by J. Kenner
“We should talk,” he said. “Do you think we could sit down and talk? Maybe we can go grab a drink at the Biltmore,” he added, referring to the hotel down the hill from Stark Tower.
“I’d love that,” she said, “but we have to go to the prison.”
On the sofa, Jackson chuckled. “If I had a dime for every time someone used that excuse with me…”
Nikki rolled her eyes. “Rory—you know, the guy who took Anne—wants to talk to us.”
“Why?”
“That’s the question of the day,” Damien said.
“Why don’t you come?”
“Oh, no,” Frank said. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not,” she assured him. “You’re family.”
“Jackson and Sylvia are coming, too,” Damien added, earning a smile from Nikki after she noted Jackson’s nod in acknowledgement.
“Oh. Well. I don’t know.” Frank shifted on his feet, and Damien recalled Frank’s earlier words—I never figured out how to be a father.
“It would mean a lot if you come,” Nikki urged.
Damien drew in a breath, afraid that Nikki was about to be deeply disappointed.
But then Frank nodded. “Of course, sweetheart. Of course I’ll come.”
* * * *
The interview room was small and shabby, with an odor that recalled to Damien the scent of the showers in some of the more poorly maintained tennis centers he’d visited in his youth. Three walls were solid. The fourth contained a large picture window concealed by a set of dusty venetian blinds. At the moment, the door was open, which reduced some, but not all, of the claustrophobic atmosphere.
“Well, it’s definitely not Stark Tower,” Frank said, earning a smile from everyone, if not a downright laugh.
Jackson and Sylvia sat at the long, scarred conference table, the metal chairs squeaking with every movement. He had his arm around her, and she was snuggled against him, her dark brown hair tousled.
Damien leaned against the wall in the far back corner, his eyes on his wife, who paced the length of the table opposite Jackson and Syl.
“Baby,” he said, holding out his hand for her. She came, gave his hand a squeeze, then started pacing again.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I just can’t stand still.” She looked up at the clock mounted on the wall, then checked the time on her phone’s lock screen. “We’ve been here almost fifteen minutes. What’s going on?” She glanced at Frank. “Something’s wrong. Nobody ever makes Damien wait,” she added, making Jackson burst out laughing.
“Sorry,” he said. “But your wife has a point.”
“It’s true,” Syl added. “I worked his desk for years. I can attest that my husband speaks the truth.”
In the middle of the room, Nikki rolled her eyes. “Sorry. Honestly, I’m sorry. I’m just—I want to know why we’re even here.”
Damien took a step toward her, but paused when Frank hooked an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. His throat tightened, and he had to swallow a knot of melancholy. Because no matter how much Frank had screwed up, he’d earned his way back. Something Damien knew damn well Jeremiah would never do.
With her head on her father’s shoulder, she looked at Damien. “Seriously. Any ideas?”
“They’re probably waiting for Charles. I think prison types like an attorney in the room.”
“Well, where is he?” Sylvia asked.
“I don’t know. He texted that he was parking right as they showed us back here. Haven’t heard a word since. And yes,” he said in response to his wife’s upcoming question, “I’ve been trying to reach him.”
She made a face, but said nothing. Just pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and then led her father to the table. “Might as well sit.”
“We’ll know something soon,” Frank said.
“I think we’ll know it now,” Jackson said. “Listen.”
Sure enough, footsteps sounded in the previously quiet hallway. A moment later, two men in suits and ID badges that marked them as employees of the prison walked in, with Charles Maynard striding along in front of them.
Damien’s attorney since his tennis days, Charles was a brilliant litigator, a shark in negotiations, and he never lost his shit when it counted.
At the moment, he looked decidedly flustered.
Fuck.
“What’s going on?” Nikki asked before Damien got the words out.
“Have a seat.” Charles nodded to a chair. And since Damien was the only one still standing, he knew the comment was for him. He continued to stand.
Charles sighed. “Have it your way.”
“Dammit, Charles,” Nikki said. “What is it? Where’s Rory Claymore?” She was talking to Charles, but she was looking to Damien, clearly wondering why he wasn’t the one who’d taken point on asking the questions.
But Damien had seen the badges. The Custody Investigative Services Unit. And that told him everything he needed to know.
“Claymore’s not coming,” Damien told her gently. “I’m guessing he’s dead.”
Chapter Fifteen
The investigators laid it all out, their words confirming what Damien already suspected—Rory Claymore was dead.
“How?” Nikki asked.
The taller of the two investigators shook his head. “Shivved. Kidneys, throat, heart. The attack took place an hour ago in the exercise yard.”
“Then it was specific to Claymore,” Damien said. “He didn’t get caught up in a prison fight.”
“No, sir. Someone clearly targeted him.”
“You have a suspect?” Charles asked.
“Not at this time,” the shorter man said.
“How can that be?” Nikki asked, taking Damien’s hand in her own. “It’s a prison. These men are watched all the time.”
“They’re locked up all the time,” Sylvia said gently. “Not watched. When my dad—” Her voice broke. “Well, he’s told me that a lot of time it’s anything goes.”
Nikki’s hand tightened in Damien’s, but she said nothing. Just nodded acquiescence.
