by J. Kenner
“Thanks for that.” Nikki’s lips twitched. “Of course, I still would have wanted to know. But,” she added on a sigh, “I would have understood why you stayed quiet. At least until Anne—” Her breath hitched. “You know.”
“You’re right. Once Anne was taken, all bets were off. After that, I couldn’t have stayed quiet about Sofia and the miscarriage.”
“But before…” She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I get it. And Ollie? You didn’t tell me that he’d asked to borrow money, either.”
“Yeah, well, Ollie’s a prick,” he said, making her laugh.
The lawyer-turned-FBI agent might be one of Nikki’s best friends, but he was also in love with her. Or he had been, and Damien couldn’t actually imagine any man ever getting over Nikki. “Plus, again, he asked me not to.”
“Hmmm.” Amusement lingered in her voice. “I suppose that’s fair.” She shot him a sideways glance, then took his hand. “But you do like your secrets, Mr. Stark.”
“I’ve lived with them my whole life. They’re like old friends.”
She laughed, and the sound filled his soul. “I get that,” she said, then tugged him to a halt before rising up on her toes to brush a kiss over his lips. “But introduce your wife to those friends every once in a while, okay?”
Chapter Eight
“I get it,” Bree said. “I really do.”
They were on the back porch of the guest house—Bree’s home while she worked as their nanny. A few yards away, the girls laughed and giggled on the playscape, Anne in the sandbox, and Lara on the horse-shaped swing.
“I’m glad you understand,” Nikki said, sipping the coffee Bree had offered as she leaned against Damien on the small wicker love seat. “But we’re still so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know you have to do everything you can to protect those babies.” She pushed a lock of long dark hair off her face. A mix of Jewish and Native American, Brianna Bernstein had an exotic beauty in addition to her sweetness and composure. “They’re your priority.”
“They are,” Damien agreed. “And I’m sorry it hurt you—us not trusting you. Me not trusting you. But I wouldn’t—couldn’t—do it differently.”
“I know. It’s just…I love those girls like they’re my own. But they’re not. And I think … I think in some ways I’ve been hiding behind this job. Using it as an excuse not to get out into the scary world.”
“It doesn’t have to be scary,” Damien said. “Considering what you went through, I know that’s hard to believe, but—”
“My grandfather was a kid when he escaped from Poland during the war,” she said, cutting off his words. “His parents died in a gas chamber. Maybe the world doesn’t have to be scary, but it usually is.” She licked her lips, then looked from him to Nikki. “I always felt safe here, though.”
“And then I took that away from you,” Damien scoffed.
Bree shook her head, her dark eyes wide. “No—Oh, God, no. Rory did that. What he did to you guys—to Anne—was horrible. But he hurt me. He used me. You didn’t take anything from me. You were just protecting your family. I get that. Really, I do.”
Damien nodded, appreciating the words even as he wished he could have done things a hell of a lot differently. At the same time, he knew that under the same circumstances, he would have done the very same thing. Because in the end, Bree was right. His priority was his daughter.
Beside him, Bree pulled her feet up onto her wicker chair, then hugged her knees to her chest. “I don’t go to Upper Crust anymore.”
“Because of Rory?” Nikki asked.
Bree lifted a shoulder. “Stupid, but that was where we had our first date. And I met him through Kari,” she added, referring to one of the managers at the popular Malibu bakery that was a favorite weekend spot for Damien and Nikki. “We’re still friends, though. And I asked a couple of days ago. About him, I mean. She said that he’d been coming to the bakery for about three months before the kidnapping. But he’d started asking about me after just a few days.”
“He targeted you,” Damien said. “We already assumed as much.”
“I guess. Still makes me feel dirty.”
“I get that,” Nikki said.
Bree rolled her eyes, looking like a lost teen instead of a woman in her twenties. “I can’t believe I went all ga-ga over his name. Rory Fucking Claymore. I told you he sounded like a romance hero, remember?”
