“Are you finally in the air?”
“Yeah. We left Santa Monica Muni thirty minutes ago.” Ron sat down on one of the seats in the back and stretched his legs. One benefit of using the Gulfstream was the extra space for someone his size. “What’s going on?”
“Have you seen the news?”
The drama at the children’s museum was the last thing he wanted to discuss. “No.”
“The Coast Guard’s been searching for a boat witnesses said exploded offshore near Venice two days ago. They found chunks of it, but so far, they’ve only found two bodies.”
Ron sat up. “The ex-firefighters?”
“Eddie Fitzgerald thinks so. Are you taking a taxi from the airport?”
“No, my cousin’s picking us up. Why?”
“Avoid public transportation at all costs. More bodies are coming out of the woodwork and that’s never good.”
“I hear you, man. We were supposed to meet Doyle Junior at the museum, but he was a no show. I can’t help but wonder why. Anything on him or his father?”
“Not yet, but I know Fitzgerald is following a lead, and so am I. As soon as I find a connection between the Doyles and the firefighters’ reversal in fortune, I’ll call you. I think he paid them off.”
“Just find that damn connection. There’s got to be an electronic trail buried somewhere.” Maybe he was grasping at straws here, but his future was at stake. “Hey, thanks for giving this all you’ve got. I know you haven’t taken any clients in the last couple of weeks.”
“That’s why I charge you megabucks.”
“Funny, haven’t seen a bill yet.”
“It’s in the mail…just a sec.” There was mumbling in the background, then Kenny came back. “What the hell happened at the museum this morning?”
Ron sighed. The last thing he needed was his mother going public with some cooked up story to explain her fight with Ashley. “Ashley and my mother had an argument and some reporter took pictures.”
“Turn on the T.V.”
Ron started to get up, but saw the flight attendant sashaying toward him with his drink. “Thank you.” He took the drink and gestured to the screen to his left. “Could you make sure all the other screens are off, then turn on the system. I need to catch something on the news.”
As she walked away, Ron brought his cell phone back to his ear. “How bad is it?”
“They keep showing footage of your mother and Ashley answering questions, then shifting to the slap.”
Ron swore under his breath.
“Man, this is jacked up.” Kenny added. “You’d better expect company when you hit Vegas. One of those damned reporters followed you to the airport. They know you’re headed to Vegas. How’s Ashley doing?”
“She’s fast asleep. She doesn’t need to see this.” The screen beside his seat lit up. “Let’s talk later, Kenny.”
It didn’t take long to find a channel showing footage of the incident. He studied Ashley and his mother as they answered questions. Ashley was tense, chewing on her lower lip the entire time his mother spoke, yet when it was her turn, she sounded firm and confident. He had no idea what the hell happened between the interview and the fight near the murals. He didn’t want to know, he just wanted the damned thing to go away.
“Oh, no,” Ashley whispered.
Ron turned his head to look at her. He’d been so absorbed with the screen he hadn’t heard her walk up.
“Sorry, I woke you.” He leaned forward to switch it off.
“Don’t, please.” She leaned against the back of his seat, her gaze glued on the screen. She flinched as they showed the slap footage. “I had no idea he videotaped it too.”
“They’re vultures.” He wanted to apologize to her again. His mother had gone too far this time.
Ashley gripped his shoulder. “Stop it. That,” she pointed at the screen, “wasn’t your fault.”
“Really? Where was I when she was hitting you? From the body language alone, I could see she’d verbally attacked you before she hit you.”
“I didn’t exactly try to placate her.”
He shook his head. “No one placates my mother when she’s pissed. I should have come downstairs with you, but that woman just kept yapping nonstop.”
Ashley wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek against his head. “This thing between your mother and me started ten years ago. I just wish she could forgive me and let go of the past. ”
The pain and frustration in her voice filled him with guilt. He tilted his head into her face. “There’s nothing to forgive, sweetheart. My father’s death wasn’t your fault. Mom just needs to accept that. She holds grudges for too damn long. Over the years, I’ve seen her refuse to forgive people she felt had slighted her, so don’t take this personally.”
