by J. Kenner
“Let’s let the girls finish saying goodnight and get them to bed,” Nikki said. “I’ll tell you on the way.”
“Sure—I just…” She trailed off, looking between Damien and Ryan. “I only … well, what I mean is, he’s really dead? Rory? And you really think he was working with someone else?”
“He is,” Damien said. “And we do.”
“I want to help,” she said earnestly. “I know the target was Anne, but he took me too. And if Rory was working with someone, then that someone dragged me into this. I want to help figure out who. You’ll let me, right?” She turned, laying eyes on everyone in the room before stopping at Damien. “You have to let me. If someone had used you this way—”
“Yes,” he said, working to keep his voice level. “Of course you can help.”
She nodded, satisfied, but Damien was anything but. He glanced at Nikki and saw the same grief reflected on her face. Bree was so damn innocent, or she had been. She was starting college soon. Off to a big adventure. This wasn’t the kind of baggage she was supposed to have when she set out on that journey. She should have no cares other than paying tuition, studying for finals, and debating what to wear for her date Friday night. But she’d moved into his world, and now she was begging to chase monsters.
It was like he was a magnet for pain and suffering.
No.
Brutally, he shoved the dark thoughts away. He was tired—no, he was beyond tired. But he hadn’t caused this. Hadn’t dragged Bree down into the abyss. That was on Rory’s shoulders. Rory, and some unknown puppet master.
But not unknown for long. Damien’s team would find him—of that he was damn sure.
And when they did, Damien was going to personally cut his goddamn strings.
Chapter Sixteen
Quincy gestured to the chair across from him, inviting Bree to sit as Nikki put the girls to bed. “Damien and Jackson are starting with the money,” he said in his clipped British accent. “One eye on that two million ransom. The other on any tosser willing to kidnap a child for that kind of filthy lucre.”
“So far, dear old Dad is top of that list,” Damien put in from where he sat one chair over from Quincy. “And that’s why San Diego is on tomorrow’s agenda.”
“And me?” Bree asked.
“Rory didn’t get this job off Craigslist,” Damien said. “He was working with—or for—someone he knew.”
“You’re the best person to dig into his life,” Quincy said. “He worked in finance, right? Did you ever meet his coworkers?”
“Um, yeah.” She twisted a strand of dark hair around her finger. “We went to happy hour a couple of times.”
“Perfect. Ring one up. Offer to buy them a pint when they get off, just to chat about Rory.”
“And I use them to learn what Rory was into, who else he hung with, if there was anything weird going on with him.”
“Clever girl. I think you’ve got it.”
“Okay.” She pushed back from the table, her head bobbing as if she was nodding in time to some internal music. “Okay, right. This is good. I can do this.”
With a loud exhale, she stood. “So that’s my plan for tomorrow.” She tilted her head and looked at Damien. “Should I ask Ryan if Moira can come in and help with the kids? In case they want to meet for lunch or really early or something?”
“That would be terrific.” Lara and Anne both adored Ryan’s younger sister, and he knew that her school schedule was light.
“Will do. And I’ll think about who else I can talk to.”
“We should have his mobile and computer soon. Paper address book if he has one. Charles is pulling some strings,” Quincy added, in response to Damien’s questioning glance.
“Okay,” Bree said. “I can go through it. Maybe I’ll remember some offhand comment and it’ll blow the case wide open. That happens, right? It always happens in the movies.”
“I’m sure it’ll happen just like that,” Damien said, then laughed when she rolled her eyes.
“I’m going to go peek in on the girls,” she said before hurrying away.
“You did good with her.” Damien nodded to Quincy as he stood, stretching. “Not likely to be dangerous, but something that lets her really feel like she’s helping. And might actually produce a solid lead.”
“We had to rely on civilians a lot at Deliverance. After all, we were flying under the radar.”
“And British Intelligence?”
