groaned. “First I’m part of a power play by your brother to take the Mackay throne or some crap; now you’re throwing me in your brother’s bed because you think it’s the only way to save me.” She shook her head at Kye’s machinations. “Really, you need to find a hobby, because you drive the rest of the world crazy.”
Kye gave a disgusted little snort at the thought. “Hobbies are for people without purpose. I have a purpose—”
“Directing the lives of those around you?” Lyrica charged as she gripped the blankets beneath her in desperate fingers rather than trying to strangle her friend. “Kye, I love you like a sister, but I don’t need any help where your brother is concerned.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Kye drawled in amusement. “He’s been so hot for you for years that it’s all he could do to keep from jumping your bones at any given time. Why do you think he started the bimbo squad? He had to find someone to take the edge off all that lust until he could figure out how to keep your brother and cousins from killing him once he got you into his bed.”
Lyrica stared at her friend in disbelief for several long seconds.
Finally, she forced herself to her feet, keeping a wary eye on the other girl, and walked stiffly to Graham’s closet.
“I need a shower,” she finally muttered. “Maybe I need to clean the dirt out of my ears from that wreck or something. Because I can’t be hearing you right.”
“Leave Graham’s clothes alone,” Kye suddenly hissed, moving so fast she was blocking her way before Lyrica could open the door to the huge walk-in closet. “It’s only going to make him think you’re willing to give in to him easily. Bad mistake. Stay right here; I’ll go get you something.”
Kye moved from the bedroom before Lyrica could pro
test or agree. Lyrica could only shake her head.
Moving into the closet, she chose a soft, long-sleeved button-up shirt in dark gray. She’d seen him wear that one before. The incredible softness of the material had skimmed over the powerful muscles of his upper body and made her mouth water.
Taking it from the hanger, she stepped from the closet and closed the door behind her before making her way to the shower.
Déjà vu struck her with frightening awareness as she stepped beneath the heated water a moment later.
The sense that fate was determined to replay the danger against her until she realized she couldn’t escape wasn’t lost on her.
As hot water sluiced over her bruised flesh, a heavy sigh left her lips. Terror was just a thought away; that bleak, overwhelming certainty that she would never be free of the threat facing her tightened at her chest.
Why?
What had she done?
The same questions were going through her mind that had played through it before, and the same lack of answers faced her.
Perhaps this time, though, the answers would be found. There was no way to convince anyone, let alone her, that this was an accident.
As she showered, she replayed the night in her mind. The call to her mother and the overwhelming sense that something was wrong. Her mother had sounded nervous, frightened perhaps, but had refused to talk to her about it. Eve and Piper were there with Mercedes, but they had seemed hesitant to talk to her as well.
Between the guests of the inn and her sisters, she hadn’t felt her mother was in danger, but she had felt as though her mother, as well as her sisters, was hiding something from her. That feeling had convinced her to make the drive to the inn.
Once she’d left her apartment she’d called again, frowning as the voice mail picked up. She’d left a message that she was on her way, but no one had called her back.
God, had anyone even told her mother what had happened?
Graham had talked to Dawg in the car, she remembered. The shock and fear were slowly easing and allowing her to remember the accident with more clarity.
Dawg would have called Timothy, if Alex hadn’t. The woman who had helped her from the Jeep had said she’d called an ambulance. The report of the hit-and-run would have gone through Alex’s office. But how had Graham learned of it so quickly?
And who had arrived in the Corvette just behind him?
As she washed her hair and carefully soaped her body, the confusing details began to mount. As Graham’s car had raced around the curve, the young woman who had stopped to help her had moved to the front of the car. And though she hadn’t realized it then, Lyrica now clearly remembered the hardened expression on the woman’s face as she stood as though braced for danger. Just as she remembered the brief glimpse of the weapon emerging from behind the woman’s back until familiarity had flickered in her expression.
Lyrica hadn’t had a chance to get to know the young woman who had moved into the apartment beside hers just before life had exploded. And she sure as hell hadn’t known the man who had arrived behind Graham, though her neighbor seemed to know him well, just as Graham had known the woman—Angel, he’d called her.
Oh, someone had so many questions to answer. And this time, she wasn’t going to allow anger, arousal, or loyalties to hold her back. And if she didn’t get her answers, then everyone she suspected of withholding them would regret it. She wasn’t a Mackay for nothing.
THIRTEEN
She wanted answers, did she?
Lyrica had forgotten that demanding answers from the men in her family was like trying to force nature to reverse course.
And it was just as effective.
Definitely more confusing.
And boy, did those answers have the power to kick her ass once they were forced out into the open.
Lyrica sat silently, furiously, in Graham’s living room just before dawn, glaring at the men who were watching her warily.
Sometimes, she thought, a person was just better off not asking, because a Mackay and his schemes were way too confusing at the best of times.
This wasn’t the best of times. And that meant life was beginning to border on the ridiculous.