“Maybe once they confirm that the Doyles were behind the fire at Carlyle House, she can focus her energy on making sure they’re brought to trial and find closure. I know I’d like that.”
Her earnest gaze connected with his and Ron winced. If the tables were turned, would her mother find closure if his father was involved? Would Ashley?
“Don’t look at me like that, Ron. I’m not after revenge. I know it’s been ten years and punishing those responsible wouldn’t bring our parents back, but what the arsonists did was wrong.” Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe they planned to kill my parents or maybe they didn’t, but the fact remains that we lost those we love because of what they started. We,” she pointed at her chest then at him, “owe it to our parents to see that justice is served.”
He couldn’t come up with a logical explanation to contradict the things she’d said. He pulled her onto his lap and gave her a slow kiss wreathed with guilt. “Yeah, we do,” he said.
She gripped his head to slow him down. “How long before we land?”
Ron looked at his watch. “Less than thirty minutes.” He dipped his head to kiss her again.
She angled her head away. “I don’t want to look messy when I meet your family.”
“You won’t. I promise to be very careful.” He rained kisses along her jaw to her ear and took a nip. A shudder shook her. He knew exactly when she gave in. Her body relaxed and curled against his. “Especially with your hair,” he added.
She giggled, forked her fingers through his hair and gripped his head. “Such an understanding man. Do we need to worry about the flight attendant?”
“Give me a second.” He hurried toward the galley, spoke briefly to the flight attendant and hurried back. “Now we don’t have to,” he said as he joined her.
Their lips met, fingers caressed skin and sighs of pleasure filled the cabin for the next twenty minutes.
***
“This has nothing to do with Carlyle House,” Ashley tried to reassure her cousin before they landed. “Mrs. Noble donated some money to the museum, stopped by to see where her money was going and our paths crossed.”
Faith laughed. “And that should explain why she slapped you?”
Ashley pursed her lips. “She made a nasty comment about my art, I lost it and she didn’t like what I said,” she lied smoothly.
“Is that the official story? The one I’m supposed to tell Lex, Aunt Estelle and the others when they call looking for answers?”
Trust Faith to see right through her lie. “Yes.”
“And the real story is…?”
Ashley sighed. Nosey relatives are a pain in the rear. “Can we talk when I get back?”
“Sure.” A snicker followed. “So how come you’re going to Vegas with the playboy? I thought you swore he was out of the picture the last time we spoke.”
Did she? Must have been during her self-imposed house arrest. And now that she knew she was in love with him, Ashley didn’t care what anyone thought. “He’s really not like that.”
“Said the fly ‘bout the spider,” Faith said in a sing-song voice.
Ashley closed her eyes. “Faith, I know you mean well, but I know what I’m doin
g.”
“Does he make you happy? Is he the one?”
Ashley smiled. Despite all they’d been through, she was happy. “Very and yes.”
“Then go for it. And let’s talk when you get back.” There was a brief pause. “When will that be?”
“Saturday.”
“Okay. I’ll placate everyone from this end and I’ll see you Saturday evening. Be good.”
Faith disconnected the phone before Ashley could protest. Saturday morning she had an appointment with Dr. Reuben. Hopefully by the time she met with Faith, she would have all her memories back. She placed the phone back in its cradle, just as the captain’s voice filled the cabin. They were about to land at McCarran Airport, Las Vegas.
The heat hit them when they stepped off the air conditioned plane. “That’s my cousin Stanley,” Ron said from behind Ashley.
Ashley studied the lanky, bespectacled man grinning at them from the open door of an SUV. Though he had the same raven hair, Stanley didn’t look anything like Ron. A nervous smile touched her lips. She’d taken time to freshen up but was sure her face would give away the fact that she and Ron had a quickie in the jet.
Ron dropped their bags, locked fists with his cousin and hugged.
“Where’s William?” Ron asked.
