Beside me, Damien calmly twines his fingers with mine. “We couldn’t risk him finding a wire. They’re dating, remember. Whether it was real to him or a ruse, he’ll keep up pretenses. We can’t risk him pulling her close.”
“I know. I know. I just hate the waiting. I’m terrified for her.”
He squeezes my hand. “She’ll be fine,” he says, but I know he’s just placating me. He’s worried, too.
Minutes tick by, and my stomach twists into knots as I turn my phone over and over in my hand. “Isn’t it time yet?”
“One more minute,” Quincy says. “No point in calling too soon. She needs to look around.”
I know that, of course. I just want this over with. So I sit while the clock ticks down until finally—finally—Ryan signals for me to make the call.
I draw a breath, dial the number of her new phone, then close my eyes until she answers.
“What do you need, Nikki,” she says in the overly-polite voice we discussed. As far as Rory’s concerned, she’s still irritated as hell with me and Damien.
“I’m trying to find Lara’s pink party dress. Have you seen it?” It’s a pre-planned question in case he’s listening in.
“It’s hanging on the outside of her closet, as plain as the nose on your face.”
I almost sag with relief, as everyone in the van shifts to attention.
“Oh, hell,” I say. “I see it now. Sorry to bother you.”
“No problem.” As she ends the call, I hear her say, “Honestly!” to Rory, and decide that Bree deserves a bonus based solely on her acting abilities.
“That’s it,” the detective says, picking up his radio to call the uniformed backup he has waiting. “We’re going in.”
28
“Damien actually punched the guy?” Sylvia looks between me and Jamie and Bree. It’s Saturday, and days have passed since the arrest. Now we’re on the bungalow’s rooftop patio, sipping wine around the table, taking a little bit of girl time before the house is inundated with little kids, arriving to help celebrate my girls’ birthdays.
Jamie just shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I wasn’t there.”
“It was beautiful,” Bree says. “I said I needed to get something out of my car, and when I opened the door, the cops burst in, Damien with them. And he punched that bastard right in the mouth.”
“You were great,” I tell her. “Thank you.”
Her smile is a little tearful, but genuine, and she reaches for my hand. “We’re good,” she says, for what feels like the millionth time.
“You saw it?” Syl asks me, and I shake my head.
“But I heard it through Damien’s mike. Rory went down like a little baby. And I’m so jealous that I didn’t get to punch the guy myself I can’t even begin to tell you.”
“I’m never going on vacation again,” Sylvia says. “I can’t believe you didn’t call us. We would have come right back.”
I smile ruefully. “That’s why we didn’t call. What could you have done except worry, too?”
“I could have worried with you,” she says gently. “So everything’s over? Rory’s in jail? They found the money?”
“They found all of it,” I tell her. “Including five hundred of the ransom in his wallet. Damien’s people had recorded the serial numbers.”
“When’s the trial?”
“He confessed to everything,” Jamie says.
“He acted entirely on his own. Sought Bree out like we suspected.”
“Fucker,” Bree snarls.
“And the motive was what Ryan guessed,” Jamie adds. “That he’s a self-involved prick who believed he was entitled to a silver platter and blamed Damien when one didn’t come his way.”
“The sentencing hearing is in a week,” I say. “Meanwhile, he’s in custody. And he’ll stay locked up for a long time.”
“And the girls?”
“They’re great,” I say, once again feeling that wash of relief that overwhelms me every time I think about how bad it could have been. How we could have lost Anne or she could have been returned traumatized. As it is, she really doesn’t seem to remember much other than a constant stream of cartoons. Versed is a drug they use to chill kids out before surgery. I recall that when they gave it to Lara, she remembered as much about the pre-op time as she did about the operation. In other words, exactly nothing.
I could kill Rory Claymore for what he did to my little girl, but for that one small thing, I’m grateful.
Bree stands up. “I need to get back to the girls. They’re bubbling over about the party, and I should help Moira keep them occupied until the guests start to arrive.”
“Thanks,” I say, meaning more than about today’s birthday party, which has turned in to a much bigger celebration. “I need to hit Jamie up about something, and then I’ll be out.” I check my watch. “Sally’s supposed to be here in an hour with all the cupcake stuff, so let’s meet in the first floor kitchen when she gets here.” The party will be by the pool, so the rarely-used first floor kitchen is the best staging area for today’s extravaganza.