A ghost of a smile touched Nikki’s lips. “I remember.” The smile morphed into a grimace. “I probably should have warned you off him right then, what with a last name like that.”
Bree frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Just being silly. I hadn’t even realized it at the time, but his last name is the same as this creep I used to know.”
Creep was putting it mildly. The first time that Nikki had revealed her scars to Damien, she’d been an emotional wreck, and as far as he was concerned, Kurt Claymore shouldered all the blame. Even now, Damien’s blood boiled with the memory. He’d wanted to kill Kurt. To look the bastard in the eyes and squeeze the life out of him.
He hadn’t—over the years Damien had learned to control his temper—but he’d still managed a sweet bit of payback. And that had felt pretty damn good.
To this day, Damien didn’t know if Kurt or Nikki’s mother, Elizabeth Fairchild, had hurt Nikki more. He didn’t care. They were both vile, and he’d done everything in his power to keep them out of her life and to avoid the specter of their memories.
Which was why he hadn’t told her before that he’d noticed the similarity in names. Or that, just to be sure, he’d investigated Rory’s family tree to make certain the two men weren’t related. They weren’t by blood. But they still had the common thread of being total assholes.
Across from them, Bree sighed, sliding her feet back to the wooden porch as she took a long sip of coffee. “At any rate, point being, he sought me out because I work for you guys. He used me to get to you.”
“He did,” Damien agreed. “And we’re sorry.”
“I know,” Bree said, smiling at them each in turn. “I really do know.”
“Have you decided what you want to do?” Nikki asked.
“I think so.” Bree twisted her hands. “I’m still nervous, but I’m going to go to school. I love it here, and I love the girls—but I have to figure out what I want to be. Who I want to be.” She drew a breath, then exhaled noisily. “I was hoping to stay here through the summer—give you guys time to find a replacement—and then head to New York a week or so before school starts so I can find a place to live and play tourist a bit.”
“That sounds fine,” Nikki said.
“And you don’t have to worry about a place,” Damien added, as both women turned to him in confusion. “You have an apartment.”
“I—what?” Bree looked at Nikki, who just lifted her shoulders, looking a little lost.
“Call it severance,” Damien said firmly. “And don’t get too excited. It’s only a studio. But it has a doorman and it’s not far from the school.”
“But—”
“I’ll put a trust in place to cover taxes and annual assessments. I’ll make sure there’s enough principal in the trust that it should generate income to cover those costs for at least the next ten years. By that time, you’ll be settled and can pay on your own, or you’ll have sold the place. Or rented it.”
“I—but—I mean, severance? That’s not usually a gazillion times more than someone’s annual salary. I mean, Mr. Stark—”
“Damien.”
“Mr. Stark, that’s too much.”
“No, it’s not,” Nikki said gently, and Damien released a small sigh of relief. Normally, he would have consulted Nikki, but he’d made the decision to give Bree the small Manhattan studio he’d bought a decade ago on the spur of the moment. Now, he squeezed Nikki’s hand, relieved when she squeezed back, her smile as sweet as sunshine.
“He took you.” Damien spoke gently to Bree, try
ing to make her understand that this was important to him. “You were watching our daughter, and he took you, too. Because of who you work for. Who I am. And you didn’t once resent me for that. You thought only of our little girl. You watched over her. Comforted her.”
“How do you know I did?” Her voice was low, shaky with unshed tears.
“Because I know you, Bree.” He’d failed her, too. He’d been so busy trying to protect his family that he’d forgotten that she’d become part of that family. “Take the condo, Bree. Please.” He needed her to. It was part thank you. Part apology.
Then he saw the tears flood her eyes and her mouth tighten as if she was fighting off a deluge. She nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. “This really does mean the world.”
“It does,” Nikki said, lifting his hand and kissing his fingers.
