Indulge Me

by J. Kenner

  “How’s Nikki?” Ryan asked without preamble.

  “Good,” Damien said automatically, then, “Why are you—”

  “Jamie’s worried about her, too.” Jamie Archer—now Jamie Hunter—had been Nikki’s best friend since before Damien knew either of them. Beautiful, brash, reckless, and outspoken, Jamie was like a force of nature. There was also no one he trusted more where Nikki was concerned.

  “What’s she said?” Damien asked.

  “It was odd, actually. This morning she mentioned that Nikki had been doing so well, between time passing and you and counseling.”

  “But?”

  “That’s what was odd. Then she said that damn car spoiled everything.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “That’s what I asked, but Jamie said it was a BFF confidence, which I’d normally respect, but with Nikki and everything that happened, I decided to push.”

  Damien’s chest tightened. He knew Ryan was referring to Nikki’s cutting. She hadn’t cut for years, not since before she and Damien got together. At least not until Anne’s kidnapping. Then she’d taken a blade to her skin. Only once, and not deep. But she’d done it.

  She’d worked with a counselor, publicly talked about it, and even started volunteering with troubled teens, but Damien still worried that the hated scalpel had opened not just her skin, but a door to the shadows that now seemed to haunt his wife.

  “And? So what did Jamie say?”

  “Nothing. I pressed, and I think she would have told me, but then Jeffery got sand in his eye—we were babysitting for Syl and Jackson at the playground this morning—and before I had the chance to ask what she meant, she and the kids were heading off to meet Syl. You’ll probably see her before I do, but I can call and ask if you want.”

  “No, that’s okay.” Jamie was coming to the island that evening so that Nikki would have company over the next few days while Damien was in Paris on business. Sylvia and Jackson were already on site, along with their son and daughter. “I’ll either ask her in the morning or find out from Nikki.”

  “Nik hasn’t said anything to you?”

  Damien frowned. “No. Maybe that means it’s nothing at all.”

  “Maybe,” Ryan said, but Damien could tell his friend didn’t believe that any more than Damien did.

  “While I appreciate your concern about my wife, I’m assuming that wasn’t the primary purpose of this call?”

  “I wanted to update you,” Ryan said, his voice now firmly professional. “Denise has moved fully over to Stark Security, although I still can’t get her to do field work. Even so, she’s one hell of an asset in tech.”

  “Keep pushing,” Damien said, thinking of the competent blonde with the sharp green eyes. When her husband had disappeared during a covert government mission, she’d left her own intelligence job for a position at Stark International. Damien understood her desire to avoid the field, hiding herself away behind a keyboard. But he’d also seen the dossier Ryan had put together, compiled through both legitimate and not-so-legitimate means. The woman had talent. Stark Security would take her any way it could have her, but Damien wanted her in the field where she could be the most use.

  Created after Anne’s kidnapping, Stark Security was the tangible manifestation of Damien’s need to not only protect his family, but to help others in similar positions. To fight against those who oppressed the innocent, and fill the gap between what the authorities could do, and what needed to be done. It was Damien’s passion project, and it was his current mission to populate it with the most talented people he could find.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep on Denny. And Liam’s in,” Ryan added. “Not much of a surprise there. He made noises about retiring, but I never believed him.”

  “Liam Foster is an asset,” Damien agreed. “Good work.”

  “Hey, you’re the one with the relationship to Deliverance,” Ryan pointed out, referring to the now-defunct vigilante group to which Liam had once belonged.

  “And Quincy?” Damien asked, referring to another former Deliverance operative who had helped out with the investigation into Anne’s kidnapping.

  “He’s still dragging his feet. But I think he’s leaning toward signing on. That’s the main reason I called. To tell you to give him a shout. Maybe even make a stop in London before you head on to Paris.”

  “I’ll give him a call and see if he’s available. He’s still working for MI6, so he could be anywhere.”

  Ryan chuckled. “Maybe he’s visiting Antonio in Paris.”