“So, the man who shot at me in London wasn’t really trying to shoot me, he just wanted the person who hired him to think he was trying to shoot me.” She really needed to get it all in perspective. “And he knew all along where I was hiding behind the Dumpster, just as he knew Kye would be trying to call me and would eventually tell Graham the problems her phone was having when she dialed my number. He also knew Graham would head out after me, and that same hired assassin was meeting with you tonight across from my apartment when I left for the inn, and my so-called neighbor is actually a member of his team. Have I gotten all this straight so far? Tell me, Dawg, have any of you wondered yet if that enterprising would-be assassin is possibly related to the rest of you game-playing, calculating, manipulating, overdramatic Mackays?” Her voice rose as incredulous disbelief overwhelmed her.
She wanted to get the facts out in the open before she exploded. That way, there were no mistakes or misunderstandings as to why she was furious with every one of them, excluding Graham, who had been just as much in the dark as she was.
After all, that was an important part of understanding exactly how insane her life was becoming, and the toll it was taking on her and her sisters when it came to dealing with their brother and his related sidekicks.
“Your perception is amazingly accurate.” Graham spoke up for them with a hint of mockery from where he stood with his shoulder braced at the side of the fireplace. “And your self-control is astounding under the circumstances.”
Shooting him a silencing glare, she turned to her brother again. “And you knew all along that the whole ‘mistaken identity’ thing was bullshit. So much so that you had a bodyguard who was supposed to be following me? Except he wasn’t following me tonight as I left home because whatever floozy he’d picked up knocked him out and left him unconscious by the side of the road. How am I doing so far?”
“Your sarcasm excels, as always,” Natches pointed out as Dawg wiped his hands over his face and blew out a weary breath. “It even rivals your exceptional memory skills, it seems.”
“Natches, stop,” Rowdy hissed.
“And you. I thought better of you.” She flicked Rowdy a scornful look. “I never imagined you would allow yourself to become mired in the schemes those two manage to get themselves stuck in.” She flicked her fingers at Dawg and Natches as she leaned forward, anger burning hot inside her as understanding hit her like a slap in the face and seriously undermined her trust in her family. “All three of you were hiding the fact that you didn’t believe that bullshit mistaken identity story any more than Graham did, yet you still let me skip along as though I were as safe as ever.”
“Oh hell no, that’s not how it worked,” Dawg protested instantly, his expression creasing in angry defense. “Instinct and evidence are two different things, little sister. And if you recall, I tried to get you to either move in with me or stay with your mother and Timothy. You insisted on returning to your apartment.”
“Did you tell me you didn’t believe it?” she demanded, glaring back at him fiercely. “Did you even warn me?”
“And terrify you on the off chance I was wrong?” he argued, the strong, determined lines of his face tightening in conviction. “It’s been a lot of years since my gut has had to guide my life, little girl, and I’m getting older. How was I to know it wasn’t indigestion?”
She blinked back at him in disbelief.
“Indigestion?” She was amazed that he’d even come up with such a far-fetched excuse.
“It could have been,” he growled in defense. “You remember Natches had that acid reflux thing year before last? He was convinced it was his gut warning him something was wrong and he all but boarded up the house until Chaya and Bliss threatened to shoot him with his own rifle.”
“That wasn’t acid r
eflux,” she snapped, shooting Natches a disgusted smirk. “That was because he found that hunters’ stand in his woods and he was convinced everyone in the known world knew better than to hunt on his property, so of course it had to be a sniper instead. His own paranoia was his damned problem.”
Her cousin straightened in his chair in outrage, emerald eyes gleaming like hard, cold gems between lashes so thick and lush most men would be embarrassed by them. Instead, Natches used them shamelessly, whether he was charming his wife or issuing one of his icy promises.
“The acid reflux thing is the reason I was out in the woods to begin with,” Natches pointed out—and she so knew better than to trust that innocent expression on his face. “I felt the need to check out the property just in case it was a warning of danger. I’ve made a few enemies, you know.”
“Deliberately,” she charged sharply.
“Deliberately?” Those thick lashes surrounded eyes that widened in supposed outrage. “Come on, Lyrica, I’ve been a good boy for a lot of years now. Chaya’s a damned good keeper, I’ll have you know. I can even move about in society without too much trouble,” he informed her with deliberately insulting amusement.
“You’re a fucking menace to society, Natches,” she retorted furiously. “Don’t pull that with me.”
“Hey, that was a lot of years ago.” Natches glared back at her. “I haven’t been a menace to anyone but my wife and child since Bliss was born, I’ll have you know.”
“What do you call torturing me and my sisters?”
“My god-given right as Dawg’s cousin,” he said with a heavy frown, his expression filled with conviction. “And don’t think he wouldn’t do the same if you were my sister. You and your sisters belong to us, just like our kids do. We can torture you all we like. That doesn’t mean we’ll allow anyone else that privilege.”
He was making her crazy. Dawg and Rowdy just sat with their heads lowered, the expression on their faces one of long-suffering patience as Natches demanded attention. Brogan Campbell was watching with narrow-eyed curiosity, while Graham watched with simple, astounded disbelief.