There was no one person he wanted to see. The only person he needed to see, he assured himself, was better off without him.
Zoey.
She was better off without him, but letting her go proved to be impossible. He was the last person she needed in her life. A man who couldn’t protect a five-year-old child could never hope to protect a woman who loved adventure. And his Zoey loved her little adventures.
Pushing through the partially opened door to his office, he came to a hard stop, staring at the men awaiting him.
“There you are.” Chatham Doogan rose to his feet, his headful of thick gray hair standing on end in places, his expression surprisingly less somber than normal.
At sixty-seven his father ruled the Doogan mansion with an iron fist after his wife’s death. He told anyone who cared to listen that his precious Illy, Illandra Doogan, would never forgive him if he allowed her home to fall to ruin.
“Father.” Doogan nodded, though he didn’t take his eyes off the man that rose when Chatham did to face him.
“I thought you said visitors, in the plural?” Doogan asked his father.
Closing the door, he strode behind the desk and sat down heavily, watching Graham suspiciously.
“Well, the other three decided they could wait to see you.” His father scratched absently at his head, his gaze questioning. “They didn’t say why.”
“The Mackays felt the meeting would go more peacefully if they weren’t here,” Graham admitted, glancing at Doogan’s father. “Can I have a minute with him, Chatham? I’ll make certain we finish catching up before I leave.”
“Of course.” Chatham nodded, his gaze moving to Doogan warningly. “Don’t start another fight in here, Bromleah. Your mother will be screaming through the halls again if ye do so.”
The Irish was as thick and pure in his father’s voice as it was the day he stepped on American soil as a young lad in his mother’s arms.
“I’ll do my best,” Doogan assured him. “I never throw the first punch, though, if you remember.”
“You just piss a man off enough to do the job for you,” Chatham grunted. “Try not to piss young Graham here off. He’s likely the last friend ye have left in this world.”
No doubt, Doogan agreed silently, watching his father leave the room. When the door closed behind him Graham sat down, his gaze faintly amused.
“He never changes much,” Graham chuckled. “Always as opinionated and determined as ever.”
“Determined to run my life and have an opinion on every mistake he believes I’ve ever made,” Doogan agreed, though fondly. “The world’s a better place with him in it, though.” He sat back in his chair, watched Graham for long minutes, then shook his head. “This isn’t a good time, Graham . . .”
“Yeah, walking away from a woman and tearing her soul out at a time when she needs you most makes things a little iffy when you’re in love with her.” Graham nodded sagely.
Doogan could feel his molars grinding instantly, his jaw clenched so tight.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he gritted out.
Graham sighed heavily. “That Irish only comes out when you let those tightly held emotions of yours slip. Funny thing, though,” he pointed out. “I never heard that accent slip once when you were married, unless you were talking about Katie.”
He’d married Catalina when he’d learned she was pregnant. Love had never been part of the equation. He’d never told anyone that, though. He’d never allowed his memory of his daughter to be marred by the fact that she was conceived before his marriage to her mother. In his youth, he’d felt his child would be hurt by such knowledge.
How stupid he’d been. He should have divorced the day Katie was born and paid off the judge for custody. Had he known then what he knew now, he would have done just that.
“Is Zoey okay?” He pushed the memories back and focused on now. Focused on another loss so deep, so painful that dealing with it was taxing his patience.
“She’s fine.” Graham nodded. “Grieving. Missing you. Living with Dawg.”
Doogan sat up at that news. “Why is she livin’ with Dawg?”
That fucking accent was about to piss him off, Doogan thought, unable to control it just as he was unable to control the hell his life had become without Zoey in it.
“She’s grieving, missing you,” Graham repeated with a snort. “It broke her heart when you walked out and just disappeared. A few phone calls a week won’t heal it, dumbass.”
He just stared back at the other man, refusing to comment.
When he said nothing, Graham sighed heavily. “Dawg was right, it was best they not be here, because you’re determined to keep punishing yourself and Zoey right along with you.”