She gives me a thumbs-up, and Sylvia stands. “I’ll walk back to the house with you. I want to find Jackson and compare notes.” She winks, and I know she’s purposefully trying to make me laugh. Because Damien is undoubtedly telling Jackson the entire story, too.
“Did you ever find out who vandalized your office?” Jamie asks me after they’ve both left.
“I wish. I’m guessing Marianna Kingsley, but I may never know for sure.”
She makes a face. “Sorry.”
I shrug. “All things considered, nasty words on my wall are no big thing.”
“No, but that was a factor. Not a big one, but a factor.”
I nod, not meeting her eyes. I told her that I’d cut, and other than Damien, she’s the only one who knows. Not even Ollie who, years ago, I might have told even before Jamie. But I can’t deny that things have changed between us. He has his secrets. And I have mine.
“Nik,” she says gently. “You should talk about it.”
“I know. And I will.” I’ve already called the counselor I saw before we adopted Lara. I wanted no secrets that might come out and prevent the agency or the Chinese government from approving our application. “Damien suggested it, too. But it won’t happen again.” I meet her eyes, mine hard. “Nothing like that will ever happen again.”
She nods, and I know she understands that I’m talking about the kidnapping as much as the cutting.
“You’re really okay?”
“I am,” I say. “A little rough around the edges, but I think that’s fair, don’t you?”
“I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”
We’re silent for a bit, then she runs her finger over the rim of her glass. “How’s Damien?” she asks.
I sit back, because isn’t that a loaded question?
“He’s … hurting,” I say. “But he’s trying not to show it. Anne’s a lot of it, but we got her back, and in large part because of him. Who he is and what he does.”
“Magic dust,” Jamie says. “Gotta give the guy props.”
I know she’s trying to make me laugh, but all I can manage is a tiny smile.
“It’s you,” she says. “Because you cut.”
“I think he blames himself for the kidnapping. Like he’s supposed to sprinkle that magic dust all over our lives and keep us in a safe box or something. It’s stupid, because he can’t protect us like that. No one can. But it’s Damien.” I manage a smile, and Jamie nods. It’s Damien. And that pretty much says it all.
The press found out, too, which has made it doubly hard. Because every time we turn around, we’re reminded of what hap
pened. So far, we’ve avoided interviews. But I know from Evelyn that they’ve been calling day and night. Damien’s repeatedly turned down their requests for even two or three minutes on the air, even though the press has treated him—and the entire team—like the brilliant heroes they are.
“And even though he gets a lot of the credit for getting her back, he knows that you cut because of the kidnapping.” She nods, considering. “Yeah, I can see that messing with him. Hell, it’s messing with me. I don’t have any good advice, though. I wish I did. If I had a brilliant idea, I’d totally tell you.”
“I know. And I’ve got an idea. Maybe not brilliant,” I admit. “But I think it’s a start. And to do it, I need your help.”
Two hours later, I find Damien in the second floor library, his favorite place in the house, but also the place he goes when he’s feeling the most melancholy. He’s standing over the display case that holds the first editions of the Ray Bradbury and other sci-fi books he loves. Recently, we added pictures of the girls to the case, and I have a feeling that in a few years, their favorite baby books will go in there as well.
“Hey,” I say, coming up behind him and putting my arms around him.
He turns, then pulls me close, and when I tilt my head back, he closes his mouth over mine, claiming me with one long, deep, heated kiss. The kind that makes me think of naughty uses for the wooden desk behind us, then makes me regret the fact that we’ll have guests arriving in under an hour.
“Hey, yourself,” he says when we finally break the kiss.
“Is that a tease? Or a promise for later?”
“Both,” he says, cupping my chin and brushing his thumb over my lips. He’s smiling at me, and that kiss just about melted me. Anyone looking at us would think that everything was perfect. But I know better. I know that things have shifted slightly off-kilter. There’s a hesitancy with me now. A gentleness that’s sweet and tender and that any other woman wouldn’t complain about. But I know Damien like I know myself, and I know when something is off.