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When they’d first met, Dawg had laughingly told Brogan that he reminded him far too much of his cousins and asked whether he was a Mackay, despite the red hair. Six months later, Dawg had flat-out asked him whether the underground rumors he was hearing that Brogan was involved in the military thefts were true.
Brogan’s boss had an agenda, unfortunately. Part of that agenda was pulling the Mackays in without officially asking them for help. Brogan had just stared back at him for long seconds before telling Dawg he was going to have to answer that question himself.
He’d evidently done just that. Since that day, Dawg had been as cold as Lake Cumberland in winter.
“You told me Dawg and his cousins would keep their noses out of my business,” he reminded Timothy as he leaned forward in his chair, frowning at the stark pain that filled Eve’s expression.
She’d tried to convince her brother that her instincts about Brogan were right. That, like him, she’d had to learn how to depend on them, how to trust them, just to survive. And still, the brother who was known as not just protective and sheltering, but also respectful and tolerant, had demanded she stay away from the man it was clear his sister was unable to stay away from.
“He is keeping out of your business,” Timothy murmured. “It’s your sex life he’s screwing with. ”
Brogan could feel his jaw aching from the clenched tightness of it. It was all he could do to restrain the urge to stomp downstairs and push his way into that room to confront the other man. To ensure that nothing and no one could pull Eve’s attention from him.
His fists clenched, his short, clipped nails biting into his palm as he forced himself to remain sitting.
The last thing he wanted, needed, was for anyone to guess that he and Timothy were more than friendly enemies. Timothy had taken the same public stance on Brogan as Dawg had: a cool reception and a refusal to warm. It was required. Cranston was known as a former Homeland Security agent. Even the Mackays were unaware he was still an Agent in Charge for the Department of Homeland Security.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t in charge of this operation. He was only overseeing it. If he had been in charge, maybe, just maybe he could have convinced Timothy to keep Eve out of the operation they were conducting in Pulaski County.
Because the Agent in Charge of this operation had deemed Eve necessary. Even before Brogan had looked into those mesmerizing emerald eyes and knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d taken her to his bed, his boss had decided that Eve Mackay’s participation was required.
“I have things to do. ” Straightening from the chair he’d taken in Timothy’s small upstairs office, he turned and glared at the agent as Timothy sat back comfortably in his chair. Mercedes had designated the area as Timothy’s and no one but no one, she’d declared, entered without his permission. Even her.
“Go on. ” Timothy waved him away. “You’ll be here for dinner?”
“No, I won’t be,” he growled.
“Ahh, you’ll be at the bar. ” Timothy nodded with a smile. “Eve’s not a puppy you can convince to heel with treats, Brogan. I’d remember that if I were you. ”
“Damned good thing I don’t see her as one, isn’t it?” he said with a grunt.
Striding to the door, he opened it enough to ensure no one was in the hall before slipping from the room and taking the back stairs to the kitchen.
Mercedes Mackay left the kitchen open through the day, and plates of sandwiches and snacks in the stainless-steel refrigerator that sat next to the back door. If anyone caught him there, he’d have a reason for it.
He’d used a lot of bed-and-breakfasts over the years, and he had to admit, hers was one of the most unique.
Fortunately there was no one in the kitchen, and no one entered as he strode across it and slipped out the back door.
This was a fucking mess.
He’d come to Pulaski County to find thieves; instead he’d ended up playing the traitor and stealing top-secret files that were never meant to be seen by anyone other than those who were carrying the files.
The files were stolen from four high-level couriers traveling through Fort Knox, Somerset, Harlan County, and Pikeville. Others were stolen from the homes of the high-ranking military officers they’d been delivered to. Each file had contained information unrelated to the files stolen before them.
Brogan had seen the reports of the files they had contained, and he could see nothing to tie them together.
Striding from the porch along the walk to the parking lot, he moved to the Harley and mounted it smoothly. Unlocking the helmet from between the handlebars and sliding it over his head, he activated the Bluetooth headset, then, with a quick flick of his wrist, turned the key and let the powerful motor throb for long seconds before pulling from the parking lot and turning onto the main road.
“Dial Doogan,” he said into the headset, activating the hands-free feature built into it.
“Doogan,” his boss answered before the first ring finished, his voice a dark, slow drawl that did nothing to indicate the man’s impatience.
“Dawg’s interfering,” he told the other man. “He just pulled the brother card on his sister and made her promise to stay away from the big, bad Brogan,” he said with a grunt.
Doogan laughed at the reference. “Do you think she’ll listen?”
“Mackays are known to keep their word, and she promised. What do you think?”