  “That would be convenient.” Damien was primarily traveling to Paris for a series of meetings with the head of the development team at the French division of Stark Applied Technology. But while he was there, he intended to meet with Antonio Santos, another former member of Deliverance, and a man with the kind of skills, experience, and hard edges that would make him an asset at Stark Security.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” Lara’s high-pitched voice caught his attention and he looked up to see that Nikki had joined the girls in the surf. Now his four-year-old daughter jumped and clapped as Nikki held Anne, their two-year-old, under her arms, and was swinging her up and down so that Anne’s little feet skimmed the waves as they rolled in.

  “Come do me, Daddy!” Lara demanded. “Come do me!”

  “In a minute, baby,” Damien called back, basking in the wide smile that Nikki tossed his way. A smile that flashed as bright and pure as the sky above. A smile that made it seem as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Damien knew better.

  “I’ll call him now,” Damien said, driven by the sudden urge to get Stark Security fully staffed. He wanted the SSA to be out there in the world, fighting anything that put a shadow on his wife’s face and destroying the kind of evil that had stepped inside the perimeter of Damien’s life and laid a hand on his child and her nanny.

  Quincy answered on the first ring. “Radcliffe.”

  “It’s Damien. Are you in London?”

  “Malta, actually. Then I’m on to Prague, Milan, and Copenhagen.” His voice was crisp, his British accent pronounced. “It’s a bloody tour of Europe, and not one I signed on for.”

  Damien chuckled. “Considering the laundry list of locations, I take it this isn’t a covert operation. Because if it is, I’m going to have to rethink our offer to bring you on at Stark Security.”

  “Stick with tennis and science, Mr. Stark. Comedy isn’t your thing.”

  “A diplomatic tour? When will you be back in London?”

  “I’m on the road for a month. It’s a bloody nightmare. And, no, I’m not going through Paris, so meeting there isn’t an option.”

  “Ryan mentioned my itinerary to you,” Damien said. “To me, he mentioned that you’re considering our offer.”

  “I am. I have been since we spoke in Malibu. It’s a good offer, Stark. But I also told you I was thinking about retiring.”

  “And now you’re thinking about staying in.”

  “True. But thinking and doing aren’t the same thing. And if I stay in this business, I can’t go on serving two masters.” In what Damien assumed was a rare arrangement, Quincy had been an MI6 agent even while working with Deliverance. “I assume you know that, too,” Quincy continued. “Or guessed it. And that you want to have a sit-down to push me over the line toward Stark Security and away from MI6.”

  “But it looks like I’ll have to settle for this phone call.”

  Damien could almost hear the smile in Quincy’s voice when he said, “I’m listening.”

  Damien drew in a breath, letting the sight of Nikki and the girls focus his thoughts. “I need to make this happen. Stark Security. I need it to be more than just another entity under the Stark umbrella. I need it to be formidable. Hell, I need it to be dangerous. I need it to be the line in the sand between the kind of world that should exist, and a world filled with monsters disguised as humans. I need it, Quincy, because I have to know that I’m making a difference. F
or my family. For the world. And that means I need good people. People who’ve seen a world where the monstrous has taken root and have vowed to do something about it.” He drew a breath. “I think you’re one of those people.”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’ve already done my share. More than my share.”

  “I don’t doubt that you have.” His eyes were fixed on Nikki, but his mind was remembering the moment he’d learned that Anne had been taken. The icy horror that had enveloped him, and the way the entire world had turned black, blotted out by rage and despair. “I don’t doubt it,” he repeated softly. “But I hope you’ll do more.”

  He needed Quincy. Needed Ryan and Denise and Liam and Antonio all the rest. He needed them because he couldn’t do it alone.

  Couldn’t wave his arm and make the world over the way he wanted.

  Couldn’t wipe away the dangers and destroy all the monsters.

  Hell, he couldn’t even wipe the fear from his wife’s eyes.

  But Stark Security? That, he could do.

  And it was a damn good start.