For a moment, they were all quiet, with only the little girls’ giggles filling the air. Then Damien’s phone chirped, and he jumped. Nikki laughed nervously, and Damien rolled his eyes, unsure why they should all be on edge, as if they didn’t deserve a moment of happiness and calm.
Then he glanced at the display, saw that the call was from Charles, and felt the foreboding rush back. He had no call scheduled with Charles-the-attorney today. And Charles-the-friend wouldn’t bother him on a day he was staying home with the girls.
“What’s going on?” he asked, ignoring the polite preliminaries.
Charles knew him well enough to cut to the chase as well. “Rory’s attorney just called. He wants to meet with you and Nikki tomorrow afternoon. Five o’clock. Before he’s transferred.”
“Transferred?” Damien repeated.
Beside him, Nikki’s forehead creased.
Rory, he mouthed.
“He’s in the Men’s Central Jail downtown. They’re moving him to the LA County State Prison in Lancaster.”
“He’s not withdrawing his plea, is he?”
Both Nikki and Bree stiffened.
“No. No, the plea’s been entered. He’s being sentenced on Monday. Probably just a capacity thing.”
Damien switched the phone to speaker. Nikki had a right to hear this. Bree, too, for that matter. “Then why does he want to see us?”
“I don’t know. But I think it’s worth finding out.”
He met Nikki’s eyes. She nodded, her face going pale.
“All right,” he said. “I guess we’ll go see the son-of-a-bitch.”
Chapter Nine
Bree stayed at the playscape to watch the kids while they went back to the house so that Damien could call Ryan and Jackson and give them an update on the Rory situation. They held hands as they followed the path, walking in silence. At least until Nikki tugged him to a stop where the path crested a small hill, opening up to a stunning vista of the property falling away toward the beach with the majesty of the Pacific in the distance.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist and gazing out over the view.
But Nikki wasn’t looking at the sea. Her eyes were fixed on him, and he turned to her with a frown. “What’s wrong?” As far as he was concerned, the talk with Bree couldn’t have gone better. “Nikki?”
“What you said to Bree. About this happening because of who you are…”
He turned away, frustrated. “Don’t say it’s not true. We both know that it is. Anne wouldn’t have been taken if it wasn’t for me. Rory took her because of who I am. Because she’s my daughter.”
He watched her throat move, but she didn’t speak, and he felt the waves crash over him. He’d spoken the truth because he had to make certain that she understood. No matter how much it might hurt, he needed her to face that horrible reality.
But now that she was staring dead at the reality of their life together, it felt like he was drowning. Because how could they be together when everything he’d spent his life working for was a lever that pushed them apart?
An eternity seemed to pass before she said, very plainly and very simply, “I know. Damien, of course I know.” She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. “And I hate that something so admirable in you was a magnet for tragedy and pain. But that doesn’t make it your fault. Would you blame a beautiful woman for being raped?”
Revulsion shot through him. “Of course not.”
“Then don’t blame yourself for what that asshole did to Anne. To us.”
He closed his eyes, wanting to battle back her words, but he couldn’t. The truth was that her arguments were the ones he would make were the tables turned. “You’re a smart woman, Mrs. Stark.”
She tilted her head back for his kiss, and he surrendered to the pleasure of his wife sliding into his arms. She tasted like morning dew. Like the ocean, spreading out toward infinity. Like promise and hope and an eternity together.
She tasted like happiness, and once again he wondered what he’d ever done in the whole of his life that had earned him the value of this moment.
Her hands clutched his hips, providing balance as she leaned back and met his eyes. “Do you know what I want right now, Mr. Stark?”
“The same thing I do.” A hint of smile tugged at his lips. “To blow off these calls until later and go see the kids.”
She laughed with delight. “God, I love you.”
“That works out well,” he said, bending to claim her mouth. “Because I love you beyond all reason.”
* * * *
“Castle, Daddy! Bigger!”