“I assure you we’re taking the investigation seriously, and when we have a suspect we’ll let you know.”
“But, well—” Nikki met Damien’s eyes, and he stepped in, asking the question for her.
“Did Rory speak to anyone here about why he wanted to meet with us?”
“Not that we’re aware. When the meeting was scheduled, he asked that it be confidential.”
“We think there was a leak,” the second investigator said. “By the time we reached the body, the inmates were buzzing with the news that he was meeting with Damien Stark today. Considering he wanted it confidential, I don’t think Claymore was the one who shared that bit of intel.”
Damien looked at Charles and saw that his attorney was wondering the same thing—what did someone not want Damien to know?
“Maybe nothing,” Charles said later as they stood outside the prison.
“I doubt that,” Jackson said. “Way too coincidental. And I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Honestly,” Charles said, his voice weary, “neither do I.”
Damien looked between his brother and his lawyer. “We’re going to find out. Who killed him—and why. And I don’t mean who stabbed him,” he clarified. “I’m talking about the person outside the prison pulling the strings. Because the only reason to keep Rory Claymore from talking to us today was to keep him from disclosing information about Anne’s kidnapping.”
Nikki’s hand tightened in his. She looked up at him, fire in her eyes. “And the only person who’d care if he talked would be someone he was working with.”
“Call Ryan,” Damien ordered, his attention on Charles. “Explain the situation. Get him set up at the house with a team.”
“Command central all over again.” Fear colored Nikki’s voice.
A raw, primal anger flooded his gut, and he pulled her to him, his hands cupping her face. “We’re going to find the so
n-of-a-bitch, baby. That’s a promise.”
* * * *
Nikki was quiet during the drive home, and Damien didn’t push her. He was processing it, too, after all. Instead, he tried to silently convey both strength and the certainty that they would find out who was behind Claymore’s death … and Anne’s kidnapping.
She was still silent when he pulled into the circular drive in front of the house, eschewing the garage for the sake of expedience. The others were already there, and the sooner Damien could get to them, the sooner they could begin the briefing.
But first, he needed to check on his wife. He killed the engine, then took her hand. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”
She nodded, her brow furrowing as she turned to look at him. “I thought you arranged it.”
He shook his head, not following her line of thought.
“When that investigator confirmed what you said—that Rory was dead, I mean—that’s what I thought. That you’d arranged it somehow. Pulled strings. Paid someone off.” She licked her lips. “I did, Damien. I thought it was you, and you’d had him killed for what he did to Anne.”
His chest had been tightening as she talked, and now he realized he’d been holding his breath. “It wasn’t me.”
Her throat moved, her lips parting. Then she pulled her hand free and rubbed her palms on her skirt. “I know. I realized in the room, when we were talking with the investigators. Watching you, I mean. I could tell it wasn’t you. But, Damien,” she added, turning haunted eyes on him, “part of me really wishes it was.”
She held his eyes for only a split second before looking back down at her hands twisting in her lap. “I wanted you to have killed him. I did. It wasn’t revulsion I felt when I thought that you had. It was joy.” She blinked up at him. “Fear, too. But only because I was afraid you’d get caught. I’m sorry.”
“No,” he said, cupping her neck, then pulling her close and kissing her sweetly. “Oh, baby, no. I thought the same thing. That I wished it had been me. That I’d taken that step and taken him out.”
He brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. “I thought about it. I really did. After we caught him. After they took him away and he was no longer there in front of me. No longer a man I could demand answers from. No longer where I could reach him. Where I could get retribution.”
With a low groan of frustration, he dragged his fingers through his hair. “So yeah, I thought about it. And baby, I’m sure I could have managed it. But then I thought harder. And I knew that if I did pull those strings, it might come back to me. And if that happened, I could end up in prison. I could lose you. The girls.”
A shudder cut through him, and Nikki grabbed his hands, pressing them to her heart. “I came close to that in Germany. Prison. Losing you. And I watched Jackson come even closer. Close enough that the shadow of prison bars marked him, and he almost lost Sylvia. Ronnie. I watched what he went through in those days, and thought I might die if I lost you like that. I couldn’t, baby. Not even to destroy the man who took Anne.”
“I know.” Tears hung on her lashes. “I’m glad he’s dead. And I can imagine the feel of my hands around his throat. But I’m glad it wasn’t either one of us. Because I couldn’t bear losing you, either.”
He brushed his thumb over her lower lip and smiled gently. “Then I guess it’s good that someone else had the idea.”
“Except it’s not.”
“No,” he agreed, sobering. “It’s not.”
“You really think that’s what it means?” she asked. “That someone else was involved.”
“Don’t you?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
“And more than that—now I’m thinking Rory was just a pawn. Which means we still don’t know who was really behind the kidnapping. But we will, sweetheart. I promise, we will.”
* * * *
“The trouble,” Charles said, “is that we can’t prove why he was killed. We can speculate, but that’s not proof. And without proof, we’re not going to be able to get the LAPD interested in diving into a kidnapping case when the child is no longer in danger. For all we know, someone in prison gutted the son-of-a-bitch for snatching a little girl. There are codes. Even in prison.”
