“That he fucks that bike up to keep her from winning.” A dumb move on the kid’s part. “She’s ready to kick his ass.”

A small, rueful grin tugged at Graham’s lips then. “I assume you’re going to fix that?”

Doogan merely stared back at him blandly.

“That’s what I figured,” Graham chuckled. “Look, let me put him with a deep-cover contact here in town. He’s working with another DHS agent that only Bryce knows about. He’s older and he’s damned good with younger agents. He’ll make sure whatever changes you make on the bike stay. Eli trusts him, Doogan, and Zoey does as well. Let’s give it a chance.”

“Who? It won’t work if I don’t know who he is.” He loved getting to know the black agents Bryce kept hidden on the books.

“Zoey’s landlord,” Graham admitted. “Lucas Mayes. He’s former SEAL and he’s been working with me ever since an injury sent him home. I’ll talk to him, apprise him of the situation. He knows how to keep his mouth shut with the Mackays too, but he’s damned protective of all of them.”

It could work. If Eli didn’t learn to contain his animosity toward Doogan and the director learned of it, the repercussions wouldn’t be pleasant.

“We’ll try it.” Doogan nodded. “Let Mayes know I’m aware of his status. And he has my contact info.” He grinned. “I’ve known of him for a few years now.”

“Figures,” Graham snorted. “Now, how ’bout dinner tomorrow?” An amused glint filled his friend’s eyes. “Come on, you have to meet the twins before they’re grown. You never stay long enough to see them. You’re going to be their godfather.”

Doogan just stared at him for a long moment.

Godfather? Hell, he could feel his guts burning with the onset of acid reflux already. Godfather to a Mackay? He just barely contained a shudder.

“I must have misunderstood you . . .”

“Nope. Godfather.” Graham rose to his feet. “Come on, Sam just arrived and Kye’s getting pissy. She’ll start a fight.”

“Uh, Graham, about that . . .” Doogan was a bit slower to rise.

Godfather? No, that simply wouldn’t work.

“Brom.” Graham turned, his look somber now. “They’re my kids. My soul. You’d protect them if the worst happened, I know you would.”

“But . . .”

“This just makes it official. Come on, you know I’m not going to change my mind. Stop protesting. Let’s go help Sam get Kye out of here.”

Godfather? Kye and her bar fights and Samantha Bryce all in one night?

He could feel karma’s teeth on his ass and it wasn’t pleasant.

Not in the least.

NINE

She was restless.

By the next evening, Doogan still hadn’t returned to the apartment, and though Eli had been there the night before, he was gone early the next morning.

Dreams had haunted her sleep, and they haunted her after she woke. Like flashbacks, the colors icy blue and emerald green, something scarred and something gold.

Working out in the gym didn’t alleviate the restlessness this time, nor did it ease the constriction in her chest; the certainty that there was something she had to remember, something imperative eluding her, was driving her crazy.

Her fists slammed into the punching bag; she kicked at it, pummeled it with all the fury and certain knowledge that time was running out.

The nightmares were becoming worse, but they were changing. How they were changing she couldn’t remember.

“You killed me, Zoey . . .”

But he wasn’t dead. He was glaring at her, emerald-green eyes so like Natches, filled with anger and hatred.

She couldn’t fight him because she was restrained. Her wrists and ankles were tied to her bed, panic and horror raced through her.

Slamming her fist into the bag, Zoey collapsed against it, her ragged breaths half sobs as pain exploded through her head, nearly taking her to her knees with the force of the agonizing strike of sensation.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t talk about the nightmares; the pain became worse and sometimes just thinking about it was enough to fill her with agony. She just wanted it to stop. The nightmares, the fear, the certainty that there was far more involved than just her overactive imagination playing with her were growing by the day.

But there were no answers.

Even her sisters believed it was just a nightmare.

Even Sam . . .

“Come on, Zoey, let’s get you inside before someone sees you . . .” Sam picked her up, the warmth of her body a shock against Zoey’s icy flesh.

“I’m so sorry . . . Tell Momma I’m so sorry, Sam . . .”

The other woman laid her in a bed.

“Here, you’re so cold, Zoey. Let me turn the heat on, honey. Let’s get you warm . . .”

“I killed Harley, Sam. I killed him. I have to tell you. I killed Harley.” She gripped Sam’s arm, trying to hold on to her as the agony in her head refused to dim.

Then the warmth was surrounding her. It didn’t touch the iciness inside her, but it eased the painful cold on the outside.

So cold . . .

She was going to throw up.

The pain was too much; it was blinding now, like needles piercing and ripping through her brain, cracking it open.

“. . . pop your little head like a grape . . .”

She went to her knees, her hands gripping her head, fighting the pain and the roiling in her stomach as ice seemed to encase her entire body.

She’d never relived those images outside her nightmares. Why now?

A punch of pain erupted in her skull again. She was cold. So cold that shudders began jerking through her, uncontrollable, violent tremors she couldn’t still.

Pouring with sweat, her breath heaving from her lungs, Zoey fought to catch her breath, to stop the ragged, broken sobs and terrifying shudders. What had happened that night?

A jagged scar . . .

Intense, white hot, the pain drove her to the floor, her shoulders meeting the mat. Curled into a fetal position, gasping cries falling from her lips, she fought to live now. The agony was ripping her brain to shreds, destroying her . . .

“Zoey!”

No.

Oh God, not Doogan . . .

“Zoey, baby. Come here.”

—

Son of a bitch. Whoever had done this to her was going to die! By his hand, they would die.

“I’m here,” he whispered softly, so softly he knew she’d have to concentrate to hear him. “I’m with you, baby. Right here.”

The suggestions he’d made while she’d been under the influence of that powerful mind-control drug were subtle but all the stronger for it.

He was there. The pain would go away.

“I’m right here, Zoey. You’re warm. You’re safe.”

The shudders began easing, the iciness of her flesh warming as he wrapped himself around her, holding her firmly to his chest, his head against hers.

“I have you, baby.”

He wanted to snarl in rage. He wanted to kill the bastard who’d done this to her.

“I’m so scared.” Her whimper sent rage clawing at his senses as his chest tightened with the pain of what he knew she was feeling.

“No fear, baby.” He kept his voice low. So low she had no choice but to concentrate on it to make out what he said. “No more pain, Zoey. No pain while I’m here.”

Her arms tightened around his neck. She burrowed closer to him, her hands sliding into his hair, holding him to her.

“You danced with me,” she whispered. “You didn’t stay. You didn’t come back.”

Six years. It had been six years, six brutal, guilt-soaked years since he’d danced with her.

“I know.” Brushing his lips over her temple, Doogan stroked his hands down her back, regret flaying his heart.

“Why?” The pain was easing from her voice, hunger edging into it instead of pain and fear. “Why didn’t you kiss me? You wanted to.”