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“I’ll be in the garage, then.” He nodded to Zoey and her sister before moving past them to the hall leading to the end of the second level of the building and the metal staircase they’d used the night before.
He wanted to make certain the bike was at peak performance, while also ensuring it provided the best balance to weight for Zoey before that next race. She was small and delicate without the strength to manhandle the machine as the male racers did. He had a few ideas to fix that. There were also items he needed to purchase for her riding gear to ensure her safety. A new helmet for sure. The one she had wouldn’t protect her hard head effectively, and he didn’t want her risking more than a few bruises.
Bruises were a necessary part of life, he thought; anything more serious wouldn’t be tolerated, though.
“What’s with all the funny looks?” Zoey demanded as Doogan could be heard moving quickly down the metal staircase.
“Hell, Zoey, he walked out dressed like a normal person.” Lyrica blinked back at her as she leaned her elbows on the counter, where they were sitting across from each other. “If I hadn’t known who he was, I wouldn’t have recognized him.”
She liked the way he looked, Zoey decided. She’d seen him all GQ proper two weeks before, and though he’d looked damned good, he looked even better in jeans.
“Maybe Dawg will have the same problem if he sees him, then.” Zoey could only hope.
“Eli says he always manages to get himself or his agents shot whenever on a mission,” Lyrica told her, obviously worried. “He acts scared to death whenever Graham has to send him to meet with Doogan.”
“I’m not one of his agents,” Zoey pointed out.
“Why is he here with you, Zoey?” her sister asked, leaning forward worriedly. “Whatever he’s in Somerset for, it’s not to work on your bike or because he just couldn’t stand another day that he wasn’t in your bed. And if it was because of a case or an investigation, he would have met with Graham, and I would have known he was in town.”
“It’s not to get me shot at,” Zoey assured her, but she had to admit that question had bothered her throughout the day as well, despite his answer the night before. “It’s probably just spy stuff,” she finally told her sister. “No one knows he’s here, though, and he won’t be here long. Stop worrying.”
“One of us has to,” Lyrica objected, lifting her coffee cup to her lips. “It’s obvious you don’t intend to.”
“Lyrica, sometimes I’m very scared it’s too late to worry about that. I just want to live, just in case those nightmares aren’t nightmares. And I want to experience the touch of a man I can’t say no to . . .”
“That man can have you locked up, baby sister,” Lyrica warned her softly. “Those nightmares ambush you. You never know . . .”
“I know that.” Raking her fingers through her hair, Zoey turned quickly from her sister.
“Zoey, I’m scared for you,” Lyrica whispered.
“I trust him.” Zoey didn’t know why, couldn’t explain why. “He’ll break my heart, I have no doubt.” She turned back to Lyrica slowly. “If he left right now, my heart would shatter, Lyrica. But he’d try to protect me. I know he would.”
“Zoey . . .”
“It was a nightmare,” she whispered, and she had no idea why she kept telling herself that. “We know it’s a nightmare. Right?”
“Zoey.” Lyrica reached out and covered her sister’s hand gently. “It was a nightmare. You know that. He was seen that night leaving town, and you said yourself when you woke up, you were in your own bed at the inn. Come on, no one can get into those rooms without the cameras showing something. You checked the cameras, right?”
“And he hasn’t been seen since,” Zoey whispered. “Something happened that night. I don’t know what, I don’t know why I know it, but I know it did. Something bad.”
She could feel it. Everything inside her assured her there was a reason for those nightmares. Yet, as Lyrica said, Harley had been
seen leaving town late that same night. Even the woman he’d been sleeping with had seen him at the convenience store along with dozens of customers, including Samantha Bryce, a detective on the Somerset police force.
But Lyrica was right. Zoey had checked the cameras as soon as she’d had a chance. A few squirrels had slipped across the porch, moths had slapped against the porch light, but no one had slipped into her room, or out of it. The same for the hall camera. Zoey had watched a mouse her mother was unaware they had run along the baseboards, but no one had crept to her room or out of it.
There was nothing but Zoey’s certainty that something had happened.
Nothing made sense or added up. She was actually worried enough that she was somehow crazy that she’d created a bucket list. A list of adventures she wanted to experience before losing her sanity completely. Or being arrested.
“It was just a nightmare,” Lyrica objected. “If it hadn’t been, honey, you wouldn’t have woken in your own bed, in your pajamas. Remember that. You didn’t hurt anyone, Zoey. Come on, you know you didn’t hurt anyone.”
When she was awake, she knew it had to be a nightmare. She’d gone to sleep in her bed; she’d woken in her bed. But the nightmares . . . God, the nightmares were like memories, so vivid and so messed up she woke screaming, terrified.
“Zoey.” Lyrica reached out, her hand covering hers, concern filling her emerald eyes. “Please, please talk to Natches about this. If anyone knows where to find Harley . . .”
“No.” Jerking her hand back, Zoey moved quickly from the counter, panic suddenly tearing through her, the certainty of danger, of a gun sight aimed at her almost overwhelming her.