“You made a mistake comin’ here, Graham,” Doogan warned him, the anger he was trying to hold back slipping free in the low throb of his voice. “Perhaps you should leave.”
“Yeah, for now.” Graham rose to his feet. “But wait too long to fix this, Doogan, and I swear to you, I’ll help the Mackays run your ass out of town when you do return. Then you’ll understand the mistake you’re making.”
“Meanin’?” he snapped, rising as well. “And you’ll run me from no place that I decide to be, boyo. I promise ya that.”
The hard sneer that curled at Graham’s lips had his fists wanting to curl, to meet flesh and expend the fury rushing through him.
“You think your friends didn’t know why you married that bitch?” Graham snapped. “That we weren’t well aware she deliberately let herself get pregnant to trap the Doogan heir into marriage? That when she didn’t have a boy and you refused to touch her again, that she didn’t begin conniving to force you into paying her off for the rest of her fucking life?”
It was the truth. It was the reason he and Eli could never get along. Her younger brother had never wanted to see what his sister had become. He’d become estranged from his family when his parents refused to have her grave blessed, when Doogan refused to allow her to be buried next to the daughter Eli thought she loved. Just as Chatham Doogan had refused to allow his bastard son, Regan, to be buried in Doogan ground, swearing he’d sell every inch of the land if the ‘illegitimate spawn of evil’ was placed anywhere close to the child he killed.
Doogan understood, though. Eli hadn’t seen his sister’s spiteful nature; he’d still been too easy to use. She’d been certain he only saw what she had wanted him to see. Only believed what she’d wanted him to believe. That Doogan had broken her heart, taken her daughter, and left her with nothing.
Eli should have the truth by now. Doogan had allowed the file he’d ordered withheld made available to the agent. Eli wasn’t a boy, he was a man. If he couldn’t use a man’s intelligence to see what his sister was, then so be it.
“I don’t want to fight you, Graham,” Doogan snapped, forcing his fingers to uncurl. “Leave this be.”
“She cries all the time. She’s like a ghost. She turned the remaining details and the position of overseer of the pact over to another agent and isn’t even interested in it now.” The surprising information had Doogan staring at Graham in confusion now.
“Why would she do that?” he questioned the other man. “It makes no sense.”
“She said she’s done with it.” Graham shrugged. “Hell, she’s a Mackay, who knows why they do things. And as you said, it’s none of my business.” Contempt filled his voice. “The day will come when I’ll tell you the same damned thing, though. She’s none of your business. And you’ll listen. I promise you that, I’ll make sure of it.”
Before Doogan could question him further, Graham stomped from the office and from the house. He didn’t stop to keep his promise to the old man, Doogan thought, sitting back down wearily. No doubt, he’d catch the blame for that one eventually.
Because it was his fault.
The thought had him glowering in brooding anger at the fireplace across the room. Empty, cold; the dark bricks looked lik
e the yawning mouth of empty fucking dreams from where he sat.
Fuck.
“Yer makin’ a mistake, boy.” His father stepped into the room, watching him with that patient, somber expression Doogan hated. “That woman was drawin’ ya even before Katie was taken from us. Even I heard the way ya spoke of that woman causin’ havoc in Kentucky whenever. And it was no coincidence ya petitioned your godfather for the annulment when ya did. Ya knew ye couldn’t stay away from her, didn’t ya?”
He’d petitioned his godfather, a bishop in the Catholic church, for an annulment. Catalina was fighting it though, swearing they shared a bed, when they hadn’t.
Doogan stared into the fireplace with the desperation of a man searching his soul rather than the empty space that only rarely held the warmth it was created for.
“Ah, Brom, yer mother will be yellin’ at ya later, ya know,” his father warned him. “Call it drafts in an old house all ye need to. We both know the sounds of her wailing and tears, don’t we, son? Tonight, they’ll keep us both awake, aye?”