  Chapter Two

  My arms are aching by the time I collapse to my knees, then fall on my back into the sand as I hug Anne to my chest, both of us laughing.

  “More, Mommy! More swing! More swing!”

  “You’ve worn me out,” I say, reaching down for a handful of wet sand to dribble on her back. Her fine blond hair is in eight ponytails all over her head, courtesy of her older sister, and her nose is turning red despite the constant slathering of sunscreen.

  She’s wearing a yellow toddler two-piece decorated with pink fish, and she squeals when the Pacific-chilled sand touches her skin, then bursts into a fresh round of giggles before once again returning to her “More swing!” chorus.

  “Why don’t you go help Lara?” I suggest, glancing toward my oldest, who is currently focusing all of the engineering skills she’s acquired in her four years on this earth to the problem of building a castle and moat.

  “Mommmeee!” Lara scowls at me from under her black bangs, a few errant red strands of which catch the sun. “She’ll mess it up.”

  “Wanna swing! More swing!”

  “No more swing. And as for you,” I add to Lara, “why don’t you give her a task? Like building an outer moat.”

  Her forehead crumples a bit, then she nods, as regal and self-assured as her father always is. “She can build the dinosaur pen.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I say, working very hard not to laugh.

  “Please!” Anne rocks on my torso, drawing my attention back to her. “Wanna swing!”

  “Not happening, kid.” I try to rise, but it’s not easy getting up off of sand with twenty-six pounds of determined two-year-old straddling your rib cage.

  I’m about to tell her that she’s done me in and needs to get off when that problem is magically solved. She scampers up and scoots away, her little heel slamming into a possibly important internal organ. My oof is drowned out by her ear-splitting squeal of Daddy! It echoes across the beach as she races forward, moving fast out of my field of vision to disappear behind me.

  I roll over so that I’m on my stomach, my elbows in the sand as I prop myself up in what probably looks like a poor attempt at the Cobra Pose. I stay that way, the sun warming my back and the cool froth of the surf tickling my legs while I watch Damien’s long-legged stride as he approaches from the bungalow.

  I sigh, not sure I could move if I wanted to. I’m too lost in the look of him, in the confidence of his movements, even for something as trivial as crossing a beach. There’s never a time that I’ve seen him look awkward or out of place. And right now is no exception. He looks like he was born to this island with his tan skin, unbuttoned white shirt, and khaki shorts.

  Damien Stark. One of the most powerful men in the world, and he belongs to me. My husband. My whole universe, really. The man who loves me and our daughters beyond anything in this world.

  The man who knows my secrets. Most of them, anyway. I’m hoping that I’ve managed to hide this new sense of doom I can’t seem to shake, the emotional shrapnel of a battle lost even though the war was won.

  I’ve felt it for about a week now, brought on by a random moment interrupting a beautiful day. It wasn’t until we came here, to the island, that the dark clouds in my mind parted, letting sunshine back in.

  The island.

  My stomach twists with the realization that I haven’t managed to hide my troubles at all. On the contrary. We’re here because Damien saw. And because he’s trying to help.

  I drop my gaze, feeling exposed.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” Lara joins the fray, and I lift my head again in time to see Damien scoop them both up, the effort revealing the strength in those arms.

  I’m never guilty of forgetting that before my husband became a master of the universe, he was a star athlete. But sometimes I do forget what that means, and I’m reminded in moments like this. When he’s working out in our gym, playing tennis on our court, or effortlessly lifting our kids.

  “Put one girl in each arm and you could do flies,” I suggest as I rise to my feet. “Is that what they’re called?” I raise my arms to my sides, miming holding weights.

  “If I’m going to do that, we’ll need to feed this one more,” he says, bouncing Anne, who has switched from giggles to big belly laughs. “Otherwise, I’ll be uneven.”

  “Can’t have that,” I say as he deposits both kids back on the sand. “I’m fond of my symmetrical husband.”

  I’ve been walking toward him, and he toward me. Now we’re just inches apart.

