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Graham pulled the Viper into the garage, aware of the door closing securely behind him as he turned off the ignition and pushed open the door. Moving quickly, he strode around the vehicle, jerked Lyrica’s door open, and reached in for her.
She was staring at him as though she’d never seen him before. Those emerald eyes, dark with shock, filled with terror, stared back at him with such heavy fear and confusion that he felt his chest clenching in fury.
As he’d raced to the scene of the wreck earlier, he’d realized how very close the present was coming to the past. Except this woman belonged to him. For whatever reason, he couldn’t walk away from her, couldn’t get her out of his head.
Long ago and far away, he thought. That night seemed a lifetime ago. The explosions, the gunfire ripping around them, and the woman in his arms, with her bright green eyes and black silk curtain of hair that, despite the short length, he had imagined more than once was Lyrica’s.
As she died in his arms, her lover, the man he had once called a friend, stood over him with a hard, cold smile, his weapon aimed at Graham’s head, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“House is secure,” Elijah called from the kitchen as Graham snapped back to the present and stepped into the house, Lyrica cradled in his arms. Elijah’s expression was tight, savage as Graham passed him.
“No word on the van that hit her,” Elijah reported as Graham strode quickly through the kitchen and took the stairway at the back of the house that led upstairs to his room. “Angel’s mounted video camera recorded it all, though. Angel was coming around the curve behind Lyrica just as the van raced toward her from the side road. Timothy will have it within the hour and begin breaking it into frames for evidence.”
He was going to kill the bastard, Graham promised himself as he moved quickly into his suite.
“Pull up the advanced security protocols,” he ordered Elijah as he strode through the small sitting room and into the large bedroom.
There, he laid a still, silent Lyrica on his bed, the uncomfortable feeling that he had no idea what the fuck to do now almost overwh
elming him.
She did that to him sometimes, he thought. Made him feel as though he were touching a woman for the first time, feeling things he hadn’t felt before.
“Everything’s in place.” Elijah entered the bedroom, carrying the medic bag he kept with him whenever possible.
“I’m okay,” Lyrica assured Graham, her voice still trembling as she glanced at the bag.
“I have to be sure, baby.” He touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers because he couldn’t help himself. Because he had to touch her, to feel her warmth, to be certain she was alive.
She was silent as he moved back, her gaze following him, holding his gaze, as Elijah began his own examination.
Elijah was gentle, his expression, his actions showing no hesitation, no personal emotion as he touched her. His hands went over her arms and legs, his fingers pressing into her belly, her sides. His voice was quiet as he questioned her. Checking her temple, he then ran his hands over her head and through her hair before sitting back.
“I’d still prefer she be x-rayed and checked over by a physician,” Elijah finally announced as he rose from the side of the bed and packed the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope back into the bag. “So far, though, she appears fine.”
“Dawg’s Jeep is built like a tank,” she stated, her voice still weak. Too weak to suit Graham. “I had enough warning to twist the wheel before they hit, though. The moon was shining on the chrome. They had their lights out.” It would seem Tracker’s backer had taken matters into his own hands without giving the mercenary a chance to complete the contract after all.
“They made a mistake,” he assured her.
It shouldn’t have happened this time.
His fists clenched at his sides as guilt struck at his chest. If he’d heeded his own instincts, then it wouldn’t have happened. If he hadn’t trusted her brother’s precautions and instead done as everything inside him had demanded and kept her with him, then no one would have had a second chance to attempt to take her from him.
She looked away from him before turning on her side and drawing her knees up slightly. She looked lost, forlorn. As though this attempt on her life had somehow drained the hope that the first one hadn’t touched.
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.