“Ah, that’s a horse of a different color. The motto there is to avoid all civilian interference. I lead a double life, my friend. Or I did. It’s all a bit up in the air now that Deliverance is winding down.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that.” He sat again, this time perched on the edge of the table, one foot on the seat of his chair. “I know Ryan’s mentioned it to you, but I want to reiterate how much we both hope you’ll come on board at Stark International. And I want to assure you I can make it worth your while. Both financially and with the work you’d be doing. No holing up in a warehouse for days doing surveillance, I promise.”
Quincy laughed. “I’m flattered. And I’m intrigued by what you and Ryan are planning. A specialty team inside your corporate security group.”
“Something that flies under the radar,” Damien said, encouraged by Quincy’s response. “Lately, I’ve been thinking more and more about people who don’t have my resources, and I wonder how they survive the uncertainty. Hell, I can barely survive. It would be a for-profit entity with a significant pro bono presence.”
“Like one of your foundations, only for chasing down bad guys instead of educating kids.”
“Not a bad way to put it.”
“Like I said, it’s a great idea, and I’m chuffed you thought of me. But the truth is, I’m thinking of retiring.”
Damien studied him, nodding slowly. “Mind if I ask why?” He hadn’t known Quincy long, but he’d seen the man in action. And he didn’t seem like the type to retire so young. Not when there was work yet to be done.
For a moment, Quincy didn’t answer. Then he said simply, “Secrets.” A moment passed, then another. Then he lifted a shoulder, shrugging. “And lies. That about sums up this business.”
“MI6 or Deliverance?”
“Ah, I can’t tell you that, my friend. Reference the aforementioned secrets.”
Damien chuckled. “Fair enough.”
“I’ll say this though about Deliverance—we had more successes than failures, but even then, that life takes a toll. I got into it because of Dallas. I was there the night he was kidnapped, you know. I’d followed him. I saw it happen. And I’d been completely fucking helpless. So I shared his obsession. That driving need to find his kidnapper. To make it right for him and Jane.”
He drew a breath. “But he has his answers now—and a wife who loves him. He’s made the decision to get out, and I think it’s the right one. God knows he served his time. But, Damien, I think I have, too.”
“You’re good,” Damien said, because as far as he was concerned, there was no greater praise than competence.
“I am. But—” He turned away, his expression suddenly guarded.
“Quince?”
“I’m good,” he repeated, turning back with the flash of a quick smile. “And I’m in this with you for now. But the future’s a long way off, Stark. We don’t need to worry about that right now.”
Damien knew better than to press. There were other ways to find out about the shadows behind Quincy’s eyes. “Fair enough. And again, I’m very glad you’re here.”
He slid off the table, intending to go see his daughters before checking in with Ryan. But he hesitated, then turned back to Quincy. “You worked with Dallas. You witnessed his kidnapping.”
Quincy tilted his head, waiting for Damien to continue.
“If the worst happens,” Damien began, hating to even voice the question but knowing he had to. “If we never find the bastard—how do I live without knowing who did this?” The words bu
rned in his throat, thick and bitter. “Never facing the man who took my daughter? Who tormented my nanny, my friend? How do I live, knowing he’s still out there? Still drawing breath?”
Quincy’s shoulders sagged, and he rose from his chair. “Honestly, I don’t know.” He reached out, pressing his hand down on Damien’s shoulder. “But I’m going to work my ass off so that hopefully you won’t have to find out.”
* * * *
Quincy’s words hung over Damien as he knelt at the side of Anne’s toddler bed, watching her chest rise and fall, her cupid bow lips parted, her innocent little face free of marks of fear or lines of regret. She had her whole life ahead of her, but that future could have been so easily ripped away. And every time he recalled that simple truth, a wild and dangerous fury ripped through him.
Like Quincy, Damien was going to work his ass off to find the kidnapper. Spend whatever it took, bribe whoever demanded it. Cut whatever corners needed cutting.
