It was a long shot, she admitted, but worth trying.
Tossing Brogan’s pillow to the bed, she quickly stripped the blankets while laying the pillowcases carefully aside before making the bed. Gathering the bedclothes together, she moved first to her own room and tossed the pillowcases to her bed, then took the bedclothes to the laundry room at the end of the hall.
Throwing the blankets in the wash, she moved back to her own room, locked the doors, then placed the pillowcases on her own pillows before returning to the shower.
Since walking from the shower to find Brogan in her room, it seemed she now expected him to be there each time she stepped into her bedroom.
Disappointment assailed her when she realized he wasn’t. Even though she had known even before she entered the room that he wasn’t there, still, the regret ached inside her.
The motorcycle touring club Brogan had been leading for the past year had been used to taking weekly trips several times a summer. They toured the States on their motorcycles, often riding to scenic, out-of-the-way areas, where civilization still hadn’t marred nature’s beauty. This last summer, they’d stuck closer to Pulaski County, though. Their trips usually lasted no more than twelve to sixteen hours between leaving then returning.
Oh, civilization was creeping closer by the day, she admitted, even in Pulaski County.
Removing the towel she’d wrapped around her and climbing onto her bed for a nap, she was surprised she fell asleep as quickly as she did.
A deep, luckily dreamless sleep.
No dreams of Brogan and sex, or the dream that often visited her of watching him, aching for him, only to see him leave with one of the local women she’d known him to see in the past.
Today, though, there was only peaceful sleep.
Something she hadn’t had in far longer than she could remember.
Brogan pulled into the rest stop, parking the Harley in front of the concession building as Eli and Jed pulled in to one side of him.
The two other agents, despite renting suites at the bed-and-breakfast, were only rarely seen in his presence. The only time they spoke or even came in contact with one another was during the rides the touring club made.
Luckily, there were fewer rides this summer than there had been in summers past. After the former “president” was arrested for drug possession, it was learned that the club’s riding account was at nearly zero. They would be making a lot shorter trips until the monthly membership fees added enough for them to resume their normal summer schedule.
Dismounting the bike and hanging his helmet on the handlebars, Brogan watched as the rest of the group pulled in. Behind Eli and Jed, Poppa Bear and his wife pulled in, sharing a cycle the size of a small car. Their daughter rode her own Harley next to them and managed to make many of the trips her parents went on.
Behind them, surprisingly, rode and Donny and Sandi. They had been unusually quiet since their ordeal. Donny hadn’t gotten into any fights, and Sandi hadn’t instigated any. They were up each other’s asses like Siamese twins, impossible to separate. The one time Brogan had heard one of the club members comment on the change, Donny had replied only that he was getting too damned old to be fighting and carousing all damned night long.
The number Brogan had programmed into his phone hadn’t yet been called either. He’d hoped the happy couple would be eager to get some useful information, just in case. Not that he’d really kill either of them in cold blood, but he was fine with the fact that they believed he would.
“Brogan, I have to admit, you know some damned fine scenery,” Poppa Bear boomed as he helped his slender wife from the back of their cycle. “It’s nice to finally see something besides the interstates we were seeing when your predecessor was running things.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, Poppa Bear.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“When are you gonna invite that little Mackay girl to join us?” the Santa-looking Poppa Bear questioned him with a suggestive wink. “There’s nothing like having your gal sittin’ behind ya.”
Hooking his thumbs into his belt, Brogan grinned back at him. “Hell, her brother might shoot me.”
“Naw, ol’ Dawg loves his baby sisters. He might snap and snarl, but he’d not kill you over her.”
Brogan wasn’t so certain of that.
“Better claim that pretty little thang afore it’s too late,” Poppa Bear claimed. “There’s a lot of nice-lookin’ boys that’ll snap her right up ’fore you know it.”
“Yeah, like the one who asked her out last night.”
Brogan’s head jerked around to Donny’s unusually quiet tone of voice as Poppa Bear and his family headed to the restrooms.
“Do what?” Brogan asked.
He didn’t have to force the vein of surprise in his voice.
“There was a guy at the bar who asked her out to dinner last night.” Donny shifted on his feet, moving with a nervous rhythm that made Brogan want to order him to stand still.
“What did she say?” He frowned.
“Well, she accepted.” Donny scratched nervously at his cheek. “They’re having dinner at Mackay’s tonight at seven.”
The hell they were.
Brogan could feel the blood suddenly boiling in his veins.
Glaring at Donny, he wondered whether the little bastard would have the nerve to lie to him.
“Man, I wouldn’t lie to you about it.” Donny lifted his hands helplessly as Brogan silently cursed the other man’s ability to read him, if only for a second.
“How the hell would you know?” Brogan snapped. “I thought you and Sandi were barred from Walker’s Run.”
Donny shook his head and shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably as he cleared his throat. “Just Sandi. But I doubt I’ll be around much without her.”
Yeah, he felt real sorry for them. When hell froze over.
“Sorry, man.” Brogan grimaced. “I guess it was more than I expected. Thanks for letting me know.” He gave the other man a short, tight nod before turning back to the Harley and jerking his helmet from the handlebars.
