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She was certain she preferred staring at the walls for a few hours instead. She remembered the looks Dawg’s and Rowdy’s wives had given her, those pity-filled looks mothers gave orphaned, refugee children, and she didn’t think she could stand that for an extended period.
Watching the laptop screen shifting between different camera views as it searched for the blue van, she wondered how many other citizens or Mackay family members were doing the same thing.
She grinned at the thought. No doubt someone was, but they didn’t have her and Tracker’s program to work with.
Still, it wouldn’t work fast.
“Hiding?” Amused and knowing, Duke’s drawl had her turning to the door, her eyes narrowing on him.
“Working,” she assured him. Yeah, she was going to admit to hiding. Was he insane?
She watched as he strolled into the bedroom, all hot, hard, and sexy in jeans and a T-shirt, something she’d rarely seen him in when he worked with the team. The black mission pants and protective shirts were always their best gear and almost a requirement in some areas where the terrain was rougher.
Today, worn denim and white cotton were paired with well-worn leather boots and a wide leather belt. Lean, hard-bodied, a bad boy image that would make any woman swoon, he sauntered into the bedroom. Green eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched her, making her body heat with arousal. Damn him. He should at least have to put some effort into turning her on so fast.
“Working, huh?” he murmured, knowing damned good and well she was escaping, too. “Chaya, Christa, and Kelly were wondering where you disappeared to. I think they were hoping to talk to you for a while.”
She gave a little roll of her eyes before rising from the desk and shooting him a quelling glance.
“Don’t involve yourself in me and Chaya, Duke,” she warned him as his arms went over his chest in a classic male-dominance stance. “We’re going to disagree if you try, and we’ll just end up angry with each other.”
His brow arched just enough to piss her off, because she knew what that meant. He really didn’t care if he pissed her off.
“And you think you can get to know your mother. . . .”
“I told you not to call her that.” Her hand slammed to her hip as it cocked to the side and she glared back at him furiously.
“Stop ignoring her, Angel,” he all but ordered.
He was ordering her? As though she were a child to be directed?
“I spoke to her this morning,” she objected. “I was nice.”
“You reminded her she couldn’t cook,” he argued. “That’s not talking to her, Angel, and you know it.”
What the hell did he expect from her?
“You go spend time with her if it means so damned much to you, because I’m sick to death of you pushing her down my throat and vice versa. The door swings both ways, Duke.” Chaya was making no more of an effort to get to know Angel than perhaps Angel was making to get to know her, she knew. At least she had tried, though, Angel assured herself.
“One of you is going to have to give in.” Irritation flashed in his eyes.
“Who’s the mother? Who’s the child?” she asked sweetly. “Isn’t she supposed to be the adult in the situation?” Okay, so it was damned childish of her to act that way, but she was sick of being forced to defend her right to be angry.
She had every right to feel betrayed.
She had been betrayed.
“And when it begins affecting your ability to protect Bliss?” he asked softly, drawing closer to her. “What will you do then?”
Was it affecting her to that point?
At present, Bliss and her cousins were in the basement. She knew they were still in the basement; she knew the men guarding the property were in place. Was there something she should be doing that she wasn’t? Or something she’d missed?
“I’ll have to reassess the situation then.” She frowned, wondering what he was getting at.
“You’re not sleeping well, you’re beginning to look pale, and that bothers me. Whatever’s keeping you awake at night is going to begin affecting your ability to do the job.” He moved to her, his hand reaching out to touch her cheek, to brush back the hair that had fallen
from the braid to her forehead.