  “Hello, Ms. Fairchild.”

  “Hello, Mr. Stark.” I hear the breathiness in my voice and feel the reaction in my body. Years of marriage and two children, and he still takes my breath away and makes my body burn.

  “Go on,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine as he speaks to the girls. “I need to talk to Mommy.”

  “Talk or kiss?” Lara demands, and I watch as Damien tries very hard not to smile.

  “Probably both,” he says, eyeing our oldest sternly. “If that’s okay with you.”

  Her mouth purses and her brow furrows as she considers the question. Then she nods solemnly. “It’s okay, Daddy.”

  “Thank you, Lara.” He points to the castle. “Off you go.”

  “Probably both?”

  “Both,” he says firmly as he moves closer, his palm cupping the back of my head, his fingers twining in my windblown hair. He tugs, not painfully, but demanding, and forces my face up. Then his mouth is on mine, his other arm around my waist as he kisses me long and deep.

  As kisses go, we’d still warrant a G rating. But the sizzle that burns inside me? The sparks that zing between the two of us?

  Well, that’s got NC-17 written all over it.

  “I like seeing you this way,” he says as soon as our lips part.

  “On a beach in a bikini?” I tease.

  “Well, yes, actually, but that wasn’t what I meant. I was thinking how free and happy you look here. Fearless,” he adds, then cups my cheek, his eyes locking on to mine.

  I conjure a smile. “This is home. At least as much as Malibu is. What’s there to fear?” But I’m looking at his mouth as I speak, not his eyes, and I’m certain that my husband—a man who I should know misses nothing—sees that.

  “Nikki, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

  He brushes my cheek and I realize that he’s wiping away a tear.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  “Something to do with a car?”

  I almost smile. “Jamie is so in the doghouse now.”

  He grins. “No, she was talking to Ryan. Said something about a car, and then clammed up when he asked her what she meant, and she realized she’d blown a confidence. But she was worried about you, and—”

  “Ryan told you,” I finish, half-irritated and half-pleased. Because as much as I want my secrets, it feels nice knowing that my friends love me.

  “T
he car?” he presses.

  “It sounds so ridiculous,” I begin. “It was last Saturday. I’d gone to a movie with Abby, remember?” Abby is my partner at Fairchild & Partners Development, and we’d decided to celebrate landing a new client by going out for a movie that afternoon.

  He nods. “I remember. The girls and I played in the pool, then watched Finding Nemo.”

  “Right. Anyway, I came back down Mulholland.” The famous road winds its way along the ridgeline of the Santa Monica mountains, and the views of both the San Fernando Valley and the west side are stunning. I’ve always loved navigating those hills and curves, the radio blaring and the windows open.

  I always used to love it, anyway. Hopefully I will again.

  Damien’s voice is harsh as he says, “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” I say, taking his hand to calm the fury I see rising in his eyes. “Really, it turned out to be nothing. Which is why this—this feeling is so frustrating.”

  “All right. Tell me.”

  “I was driving, and it was a gorgeous day. I was listening to Tom Petty’s Freefalling because, well, because it’s the perfect song for that drive. I had it up loud, and the windows down, and I felt fabulous. The movie had been good. The air felt great. And I hadn’t thought about the kidnapping in hours and hours.”

  I glance up at him, but he says nothing, so I draw a breath and continue.

  “It must have come from a driveway or pulled out of a turnaround. I think I would have noticed if it had been behind me for any length of time.”

  “The car,” he says, and I nod.

  “It was red. Even after all these years with you, I didn’t recognize the make. But it was sporty. And loud. That’s what I noticed first. The roar of the engine as it came right up on my tail. Inches away,” I tell him, hugging myself as I remember the way my heart started to pound.

  “Son of a bitch.” The muscles in his face are tight, and I can see the anger building behind his eyes.

  “You know how curvy that road is. How narrow. And there aren’t guard rails. I slowed down, and they got right up on my bumper. But I didn’t want to go faster. Take those curves too fast, and—”