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The kiss stopped any argument she might have had. Another of those soul-searing, rock-her-to-her-soul kisses that left her brains scrambled and her common sense nonexistent.
When he released her, he didn’t wait around for her to find her bearings once again. No doubt, he knew better. Instead, he was out the patio doors leading to the pool, that cocky male swagger holding her attention until he closed the door behind him.
And she was able to breathe enough to clear her head and wonder just who in the hell he thought had marked her.
No Mackay owned her.
Did he?
ELEVEN
She should have left town with Tracker and Chance, Angel told herself the next afternoon when she stepped into the kitchen through the back door and came to a slow stop, eyes narrowing on the man who sat at the kitchen table.
He looked like the leprechaun he’d once been called, though she’d heard Mercedes Mackay had actually managed to tidy his once-scruffy appearance. Timothy Cranston was a legend in certain circles, and another of those men Tracker had avoided over the years. Intelligent, a natural manipulator, and an expert gamesman, he had run his little corner of military intelligence and then DHS like each mission was a personal chess game.
He sat at the table alone, a file in front of him, his expression bland despite the gleam of amusement in his brown eyes.
Angel looked around the room slowly before letting her gaze meet his once more.
“Bliss and her parents are currently in the basement with Duke,” he told her, his tone cool, unaffected. “There seems to be a glitch with one of the security monitors that they’re going over.”
She gave a little roll of her eyes. “I wonder who glitched the monitor,” she muttered, closing the door behind her before moving to the counter, never taking her eyes from him.
He smiled back at her with a hint of the glee it seemed he was known for.
She’d expected him to make an appearance, though she hadn’t expected to face him without Duke present, she realized.
“You can let them know you’re back if you like.” He nodded to the hall that led to the basement door. “I’m sure all of them would be properly horrified to realize you’re here alone with me.”
She was properly horrified herself.
“Do I need a chaperone?” she asked him instead, one hand resting on the hilt of her knife as she faced him.
Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes.
This sucked, but dammit, she should have expected it. Timothy Cranston wouldn’t have let her presence there pass without interrogating her himself.
He sat back in his chair and regarded her silently. This man who had trained her mother in military intelligence, had ordered her to Iraq then pulled her into DHS with him, didn’t trust her and he damned sure wouldn’t take anyone’s word on her identity.
“It was my department that did the DNA tests on little Jenny.” He surprised her with the flash of regret and pain in his voice. “I’m sorry for that. I dropped the ball when I didn’t keep Chaya’s sister in my periphery. I used to be sharper than that.”
She remained silent, uncertain of what he expected from her. Hell, she didn’t know what to expect of herself at the moment. She was wary of this little man, his reputation and his influence over Chaya. He could convince the other woman to send her away, to refuse to let her protect Bliss. Angel knew she couldn’t bear that.
“Nothing to say?” he asked then, his head tilting quizzically as he watched her.
“About what? How sharp you used to be? I imagine you had to blink sometime.” She shrugged, trying to restrain the smart-ass she knew she could be.
He stared back at her somberly. “It was the wrong time to blink.”
Angel glanced away from the sense of despair that flashed across his expression. It might have been the wrong time to blink, she thought, but the man was human, wasn’t he? Despite the stories she’d heard about him, she rather doubted he was somehow paranormal.
“Well, it was lovely to meet you.” She forced a smile to her lips and took a step toward the hall. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”
“Are you here to somehow make Chaya pay for a past she wasn’t responsible for?” His question stopped her cold. “Because if you are, then we’re simply not going to get along, girl. . . .”
“Don’t call me ‘girl’!” She turned on him, glaring, fighting against the emotions and the anger she was trying so desperately to keep contained.
Didn’t they understand? She didn’t want to hurt Chaya; she didn’t want to see Bliss hurt. She just wanted to keep another sister from dying, to keep from losing someone else she loved.