Whatever it took, he would make it happen. And in the end, he’d find the man. Then he’d stare into the bastard’s eyes. And he would fucking end this.
He’d do that because he had to. Because otherwise there would come a day when Anne knew the truth about the horror lurking out in the world. And once she knew, that face would no longer be filled with innocent trust. Fear would lurk under the surface, tainting everything. And when he looked into her eyes, he would surely see recrimination looking back.
“I’m so sorry, angel,” he whispered, then bent to kiss her, breathing in that clean baby scent—Ivory soap, Johnson’s baby shampoo, and a hint of powder.
She yawned, her fingers clutching the striped hospital blanket that had been her lovey from the day she’d come home. Stuffed animals held no interest for her, but she’d throw the tantrum of the century if she went to sleep without that lovey.
Another bolt of anger shot through him as he realized she hadn’t had the blanket in the days she’d been gone. He’d taken her. He’d drugged her, supposedly to make the ordeal easier to bear. And yet he’d offered her no real comfort at all.
Death offered Rory no comfort either, as Damien was sure he was rotting in hell.
And soon, the puppet master would join him. Somehow, some way, Damien would make sure of that.
That question he’d asked Quincy? A question about how he could handle the weight of failure? Not a problem. He wouldn’t fail. They’d fucked with the wrong man, and Damien was going to destroy them.
One way or another, if he had to spend every dime to his name, he would find the bastard, and he would make him pay.
Chapter Seventeen
When he didn’t find Nikki in their bedroom, he went back to the open area. Charles had already gone home, and Quincy and Jackson were packing up. “Syl’s already in the car,” Jackson said. “She wanted to call the kids before bedtime. Where are we meeting in the morning?”
“Meet me at my private hangar at the Santa Monica airport. I’ll fly us down in the Cessna.”
“Nine?”
“Perfect.”
Jackson started to walk away, then paused. He turned back, and Damien saw his own determination reflected back in the icy blue of his brother’s eyes.
“We’ll find out if Jeremiah is behind this,” Jackson said. “And if he is, he’ll pay.”
Damien gave him a nod of acknowledgement that was insufficient to show how much he appreciated Jackson’s support. Everyone’s support, he amended, responding to Quincy’s wave goodnight, then finding Ryan still working hard on a laptop.
“Get some rest. Then come back fresh tomorrow with the rest of the team.”
“That was my plan,” Ryan said. “But Jamie got commandeered by Ollie and your wife.” He nodded toward the balcony, and Damien saw the moonlit forms of the three friends beyond the glass.
“I’m glad they carved out some time despite this day going off the rails.”
Ryan shot him a wry grin. “Understatement much?”
“I’m going to go tell Ollie and Jamie goodnight. And catch you after San Diego.”
Ryan’s expression sobered. “I don’t envy you the trip.”
“Funny, I can’t wait to look into that man’s eyes. And I’ll know the truth. He’s a liar and a son-of-a-bitch, but I know him. And if he’s behind this, I’ll see it.” He met Ryan’s gaze. “And then it’ll be your job to prove it.”
“I hate that you have a father who falls under the umbrella of likely suspects.”
Damien waved the comment away. He held no illusions about his father. And, he thought as he crossed the room, he’d gotten over feeling sorry for himself about his paternity long ago.
When he reached the balcony, Ollie turned in surprise, and Damien realized that he was the only one there.
“Oh, hey,” Ollie said. “You just missed the girls. They went down to the pool deck. Guess they wanted to run to the guest house and tell Bree something.”
“No problem. I’ll let Ryan know.” He started to go back inside, but paused when Ollie asked him to hang on a second.
Damien turned back, then leaned against the rail and waited.
“Right,” Ollie said, clearing his throat. “I, you know, just wanted to say thanks for letting me stay and help.”
“On the contrary. I’m grateful to have your insight.”
“Cool.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “And, I wanted to say thanks for not holding a grudge about the whole money thing.”
