“Someone’s trying to track Lyrica. Stay off the phone. Do not answer it. I’ll call Sam and she’ll be out here to get you soon. Leave the phone here; don’t take it with you.”
“What if your phone is being tracked, too?” she whispered, still following him as he moved around to the driver’s side.
“It’s not or I wouldn’t have gotten through to her. It’s encrypted and secure. No one tracked it. But I want you to go with Sam and stay there until I call.”
“You’ll call soon?” she implored, stepping back from the car as he revved the motor of the powerful Viper.
“As soon as I can, sweetie,” he promised. “Now get in the house and lock up until Sam gets here. Now!”
Shifting quickly into gear, he tore out of the driveway, checking the rearview mirror just long enough to see her racing into the house.
“Call Sam.” He activated the Bluetooth calling option built into t
he powerful vehicle.
“Detective Bryce,” responded the strong, feminine voice that came over the line.
“Sam, could you check the house for me?” Graham kept his tone casual, pleasant. “I’m going to be late getting back and Kye’s phone is acting up on me.”
Sam would know exactly what the request meant—that Kye might need protection and to get her out of the house.
“Sure, Graham,” she answered, her own voice never changing, though he knew she was moving, prepping. “I was heading that way anyway to visit with a few friends.”
“I appreciate it,” he drawled. “On your way back, stop by the Mackays’ and ask Zoey if she’ll make a reservation for you tomorrow night. She’s still pissed at me for running off that hoodlum last week who was flirting with her. But let’s not let her family know I butted in. Dawg gets cranky over that shit and he’ll just piss her off when he questions her about it.”
What he said wasn’t important. The fact that he said it and the name he gave was all the detective needed. They’d worked together long enough that she was well versed in reading between the lines.
He didn’t want anyone alerted to the fact that Lyrica was in trouble until he figured out what the trouble was and the danger she was facing. The fact that Kye’s phone was being monitored and jammed each time she attempted to call Lyrica was warning enough that any information going to Lyrica’s phone, or her family’s phones, would be overheard.
“Yeah, we try to keep Dawg calm,” Sam laughed, the ease of the sound assuring him that anyone listening would be none the wiser that Graham was on his way to London. “Talk to you soon, then.”
Disconnecting the call, Graham pushed the little sports car harder, taking the curves at a breakneck speed as he raced for the interstate.
London was forty-five minutes away. In the Viper, he could cut that time to less than twenty. He didn’t worry about being stopped or trailed. Once his tag number was called in, law enforcement would let him go. He made certain he used the privilege often enough that he was rarely questioned over it. It shouldn’t so much as blip anyone’s radar. At least not until he collected Lyrica, and only then if he was seen.
Tightening his hands on the steering wheel as his teeth clenched furiously, he hoped he came face-to-face with the bastard who had the delicate, too damned fragile Lyrica hiding behind a Dumpster, terrified for her life.
They’d made a mistake. Whoever had dared to strike out at her for whatever reason had made a costly error. Because he’d make sure they paid. They should have done their homework better, should have checked closer into the fact that Kye was a friend. The very fact that Kyleene Brock kept Lyrica’s number on her main contact list should have been a clue.
She was important to Graham.
He’d encouraged Kye in that particular friendship. Had gently pushed his sister in the other woman’s direction to ensure Lyrica stayed on the periphery of his life, at least.
He had no intention of becoming involved with her. He wouldn’t have become involved with her because of the simple fact that he hadn’t wanted to hurt her.
He didn’t want to break her tender heart.
Now that might not even be an option.
He’d make damned sure that he broke the bastard, ensuring the dynamics in his and Lyrica’s relationship would change, though. Whoever it was, he was a dead man walking.
As he sped toward the interstate, the Viper taking the curves with a roar of power as it easily gripped the pavement, he was aware of a pickup that he passed, as well as the man most likely driving it.
The highway entrance was just ahead, and, calculating his intended speed and that of the man behind him, he quickly revised the plan he’d been considering to rescue Lyrica.
“Incoming call. Secured. Encrypted,” the computerized voice announced.
“Accept,” he ordered tersely.