Yes, his mother haunted them. He’d accepted it the night of Katie’s death. They eerie sounds of his mother’s cries had sent chills racing up his back. He only prayed tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights, though he knew better. He swore he could feel her staring at him now, her Irish temper ready to erupt.
“She was a fine woman, yer mother.” Chatham sighed heavily. “Loved to do the things that made a man terrified for the loss of her, she did. Rode those horses hell fer leather, laughin’ with joy when they reared and thought to take the reins from her. And she’d loved that wee little girl a’ ours, didn’t she? I thank the Lord daily she left us before Katie was taken. We’d have lost ’em both had she not.”
“Stop . . .” Doogan snapped.
“Stop, ye say,” his father grunted. “Stop, Da. I’ll hear na more, Da,” he snarled. “Well, ye’ll be hearin’ your mam tonight, ye will. Mark my words. When the midnight hour opens the doors betwixt here and heaven, she’ll be a-ragin’ at ya. Mark ma words she will be.”
Doogan came to his feet furiously. Casting his father an irate glare, he stomped from the room, determined to escape the truth.
“Run, boy, all ye like. She’ll be waitin’ for ya when ya return,” Chatham yelled at his retreating back. “And ya know she will be.”
Run? Hell. He’d stopped running from his mother’s temper when he was a lad. Because his da was right. She was always waiting when he returned.
Two Weeks Later
Cumberland, Kentucky
Zoey pulled her suitcase through the house, the padded wheels almost silent, the weight of the bag negligible with the ease of movement.
Good thing, she thought; now wasn’t the time to be carrying it.
With that thought, she entered the kitchen to face the family that had gathered around her, supported her, comforted her. And now, she hoped, was willing to let her leave.
Sitting with the various Mackays, in-laws, and out-laws as she liked to call them, was Harley. Harley Matthews though, rather than Perdue. Leaning back in a kitchen chair, his shaggy dark brown hair lying around his face, his blue eyes quiet and intense, he gave her a little wink when he caught sight of her.
He’d been a little worse for wear the night Jack had tried to kill her and Doogan, but his head was harder than anyone imagined, it seemed.
“Hey, sis,” Dawg greeted her gently. “Everything good?” He asked her that every morning. He worried, and in the time she’d spent with him, the hours they’d spent talking, she understood why. Just as, she hoped, he understood why she’d felt smothered and restrained by that worry.
“I hope the cleaners are finished at the apartment because I’m going home.” Zoey faced her family in her brother’s kitchen as they sat around the huge table drinking coffee.
Dawg, Natches, Rowdy, and their wives; Timothy and her mother; her sisters and their husbands were all present that evening. Timothy had arranged the meeting after receiving the final report on the status of the pact between the three motorcycle packs. Zoey had turned the negotiations over to the female agent who had assisted her for the past two years, her heart no longer in the adventure.
With the report on the pact were the final reports on Jack’s activities and the events that led to his death at his brother’s hand.
Billy was home from the hospital and under the care of several medical techs provided by Homeland Security. The motorcycle pack Jack had led was finally released with the exception of Jack’s three co-conspirators and the firing of several human resources employees from Fort Knox.
The past weeks had been hell. She just wanted to go home, hide, and figure out what to do after the news she’d received herself that day sank in.
Everyone stared at her silently, their gazes moving from the suitcase at her side, then back to her face.
“You don’t have to leave, Zoey.” Christa spoke gently from Dawg’s side. “You know we’ve enjoyed having you here.”
“I’m ready to go home.” She couldn’t rage here. She couldn’t cry, grieve, or let herself find the comfort she’d learned that morning that Doogan had given her before he left.
“All right.” Dawg nodded, shocking her with his answer as well as the somberness in his gaze. “Do me a favor, though?”
“What?” she asked warily. He’d agreed far too easily.
“Let me and Natches come over in a few days and redo the security. I’ll never sleep at night worrying about you and the baby otherwise.”