“Bigger, huh?” Damien filled a second bucket with damp sand, packed it in tight, then overturned it on top of the pile of sand that already existed in the box. He removed the plastic bucket, sat back, then watched as the sand crumbled away.
“No, Daddy!”
“Sorry, squirt. I think if you want a castle, Daddy can write a check. And if you want a custom built one, you’re going to have to talk to your uncle.”
“Unca Jackson here?”
“Not right now. But I’m sure we’ll see him soon.”
She pondered that, then looked over toward the swing set, where Nikki was pushing Lara higher and higher, to the little girl’s squeals of delight.
“Me, too, Daddy!” Anne lifted her arms. “Me swing, too!”
“That I can handle,” Damien said, scooping her into his arms and taking her to the toddler swing. He buckled her in, her little legs kicking with excitement. Then he stood behind her and pushed gently as she squealed with glee, so utterly fearless it made his heart ache. And made him remember the terror he’d felt the day she’d been born.
Not because there had been any trouble with her birth. On the contrary, according to Dr. Tyler, once Nikki got past that touch-and-go first trimester, everything was textbook perfect, including the actual birth. Nikki’s water had broken. She’d calmly asked Damien to drive her to the hospital. She’d been admitted. And ten hours later they had a daughter with perfect Apgar scores and the sweetest little face that Damien had ever seen.
But until that moment when they’d brought her home—until she was real and solid and crying in her bassinet—it hadn’t seemed real. And he’d gone through the entire pregnancy walking on eggshells.
They’d already had Lara, of course, and he couldn’t be happier. But he also didn’t think that he could shoulder the burden of another miscarriage, and he was certain that Nikki couldn’t. They’d lost Ashley—their first unborn child—to a miscarriage that resulted from Nikki’s rare uterine condition. And although Dr. Tyler had assured them that the chances of another miscarriage after the first trimester were slim, Damien had held his breath every single day.
By the time he held Anne in his arms, he felt like they’d dodged a bullet.
He’d never felt that way about Lara. On the contrary, they had Lara because they’d fought against a fate that would have left Lara struggling in an orphanage. They’d found her, then fought for her. Nikki had bared her soul to the adoption agency and the home study counselors. She’d sat down for multiple sessions with counselors about her cutting. T
hey’d worked out a plan to address the surgeries that Lara would need because she’d been born with an extra toe on each foot.
They’d fought for their first child, and they’d won.
But Anne had been an accident. They hadn’t even been trying to get pregnant. Just the opposite, since they knew that the odds of Nikki carrying to term were so slim. And as much as Fate had given her to them, Fate could rip her away again.
But Damien wouldn’t let that happen. He’d die before he let anyone hurt his daughters. At least, that’s what he’d told himself. And then Anne was taken, and there’d been nothing he could do. Not a goddamn thing.
“We were lucky,” he said, his voice low. Steady.
Beside him, Nikki turned from where she was helping Lara out of her swing. “Lucky?”
“With Anne. With Rory.”
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, obviously trying to read his mind. “Bullshit. We make our own luck, Damien. You’ve told me so over and over again.”
He just shook his head, then unbuckled Anne, who was struggling to get free and follow her sister.
“Don’t do this to yourself,” Nikki said, stalking toward him as Anne scurried toward Lara. “It wasn’t luck. It was you. You’re the one who found the clues that led us to Rory. You’re the one who put together the team. You’re the one who set up the tracking particles so we could tie him to the cash.”
“The tracker?” He lashed the words out at her. “You mean that same tracker that was the reason you cut?”
“I cut, Damien. Me. Because I was lost and I was scared and my daughter had been taken from me.” She spoke low so that the kids couldn’t hear. But for Damien, there was no missing the ferocity in her words.
“I was wrong not to have told you.”
“Hell yeah, you were. And I’m sure you’ll do something again that pisses me off. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re ninety-eight percent of the reason that we got our daughter back.”
Her phone rang before he could respond, and he was grateful.
