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Graham watched as Lyrica’s face whitened, her slight body almost swaying only seconds after she informed him that Dawg had to return. Now she wasn’t arguing with him, wasn’t insisting that he call—she was angry.
Terror.
He could see that deep well of fear shadowing her eyes as her mind worked through the implications and the danger to those she loved suddenly rushed through her mind. And, having realized it now, that swift, mercurial little brain of hers was searching, sorting, considering, and weighing her options.
Her escape from him.
He almost grinned. At least she was thinking of him, no matter how angry he made her.
“I’m sorry you were dragged into this. I should have thought,” she finally said, shaking her head before staring back at him with such vulnerability it tightened his chest, and for the first time in his life, he felt something where his heart was supposed to be—melting.
Hell, someone besides his sister really gave a damn if he lived or died for them.
“Lyrica, sweetheart, this is a child’s game as far as I’m concerned,” he snorted. “Whoever had the balls to come after you hasn’t been covering their tracks as well as they thought they were. I won’t know just who they are but where they are, and exactly what the hell is going on, within forty-eight hours. And trust me, once I have the answers, I’ll have their hides for even daring to think they could strike out at you without repercussions.”
He was amused.
In the past hours he’d reached out to several underground contacts and sorted through the rumors and hints of jobs up for grabs. What he was piecing together was damned interesting. Even more interesting was the fact that if he was right, then his prey would be within striking distance even sooner than he’d imagined.
All he had to do now was wait for Elijah’s return to begin making contact and making the commander of that little group sorry he’d ever dared to take such a job without talking to Graham.
“Children don’t play with guns.” It was obvious he wasn’t convincing her.
Straightening from the door frame, he stepped back. “Come downstairs. I have the house secure, so we don’t have to worry about being overheard. And I have dinner ready.”
“I can move back into the room I normally use, then,” she stated, instantly piecing that one together.
Graham chuckled. She had always had the most incredible ability to make him laugh. He’d always liked that about her.
“We’ll discuss that,” he lied, amused. “Over dinner.”
Turning and moving down the hallway, Graham restrained his satisfaction when he realized she was following him.
She was still thinking, though. That wasn’t a good thing. Had she pushed aside whatever plans she was making after those first few minutes, then he wouldn’t have been nearly as concerned. But she was still building on whatever plots and plans were rolling through her mind.
Making his way downstairs, he listened for the pad of the leather soles of her sandals. He recognized the outfit she wore, but he’d be damned if he would let his sister ever wear it again. The way it shaped Lyrica’s pretty little body would be forever branded into his mind.
The violet silk of the strappy little top did very little to hide the fact that she was braless. The slim fit of the jeans hugged her hips and thighs like a lover’s caress and made him damned jealous. Hell, he wanted to touch her like that. Delicate little toes gripped the thongs of the sandals and revealed the pearly pink of the polish she’d painted them with. The whimsical color was so damned girly and flirty he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.
“Have a seat.” Gesturing to the small table sitting in front of a set of shaded windows, Graham moved to the counter and the plate of cold sandwiches he’d just finished making when she passed the silent alarm he’d set to notify his cell phone of movement.
Still silent, she moved across the room and pulled out one of the four chairs.
Damn, when had he begun actually sensing when Lyrica’s Mackay genetics were kicking into overdrive and that far too intelligent brain of hers was beginning to plot world domination? Or at the very least, some scheme designed to make him totally insane.
Normally, Kye was right there with her. At those times, he actually developed heartburn. Now, though, it was worse. It wasn’t heartburn—the hairs at the back of his neck were actually starting to lift in primal warning.
Snagging a bowl, he dumped a healthy portion of potato chips into it then lifted the platter and moved both to the table where Lyrica waited.
As she watched him with wide, shadowed eyes, her hands clasped nervously in her lap, he had to restrain the curse hovering on his lips.
Son of a bitch, he was going to spend all his time trying to find ways not just to keep the assailants out, but to keep Lyrica inside as well. And there was no way to be effective at both.
Placing the platter and bowl in the center of the table, Graham retrieved the plates, set them out, then filled two glasses with ice and sweet tea while he considered his options.
There were several ways he could forestall what he sensed would be an attempt by her to run, to protect everyone she loved by trying to hide, rather than dealing with this. Each would be completely effective, though all but one had several drawbacks.