“Brogan?” Donny spoke again, his voice lower.
Turning to him with a frown, Brogan waited impatiently.
“I’m like Poppa Bear; I don’t think Dawg would kill ya because you’re sleepin’ with his sister. Break her heart, though, and Natches might.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah, he was getting damned tired of that refrain.
Securing the helmet beneath his chin, Brogan mounted the Harley, kicked the stand back, and turned the key. The engine purred instantly.
Ignoring the confused summons from the riders returning from the concession building and bathrooms, Brogan sped from the rest stop. Pulling onto the two-lane road, he pointed the motorcycle toward Somerset and the woman who just might have it in her head to see whether Brogan could be pushed from her life.
Brogan had no intentions of being pushed out.
He’d made a mistake in waiting. He should have never given some bastard the opportunity to slip in.
It was a mistake he would rectify.
NINE
He absolutely couldn’t believe Doogan would do something so damned underhanded.
Chatham Bromleah Doogan, director of special operations of the Federal Protective Service, had actually dragged his ass out of his D.C. office to come poke his nose into Brogan’s operation.
It was unbelievable.
As he drove the three hours back to Somerset, Brogan tried to figure out exactly what was in the director’s mind.
There was no figuring it out.
Doogan was known for his oddities, but Brogan had never known him to physically interfere in an investigation. Especially as he was now.
He was a known player when it came to women. The man had no heart and no belief in a woman’s tender emotions.
The son of a bitch would take Eve’s innocence as though he had a right to it. Then he would ride off into the sunset and never give her another thought. And there was no doubt of Eve’s innocence. Brogan knew from the investigation report Doogan had shown him that Eve had no lovers in Somerset since she had arrived. Brogan’s investigation into her life in Texas revealed there had been none there.
Mercedes had kept a tight rein on her daughters and raised them to understand their responsibilities to themselves and one another. Survival had been uppermost, juvenile sex had been highly frowned upon. Mercedes, he had heard, had tried to instruct her daughters often on the dangers of sex and the chances of conceiving a child they were far too young to care for. Seeing their mother’s example, living the hardships and the weariness their mother had suffered had obviously convinced the girls that she was right.
As he pushed the speed limit as far as he dared, Brogan found himself gritting his teeth.
Dammit, at this rate he’d wear his back teeth to nubs.
Knowing what Doogan would do to her tender heart brought another realization, though. Brogan had never taken Eve out. He’d almost taken her virginity in her own bed, but he hadn’t taken her out or shown the world she was worth far more than the pleasure he would find in her body.
Doogan thought he could wine and dine her, but the ruse had nothing to do with showing the world a damned thing. Getting lucky after he took her home was all he would care about.
That, and ensuring that he pulled Eve Mackay in on an operation she had no business being a part of.
Brogan made one stop.
Driving into the back parking lot of the inn, he pulled a spare set of keys from the magnet beneath the four-by-four truck parked there, unlocked it, and a second later slid it into drive.
It was well after seven that evening before he pulled into valet parking at Mackay’s Fine Dining, and gave the young man, Mark Carlson, a hard look and a fifty-dollar bill as he growled, “The truck stays here.”
“You gonna be long?” Mark eyed the fifty-dollar bill dubiously, making Brogan wonder when a fifty stopped impressing kids.
He slapped another in the young man’s hand. “Mark, that truck moves and I’m going to kick your ass and take both these fifties back,” he promised softly. “You got me?”
“Alls I can say is, as long as Declan, Rogue, Janey, or Alex don’t yell at me.”
Brogan wasn’t worried about Declan for sure.
Declan Mackay, formerly Faisal Mackay, the Afghani whom Natches Mackay had adopted more than five years before, was the floor manager of the restaurant.
“Just tell them whose truck it is; they’ll be fine with it,” Brogan promised as he turned and entered the restaurant.
He strode past the well-dressed customers waiting for a table, knowing damned good and well that he was far from the dress code in his biker boots and khaki shirt tucked into his jeans.
He’d been riding for more than six hours. The bandanna skullcap was still tied around his head, and Brogan didn’t give a damn.
Striding past the sputtering hostess, he looked around quickly, caught sight of Eve, and strode toward her.
Damn, she sure looked pretty, too, he thought.
She wasn’t dressed in her customary jeans and snug cami. Tonight she wore a sundress with thin straps at her shoulders. The bodice cupped and loved her breasts. It skimmed to her hips and fell to her knees in shimmering chiffon.
The soft blue color brought out the green of her eyes and made her look like a tempting little sorceress.
A sorceress he was set and ready to claim.
Eve could feel her heart racing, pounding in her chest as she watched Brogan stalk across the room.
It was obvious he’d just returned from the ride. She had understood, based on listening to other members of the touring club, that the riders wouldn’t be arriving back until late into the night.
He looked hot, though: rough, tough, dangerous, and so damned sexy she almost caught her breath in excitement.
Jeans, a road dust–stained khaki shirt, rider’s boots, and a dark blue bandanna skullcap wasn’t exactly adhering to the restaurant’s dress code, though.