Months ago, Ollie had privately asked Damien to help him out financially so that he wouldn’t lose an investment property he’d bought in the hills. After reviewing the plans and financials, Damien had declined. “You were in over your head. At that point you were better off walking. At least, that’s what I believed based on the paperwork you gave me to review.” He looked pointedly at Ollie. Ollie looked away.
“Care to give me the full story now?” After the recent revelation that Ollie was now working with the FBI, Damien had realized that Ollie’s request for help had been part of some sort of investigation.
“Wish I could. Just trust me when I say that you were only being looked at because you fit a profile. I told them there was no way you were involved.”
Damien raised a brow. “That’s a new tune from you, McKee.”
“No.” Ollie shook his head as if to underscore the word. “Look, I know we’ve had our moments. And when you first got with Nikki I tried to warn her off. But you have a code, Stark. Maybe it took me awhile to see it, but there are lines you don’t cross, and one of them is skirting the law where your business is concerned. Won’t happen.” He shrugged as if in apology. “I probably stayed in the ‘Stark’s an A-Hole’ camp for longer than I should have, but I had reason. Nikki’s special to me.”
“I know.” For that matter, Damien was pretty certain he understood that better than Ollie did. After all, Damien knew full well that Ollie was in love with his wife. But as far as Damien could tell, Ollie hadn’t admitted that to himself. And, unfortunately, he was certain that until Ollie admitted it and let her go, he’d never manage to maintain a relationship.
“What was the scam?” Damien deliberately changed the subject.
“All I can say is that there’s a major financial racket going on in the world of renovation and house flipping. And that nobody thinks you’re involved. Plus, since you are in the clear, I can tell you that I really do own the property, I really am planning on renovating, and I’m having no trouble making my payments.”
“Fair enough. I’m going to go find Nikki. And Ollie, I mean it. It’s good that you’re here.”
“One more thing—the vandalism at Nikki’s office. I know it’s not the priority here, but I was talking to Quincy and Ryan, and I may have access to some security footage that the guys have been trying to locate.”
“That would be great.”
“I’ll let you know. Whoever would do something like that to Nikki… That guy’s a fucking worm.”
Damien nodded. He and Ollie m
ight never really be friends. But their love for Nikki? That was their bond.
* * * *
In the end, Damien didn’t find Nikki until he returned to the master bedroom, saw the flicker of candlelight coming from the attached bathroom, and found his naked wife sipping a glass of Pinot Noir in the massive, bubble-filled whirlpool tub. The flames of dozens of tiny tea lights flickered around her, making her skin and hair glow.
For a moment, he simply stood there, lost in her beauty. In the way she leaned back, her eyes closed, her breasts barely visible above the bubbles. And when she lifted a bath sponge and let it drip on her neck, his balls tightened and his cock turned to steel.
He wanted to touch her. To taste her. And then, when she lifted her hands out of the water and stroked her breasts, he knew that what he wanted to do most of all was watch her. The way her lips parted as she rolled her nipples between two fingers. The way her body arched as she kept one hand on her breast, but slid the other slowly down her body.
Her eyes were closed, and he heard her breathing come quicker. The gasps as her hand found that sensitive spot he knew so well. Her body moved—just small motions, but enough to make the water dance around her and the bubbles sparkle in the candlelight.
He imagined the slick feel of her on his fingertips. The tight nub of her clit. The tight, slick heat of her core.
“Damien.”
His heart skipped, and he watched her face, then realized that she didn’t realize he was there. She was calling to him only in her fantasy. And damned if he didn’t almost come right then.
Her breathing quickened, and he stepped closer, moving to the end of the tub so that he could see her face. The way her skin flushed with arousal. Her breasts, dappled with soap bubbles, her hard nipples peeking out, begging him to suck on them. Her knees rested on either side of the tub, and though the bubbles had started out dense, some were melting, and he could see the movement of her hand as she stroked herself, her hips moving as one hand teased her clit.
