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He was in a hurry. Moving quickly from the cabin he left Angel with the two men who had rescued her when they were little more than boys themselves. They’d sheltered her, protected her, trained her to fight with them.
“Tracker?” She could feel the tension growing in the room, the knowledge that neither man was explaining Eli’s visit.
“Gear up.” He sighed heavily. “I’m sure you’ll want to stop at the marina before we ride out of town.”
“The marina?” she asked carefully. “What’s happened?”
“Someone tried to kidnap one of the Mackay girls just minutes ago . . .”
She didn’t wait to hear the rest.
She didn’t have to gear up. Her weapons and thigh holsters were in the customized, hidden carriers built into the chest rest of her motorcycle, extra ammo stored with them. She raced outside, Tracker and Grog close on her heels.
Jerking the leather jacket and protective helmet on she was racing from the gravel drive in seconds, fear racing through her system with a shock of adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream.
This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be . . .
“Angel, get control of yourself,” Tracker advised smoothly into the radio link built into the helmets. “Let’s see what’s going on before we do anything.”
See what was going on? They knew what was going on. She should have expected this. She should have known it would happen.
“I’m cool, Track,” she promised, her voice even, without the panic she could feel rushing through her. “I have to be sure, though. I can’t leave without being sure they’re okay. You know that.”
“We’re just making sure everything’s okay then,” Tracker repeated. “Friends checking on friends, Angel. Remember that.”
Her heart was in her throat, fear pulsing through her and threatening to steal the small shred of control she possessed.
“Friends checking on friends,” she promised. “That’s all. Nothing more.”
—
The chief of police, Alex Jansen, and his wife, Natches’s sister Janey, were rushing inside to their daughter Erin. Behind them more than a dozen police cars were pulling in, their sirens thankfully silent.
“Zoey.” Mercedes Mackay, Zoey’s mother, followed minutes later with her lover, Timothy Cranston, and Rowdy’s father, Ray, with Christa’s mother, Maria.
The office was packed and still more cars were arriving. Her three sisters and their husbands, hard-eyed, dangerous Homeland Security agents moved in behind their mother. As Zoey’s sisters rushed to check on Bliss, their husbands moved with predatory danger to the doorway, their gazes meeting Rowdy’s before they turned and walked outside.
Rowdy, Dawg, and Natches, along with Alex and Janey were still holding on to their teenage daughters, their embraces tight, protective.
“What happened?” Dawg was the first to ask that question as he tucked his daughter close between his and his wife’s sides.
“We saw the van coming and tried to hurry and get across the parking lot,” Annette assured her father. “Just like you taught us, Dad. As soon as it turned toward us we were moving. The guy jumped out and grabbed Bliss, though, and I think we just went kind of crazy.” She shook her head before giving her father a fierce look. “We were
n’t letting anyone take Bliss.”
Bliss mumbled something at her father’s shoulder.
“What, baby?” Natches’s voice was thick, a hoarse growl as Bliss lifted her face from her mother’s shoulder.
“I lost my knife, Dad.” She pouted. “I did what you taught me to do, but he moved too fast and pulled it from my hand.” She lifted her hand. “And he got his nasty blood on me.”
She had her fingers fisted as though to hold the blood in her palm, and it wasn’t just a smear.
“God love your little Mackay hearts.” Tim sounded like the evil leprechaun her brother and cousins called him, Zoey thought. “Alex, get me an evidence kit.”
“I have it, sir.” The officer standing guard at the door stepped into the room, the evidence kit with its vials and cotton swabs, plastic bags and plastic tweezers was pushed into Tim’s hand.
Tim turned to Bliss, pure pride beaming in his expression as he tore the pack open.