“There may be, but we all know that wasn’t what happened,” Damien said. They were all seated at the massive equipment-covered conference table that now dominated the third floor open area, the area that was usually the heart of their home. Now, it was command central again, just as it had been during Anne’s kidnapping.
The full team would arrive in the morning, a group hand-picked by Ryan for their field and tech skills. A smaller group, since it wasn’t an active kidnapping. But sharp, talented people.
Damien had to hand it to Ryan—he’d pulled everything together, people and equipment, in record time.
From his spot at the head of the table, Ryan stood, tall and lean and in full command. He looked at the men in the room, his blue eyes landing on everyone in turn. “This isn’t a liability. Without official involvement, we can move more freely. Once we have proof, we can bring in the authorities.” He glanced at Damien, who nodded in agreement.
Quincy Radcliffe leaned back in the office-style chair that had been brought in with the rest of the equipment. A British agent with MI6 who did some off-the-books intelligence work in the States, Quincy looked the part. He had a lean, rugged face, a competent manner, and just a hint of mystery. Not to mention the James Bond accent.
Damien had respected him from the moment they’d met, and trust hadn’t been far behind.
“The prison officials will let us know if they get a lead on the wanker who gutted Claymore,” Quincy said, “but we can’t count on that. Which means that we need to go back to where we left off before Rory was captured.”
“You mean the suspects you were looking at before you captured Rory.” Ollie spoke up from where he stood, leaning casually against the wall. Damien had forgotten all about inviting him and Jamie over, and the two had been in the house when he’d arrived, having come up from the bungalow after Ryan called Jamie, his wife, to bring her up to speed. Now, Jamie was with Nikki, Sylvia, and Bree, getting the girls ready for bed. Ollie had insisted on staying with the team, and considering his FBI connections, Damien was glad for the help. “Glad I got cleared off that red letter suspect list,” Ollie added with a wry grin.
“Had to be thorough,” Damien countered. “Besides, you were an ass when Nikki and I first got together. Consider it payback.”
“I was the ass?” Ollie retorted. And, as Damien had hoped, they both laughed. Ollie might never be on Damien’s top ten list, but he knew that Orlando McKee would move the world for Nikki. And if for no other reason, that meant that Damien would do whatever necessary to build a bridge.
Now, Ollie looked at Quincy. “So back to the beginning, you said. But where exactly does that put us?”
“The money and the players.”
Ryan nodded. “Before Rory popped up like a rabid groundhog, we were looking at Breckenridge and Jeremiah.”
“I’d love to squash Breckenridge like a bug,” Jackson said, “but if he’s behind this kidnapping, the man has balls of steel.” He turned to Damien. “He practically begged to be let back into The Domino. Hell of a risk. He says one thing he shouldn’t, one offhand comment, and he has to know that you’d make sure that hell rained down on him.”
“It’s a point,” Charles said. “But that leaves Jeremiah. Do we really believe that he could do that to his own grandchildren?”
“Have you forgotten what he did to me?” Damien snapped, then immediately regretted it. “Sorry,” he said, frustrated more by his lack of control than by Charles’s comment.
“I haven’t,” Charles said gently. “I’m just saying that the question needs to be examined.”
“Fine. I’ll examine it. Jeremiah owed Breckenridge two million dollars. Which just happened to be the ransom amount. And that’s a coincidence I’m not prepared to ignore.” He l
ooked at Jackson.
“Guess we’re going to San Diego,” Jackson said, then grinned. “Gotta love these family reunions.”
“Family reunion?”
Damien turned at the sound of Nikki’s voice, then dropped to his knees and held out his arms for the two little girls barreling toward him with cries of “Daddy! Daddy!”
“Hey, pumpkins!” He brushed kisses over their foreheads, then stood up, Lara latched to his back like a monkey and Anne clinging to his leg. He looked at Nikki and saw the smile reach all the way to her eyes. And for that moment—one brilliant, glorious moment—all was right with the world.
Reality crashed back with Lara’s question. “Are we having a party, Daddy? There’s lotsa people here.”
“Unca Jackson!” Anne squealed, releasing Damien to run to her uncle.
“Hey, sweetstuff,” Jackson said, pulling Anne into his lap as he answered Lara. “Not a party, baby girl. Just some work stuff.”
Damien couldn’t see Lara’s face since she was clinging to his back, but he could tell by the room’s reaction that she’d displayed one of her famous eye rolls as she’d announced, “That’s boring!”
“I’m guessing this isn’t the kind of family reunion you were talking about,” Nikki said, coming to take Lara off his back as she nodded toward Jackson, who was occupied with Anne, and Sylvia, who’d just come in from the back rooms to join her husband.
“Jackson and I are heading to San Diego tomorrow,” he told both women. Considering the shadows that crossed their faces, he was certain they both knew exactly what that meant.
“You think he’s involved,” Nikki said.
“I think he might be.”
“Makes sense,” Jamie said, curling her small body onto Ryan’s lap and hooking an arm around his neck. Her long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and now she tugged the band free, sending dark waves tumbling over his shoulder.
“Who?” Bree asked, looking around at everyone as she stepped into the room.