Stanley jerked his thumb toward the airport building, his eyes on Ashley. “Out in front with the limo, side-tracking the paparazzi. His brilliant plan, not mine.”
“I’ll remember to thank him.” Ron reached for Ashley’s hand and performed the introduction.
“Nice to finally meet you, Ashley,” Stanley said with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.
“Finally?” she asked, wondering whether Stanley had seen the incident on TV or Ron had talked to him about her. She glanced at Ron, but he was busy putting their bags in the truck.
“Over a week ago, we were signing a deal in New York and,” he threw Ron a teasing grin, “Ron decided to catch the red eye back to L.A. for a meeting with a certain, uh, how did he put it?”
“Shut up, Stanley.” Ron took her arm and tried to lead her to the truck.
“Not so fast.” She pushed at his hand. “I want to hear this.” She recalled how she’d attributed his red eyes and haggard state to partying. He’d led her to believe that, the rascal. “A certain what?”
Stanley glance bounced between their faces then he shrugged. “Talented artist,” he finished.
“Bet you didn’t say that,” Ashley teased Ron as she slid in the back passenger seat. “You made me believe you’d been out partying the night before.”
“No, sweetheart. You jumped to that conclusion, and I decided not to correct you.” He planted a kiss on her lips then closed the door before she could respond.
She sat back and enjoyed the drive to the Darden’s home. Located in a cul-de-sac with a mountain backdrop, the two-story stucco and frame had a breathtaking view of a golf course and the Strip. When Stanley punched in security codes and the gate opened, Ashley leaned forward to study the arched entrance, elegant pillars and tiles in sun-baked hues. The artist in her appreciated the gracious façade created by the large windows, flower patches, gardens and trees. A stretch limo was parked in the circular cobbled yard.
Ron stepped down from the SUV and went to Ashley’s side. He and Stanley carried their overnight bags and discussed which rooms the housekeeper had prepared for them when they entered the house. She heard the pool house mentioned, but she was busy studying her surroundings.
Ashley looked around with interest. There was nothing traditional about the elegant, two-story foyer. The oval-shaped room had faux painted walls, a wood and iron banister curved staircase, and white and grey marbled flooring. An elegantly painted Louis XVI console topped by yellow beveled marble and a matching mirror complemented a Monet painting of water lilies. Arches and columns marked the entrance to rooms visible from where she stood.
“Doyle? Which one?”
The snap in Ron’s voice drew her attention. He stood still, his fingers gripping hers. His expression was furious, while his cousin looked ready to bolt.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“My grandmother and uncle have a visitor,” he explained. “Which one, Frankie?”
His cousin hesitated, the uneasy expression on his face intensifying. “Ryan.”
Cold fingers crawled up her spine.
“Let’s find out what the hell is going on here.” Ron’s voice was stark when he spoke.
CHAPTER 19
Ashley wasn’t sure what to expect when they entered the den—maybe a full-fledged war, but certainly not Ron’s grandmother, Penelope Darden, on a Louis XV style armchair, holding court. Doyle, in a black pinstripe suit, sipped an amber-colored liquid and hung on her every word. The other occupant, a distinguished looking man in a grey cashmere suit, she assumed was Gregory Neumann, Ron’s uncle. He sat apart from the other two, his expression unreadable.
“Ah, my grandson is here,” Mrs. Darden said when she saw them, then beckoned Ron forward. “Come here, darling.”
Ashley didn’t move from the doorway as the two older men stood and Ron walked to his grandmother. It was rude to stare, but she couldn’t keep her gaze off Ryan Doyle. The urge to accuse him of being responsible for her parents’ death and sending that psycho Dunn after her rushed through her. She fought to control her rage and the feeling of helplessness that was threatening to pull her under.
Ryan turned his head and their gazes met. It might have been a fraction of a second, but something cold and lethal flashed in his eyes before he hid it behind an urbane smile. Ron was right, Doyle could drape himself in Armani suits and hide in stretch limos and mansions, but the man was a thug.
