"Why are you here?" Leroy asked, striding toward the peak where Lorraine had vanished.
He wanted the man gone. The last thing he needed was Damian's theatrics in the middle of a war-swept riverbank and when his sister wanted him dead. There were no trees, no thickets, no sensible place for a woman to hide.
Had she crossed? Was she captured? Was that the reason those men retreated? Each possibility tightened the line of his jaw.
"Where is Lorraine?" Damian asked, voice silky, untroubled by the bloody ground beneath them.
Leroy stopped. He turned, slow and hard, and let his glare do most of the talking. This man had the gall to hunt for his wife as if he had any right to ask where she hid. The thought of it made something cold and raw coil in his gut.
