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“Don’t touch me!” Crying out, Zoey jerked away from him. “Get out, Billy. Now.”
“Zoey, listen to me . . .” He grabbed her arm again, confusion filling his expression.
At the sound of her cry, Doogan’s bedroom door flew open and before she could process how quickly he moved, he had Billy’s wrist in his hand, forcing him to release her before placing himself between them.
“Who the fuck are you?” Billy snarled.
It wasn’t Billy who had her attention, though. Jack Clay stood in the doorway, having obviously been in the room as well.
He’d known Doogan was there. He had known and they were obviously just chatting it up, no doubt about her and Billy’s stolen truck.
“Get them the hell out of my house, now,” she ordered Doogan, fear and fury clashing inside her. “Now. Or I will call Natches myself and have all of you thrown out.”
Fists clenched, her voice harsh from the tightness of her chest, she turned, stalked to her bedroom, and slammed the door closed.
Leaning against the closed door, Zoey dragged in a shaky breath. It was okay, she assured herself. This was all okay. Whoever stole Billy’s truck must have thought she’d realized it had been stolen. And leaving it at the store across from her home was coincidence. That was all. It was a deserted lot, dark and easy to slip away, perhaps steal another truck. It didn’t have anything to do with her. It didn’t have anything to do with the nightmares that seemingly had no basis in reality.
So why was she shaking? Why was panic tightening her chest and making it so hard to breathe? Why did she suddenly wish Doogan would just hold her and make it all go away?
Just for a little while . . .
—
Jack Clay, the tattooed biker, had arrived earlier than Doogan had expected. He hadn’t expected the other man to be in town for several more days. Before heading to Somerset, Doogan had called in markers rather than agents and favors over agency resources. His team was compromised by Mackays. That was a weakness now rather than the strength it would have been otherwise. He needed allies in Somerset outside the Mackays.
Mackays were damned fine allies whether they liked who they were backing or not. As long as the battle they were fighting was a mutual one, then Doogan knew they could be trusted. To a point.
This battle? Their love for Zoey would be a detriment. They’d jerk her away from him and hide her so deep he’d never find her. But they trusted Jack. Trusted him enough that when Jack called regarding his stepbrother’s truck and Jack had learned she and Natches had disagreed, as Natches described it, over how to approach Billy, Jack had suggested checking on her himself.
When Zoey had learned it hadn’t been Billy who had attempted to slam into the back of her little car, Doogan had seen those oddly colored eyes flash with a deep haunted fear.
Just as he’d feared last year, that sheer Mackay stubborn will and determined strength was overcoming the drug she’d been given and suggestions posed while she was under its influence. She was beginning to remember, but just enough of those suggestions remained that she was as yet unable to talk to anyone that could really help her.
The experts in that particular drug all agreed that all Doogan could do was ensure her trust in him and be there when the memories returned. When the trigger needed to push aside the suggestions and reveal the truth engaged, that he be there to help her through it. To help her distinguish between memory and fear. Something he’d been too late to do with his brother.
Damn Catalina and her traitorous lover. The bastard had ensured her guilt over the death of her daughter didn’t convince her to betray him by putting a bullet in her head. He’d killed her before escaping himself, his identity still unknown. All Doogan knew was the bastard had eventually made his way to Somerset, and to Zoey. The last person that could be taken from him. And he still didn’t know why. All he knew was that she was in danger because of him. And if he didn’t save her, then saving himself would be impossible. Losing her would be the final blow. It would kill him.
FIFTEEN
Zoey hadn’t slept well, but at least she hadn’t overslept. She was awake and dressed far earlier than she needed to be for a meeting with one of her buyers in Louisville the next day.
Meeting him alone wasn’t something she wanted to do, though. The past few years hadn’t been the safest for Dawg Mackay’s sisters.
Glancing at the clock, she sighed heavily. Doogan was gone, Eli hadn’t answered her earlier text, and everyone else in the family was gone to pick out supplies for the family reunion. That didn’t leave a lot of options.
Picking her phone up, she considered the only other male she knew who could be the least bit intimidating if he had to be. And after the night before, he owed her favors in spades.
“Zoey, you okay?”
Billy answered on the first ring, his voice concerned.
“I’m fine,” she informed him shortly. “Look, I need a favor.”
“Whatever you need,” he promised.
“I have to meet a buyer with a few of my paintings and this is my last chance to sell to him. I’m not comfortable meeting him alone. Everyone else is busy . . .”
“Can I drive your car?” Eagerness filled his voice.