She froze for a second before her gaze jumped to her sisters. But they were just as shocked. They hadn’t told. Then Zoey turned slowly to her mother.
Her mother, Mercedes, stared at Timothy, a frown on her face, her arms crossed over her breasts.
“Timothy?” she questioned him warningly.
“Not me.” Tim’s hands went up, denial creasing his face and filling his eyes. “Stop glaring at me.”
“I knew you were at the doctor’s office this morning,” Dawg sighed. “Jenkins is an OB/GYN, Zoey. I’m not a fool, sweetheart.”
No, he wasn’t a fool.
“You are not to tell Doogan,” she informed him, suddenly afraid he would do just that. “None of you are.”
“Zoey.” Graham drew her attention. He was Doogan’s friend, the one person in the room who would call him the quickest. “That’s not our place, sweetheart. If you want Doogan to know, then you can tell him. We’re here for you, though. However you need our support.”
However she needed their support.
She needed Doogan, ached for him, missed him desperately. He’d called her several times a week since he’d left, checking on her, sometimes just discussing the day when he called late at night. But he hadn’t mentioned coming back. He hadn’t told her why he left as he had.
And she didn’t want a man who had to be guilted into her bed. She hadn’t told him her suspicions and she wouldn’t tell him they were confirmed now. She would slowly stop taking his calls, let him disappear from her life as he so obviously wanted to disappear.
“Thank you.” The tightness in her throat was nearly impossible to swallow around.
Before leaving there was the round of hugs, her sisters’ tears, her brother’s and cousins’ regret, and Graham’s whispered “I’m sorry, little sis.”
It wasn’t his fault; it wasn’t Doogan’s fault.
She’d loved having him inside her, loved the feel of his release heating her, extending hers, and the intimacy it had given her. A false feeling of intimacy, it seemed, but still, the belief that there was a bond building between them, that he cared for her, had filled her with warmth.
Finally, her suitcase stored in her newly rebuilt roadster, Zoey was pulling from her brother’s driveway and heading home. She had to fight her tears every step of the way when she had so wanted to sob against her mother’s shoulder. She wanted to scream and rail and let free the tears that she’d held back for so long.
She wanted Doogan. r />
She wanted him to hold her, wanted him to touch her, and she so wanted to feel at least a suspicion that he wouldn’t hate her for being pregnant, for forcing him to face the risks and dangers he’d no doubt think of if he learned of her pregnancy.
She wanted to share her joy with him, because the knowledge that she carried their child gave her the kick in the ass she needed to get her life back in order and to leave her brother’s protective embrace.
She had bitched about him for so long, hid who and what she was for so many years, when Lyrica had been right. She should have gone to him and Natches, asked them to back her. Because they would have. She’d seen that gleam in their eyes when she’d met with the leaders of the motorcycle packs she’d known since she was a teenager.
The three leaders of the largest packs to sign with Homeland Security, Tigen, Black, and Forest had been surprised to see them there, but Zoey was the one who had been shocked to learn the lengths the three men had taken to get to know the Mackays once Zoey and her sisters were moved to Kentucky.
Dawg, Natches, and Rowdy had seemed years younger as they escorted her into the Louisville bar where the meeting was held. Armed and dangerous, their gazes watchful, their still muscular, powerful bodies ready to move if they had to.
According to Black, the pact would have moved much faster if her family had been involved simply because protecting her would have been an assurance they wouldn’t have had to double- and triple-check. They had never trusted Jack or his pack to protect her. And it was probably a damned good thing.
They were willing to protect the pack Jack had left, though. The suddenly orphaned men and women who had made the pack their family and support network had been at a loss, just as Billy felt. Forest had agreed to move into the area and allow Jack’s to integrate with it. The men and women who followed him could also integrate easily into the surrounding counties and their workforce, just as they did wherever Forest led them each season.
They were like modern-day Gypsies, she’d always thought. Waiting, subconsciously searching for that one place they could call home. Maybe Lake Cumberland could become home for many of them.