He kisses me sweetly. “I’m sorry if this has been hard on you.” He brushes my hair behind my ear. “I’ve been counting on you being right beside me, but I don’t think I’ve paid enough attention to how surreal this must be for you.”
“It’s a little surreal,” I admit. “But in a good way. And it’s only been hard for me because you had to struggle through it.”
“I have a son, Nikki. A son that isn’t ours.”
I step back, feigning shock. “Really? Because it seems to me that you’ve told me more than once that everything you have is mine, too.”
He laughs. “So I did.”
“In that case,” I say. “We have a son. Two of them. And two daughters. And it’s all good, Mr. Stark.”
“I love you,” he says, then pulls me close and kisses me.
“Mommy and Daddy kiss a lot,” Lara says, and I pull away to find her and Ash back in the first floor living area.
“That’s because they like each other,” Ash says.
“Yeah,” Lara says. “Do you like anybody?”
I think I see a shadow cross Ash’s eyes, but all he says is, “Not at the moment.” Then he clears his throat, and looks at us. “The kids suggested that since I’m supposed to chill, that they play in the pool and we relax on the lounge chairs.”
“Did they?”
“You always say it’s relaxing,” Lara says. “And we haven’t had pool time in days.”
I look toward the door to see Bree nod, signaling that she’s fine supervising in the pool.
“Go change, then. We’ll meet you out there. And you can show Ash all your tricks.”
Lara calls to Anne and the two race off together as Bree snags Bradley to go take care of getting him in his suit.
“They’re fabulous,” Ash says. “All three of them. And that son of a bitch stole them from me. I swear, I could kill him for that.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Damien says. “Your uncle and I have both spent some terrifying hours on the wrong side of a murder charge.”
“My uncle. Holy shit. Jackson Steele’s my uncle.” He aims a sheepish grin at Damien. “I’m a fan. Would love to see him design a car.”
“You’ll meet him soon,” I tell him. “In the meantime, you’re not allowed to drink alcohol. So what’s your poolside poison? Water? Tea? Soda?”
“Tea’s great,” he says, then follows Damien to the patio as I head upstairs to get some sunscreen and the drinks.
By the time I get back down, Ryan’s walking in the front door. “Damien’s on the patio,” I say, then see his expression. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you when I tell Damien,” he says. “He alone?”
“Ash is with him.”
Ryan pauses. “Ashton Stone?”
I nod. “Long story. The short version is things are better between them, but he wrecked his car racing last night. Damien told him some unpleasant family history and he—”
“Wanted to burn off steam,” Ryan says, finishing my sentence. “Yeah. I imagine he did that right after he killed Jeremiah Stark.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Damien’s voice explodes from the open patio door, and I look up to see Damien and Ash standing there.
Ryan visibly sags, his attention going to Ash. “Hell of a way to formally meet,” he says. “I’m Ryan Hunter. I’m—”
“Head of Security for Stark International. I know. What the hell did you just say about me and Jeremiah?”
“Jeremiah’s dead,” Ryan says flatly. “And according to the coroner, time of death is right about the time your image shows up on Jeremiah’s doorbell camera.”
“That’s crazy,” Ash says. “I mean, yes, I went to see him. To tell him what a total shit he was, but I didn’t kill the man.”
“Ash, sit,” I say. “You’re not well.”
He scowls, but does as I say, then turns to face Damien. “I swear I didn’t hurt him. Damien, you have to believe me.”
Damien draws a breath, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “Christ, this is on me,” he mutters.
“What?” I ask, but he shakes his head, his attention on Ryan.
“I need speak with you,” he says, then heads outside with Ryan beside him.
“I swear I didn’t kill him,” Ash says to me. “He doesn’t believe me, and why should he? He doesn’t even know me.”
“He does know you,” I say. “And he believes you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
I press a hand to his shoulder. “Because I know Damien.”
21
“I believe him,” Damien said, as Ryan leaned against the pool’s swim-up bar. “He didn’t kill Jeremiah.”
“Damien, I realize you and Ashton have turned things around. That you accept him as your son—”
“Accept and respect. And I trust him. It’s not him. He told me he visited, that’s not in question. But he didn’t kill him.”
“Hell of a coincidence.”
“Maybe not as much as you think. Christ, Ryan, I told Alaine everything yesterday. What Richter did. That my father knew.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “He’d heard about the abuse when I went public before Nikki and I were married, but he didn’t know that my father knew the truth all along. And he sure as hell didn’t know that Sofia got pregnant.”
“I know he’s your friend, but why—”
“He loved Sofia. He’d had a huge crush on her all through our childhood. He dialed it back, of course, but it never faded. I don’t want him punished—not for killing a man like Jeremiah—but I can’t let Ash dangle on this hook.”
“No, of course not.” He sighed. “Let’s go talk to Alaine.”
Damien drove, with Ryan riding shotgun as he sent orders to his team to interview the neighbors on the chance that someone else was caught on camera approaching Jeremiah’s home.
It took about half an hour, but Damien had called ahead, and Alaine was waiting for him when they reached his Beverly Hills home.
“I don’t have much time before I need to get to the restaurant,” he said, once they were settled in Alaine’s home office. “What did you need to talk about?”
“Jeremiah’s dead,” Damien said bluntly.
Alaine’s eyes widened only slightly. “Good God. How?”
“Blunt force trauma. Someone hit him in the head with a sculpture he kept in the living room.”
“I—I would say I’m sorry, but I know how you felt about him.”
“I’m not sorry he’s dead,” Damien said. “I’m sorry that my son—Ash—is the San Diego police department’s only suspect.”
Alaine leaned back in his chair, the shock evident on his face. “Ash?”
“He was there. They have him on the doorbell camera. But Ash says he didn’t kill him, and I believe him.”