Ashley shivered and focused on Ron’s grandmother instead. She wasn’t your typical short, round, pearls-and-nylon-wearing grandmother. Even seated, she appeared tall and slender, her back straight and head held at a regal angle. Beside the men in their black suits and a room done in dark earthy tones, her red pants and matching cashmere top, diamond choker and dripping earrings added a flash of color and sparkle. Short, curly grey hair-do bared a surprisingly youthful face. Like her grandson, she had piercing, intelligent blue eyes. They shimmered with love as Ron kissed her cheek and she patted his. Then she motioned the two older men to sit down and turned her gaze on Ashley.
Ashley fidgeted when the woman didn’t speak right away.
“And you don’t need an introduction, my dear,” Penelope said. “Come closer. Let me take a better look at you.”
Ashley walked forward, nervous energy flowing through her. Why should she need an introduction when her image was on national TV since they left L.A.? Her ears grew hot.
Mrs. Darden took Ashley’s hand and patted it, her gaze unwavering. “You look exactly like your mother. Keira was such beautiful child. Her angelic voice could hold an entire hall captive.”
Surprise, then warmth unfurled in Ashley’s stomach. She didn’t know what she’d expected from Ron’s grandmother after her publicized fight with Nina—a lukewarm reception at best. Not this. Mrs. Darden’s eyes twinkled and her smile seemed genuine.
“But I see flashes of Damon in there too.” She chuckled. “You have his eyes. He was quite the charmer—your father.” Then she looked at the men and Ashley followed her gaze. “This is Ashley Fitzgerald, Keira and Damon’s little girl. Ashley…Ryan Doyle and my son, Gregory.”
Ashley’s mouth opened and she heard her voice say the perfunctory ‘hello,’ but inside, waves of anger swelled and crested, snuffing the warmth she’d felt at Mrs. Darden’s welcome. These two men had something to hide, and she wanted to know what it was. Then she felt Ron’s presence by her side. His hand wrapped around hers and squeezed. Usually he had a calming effect on her, but not now.
“What’s going on, Grandma?” Ron asked.
The older woman waved at the sofa opposite her chair. “Doyle was sharing with us some very disturbing news that I think might be of interest to both of you
.”
Ashley was more than eager to hear what the bastard had to say. As soon as they sat down, she studied the man. Mid-to-late fifties with swarthy complexion and a full head of black hair with very little grey, Ryan was physically fit for a man his age. He was also of average height. She’d noticed he was far shorter than Ron and his uncle when he had stood up. A conservative dresser with neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair, the ostentatious ring on his middle finger seemed at odds with the image he projected. It was the same ring he’d worn ten years ago.
“Tell them about Frankie Higgins, Doyle.”
Mrs. Darden’s orders yanked Ashley into focus. She shot Ron a look from the corner of her eye. He appeared composed, the expression on his face unreadable, but his hand flexed around hers.
“My son, Vaughn, called me this morning with the news that the FBI came to the house to arrest Frankie,” Doyle said, his gaze bouncing from one face to the next.
She shot Ron another look, but his expression didn’t give a hint of his thoughts.
“Frankie has been in my employ for almost twenty-five years, but there were certain things he did that no one was aware of,” Doyle continued. “He was involved in a string of criminal activities and someone from his past recently came forward and fingered him to the authorities.”
Ashley frowned. She couldn’t decide whether the man was telling the truth or lying. Maybe it wasn’t her place to ask questions, but she wasn’t about to sit there and be lied to. She opened her mouth, but Ron spoke.
“What sort of criminal activities?” he asked.
Ryan nodded curtly as though he’d anticipated Ron’s question. “Arson. It appears that he was the man to hire if you wanted to torch a place. But from what my son told me, his skills go beyond that. Frankie killed the three men who’d have identified him just a few days ago, blew them up in their boat in broad daylight.” He shook his head. “It’s a shocking business.”
Ashley glanced at Ron to gauge his reaction. He still wore a stone face, but his hand was crushing hers. She wiggled her fingers until he eased.
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