Damien (Stark Trilogy 6)

“Thanks for that.” Nikki’s lips twitched. “Of course, I still would have wanted to know. But,” she added on a sigh, “I would have understood why you stayed quiet. At least until Anne—” Her breath hitched. “You know.”

“You’re right. Once Anne was taken, all bets were off. After that, I couldn’t have stayed quiet about Sofia and the miscarriage.”

“But before…” She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I get it. And Ollie? You didn’t tell me that he’d asked to borrow money, either.”

“Yeah, well, Ollie’s a prick,” he said, making her laugh.

The lawyer-turned-FBI agent might be one of Nikki’s best friends, but he was also in love with her. Or he had been, and Damien couldn’t actually imagine any man ever getting over Nikki. “Plus, again, he asked me not to.”

“Hmmm.” Amusement lingered in her voice. “I suppose that’s fair.” She shot him a sideways glance, then took his hand. “But you do like your secrets, Mr. Stark.”

“I’ve lived with them my whole life. They’re like old friends.”

She laughed, and the sound filled his soul. “I get that,” she said, then tugged him to a halt before rising up on her toes to brush a kiss over his lips. “But introduce your wife to those friends every once in a while, okay?”

Chapter Eight

“I get it,” Bree said. “I really do.”

They were on the back porch of the guest house—Bree’s home while she worked as their nanny. A few yards away, the girls laughed and giggled on the playscape, Anne in the sandbox, and Lara on the horse-shaped swing.

“I’m glad you understand,” Nikki said, sipping the coffee Bree had offered as she leaned against Damien on the small wicker love seat. “But we’re still so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know you have to do everything you can to protect those babies.” She pushed a lock of long dark hair off her face. A mix of Jewish and Native American, Brianna Bernstein had an exotic beauty in addition to her sweetness and composure. “They’re your priority.”

“They are,” Damien agreed. “And I’m sorry it hurt you—us not trusting you. Me not trusting you. But I wouldn’t—couldn’t—do it differently.”

“I know. It’s just…I love those girls like they’re my own. But they’re not. And I think … I think in some ways I’ve been hiding behind this job. Using it as an excuse not to get out into the scary world.”

“It doesn’t have to be scary,” Damien said. “Considering what you went through, I know that’s hard to believe, but—”

“My grandfather was a kid when he escaped from Poland during the war,” she said, cutting off his words. “His parents died in a gas chamber. Maybe the world doesn’t have to be scary, but it usually is.” She licked her lips, then looked from him to Nikki. “I always felt safe here, though.”

“And then I took that away from you,” Damien scoffed.

Bree shook her head, her dark eyes wide. “No—Oh, God, no. Rory did that. What he did to you guys—to Anne—was horrible. But he hurt me. He used me. You didn’t take anything from me. You were just protecting your family. I get that. Really, I do.”

Damien nodded, appreciating the words even as he wished he could have done things a hell of a lot differently. At the same time, he knew that under the same circumstances, he would have done the very same thing. Because in the end, Bree was right. His priority was his daughter.

Beside him, Bree pulled her feet up onto her wicker chair, then hugged her knees to her chest. “I don’t go to Upper Crust anymore.”

“Because of Rory?” Nikki asked.

Bree lifted a shoulder. “Stupid, but that was where we had our first date. And I met him through Kari,” she added, referring to one of the managers at the popular Malibu bakery that was a favorite weekend spot for Damien and Nikki. “We’re still friends, though. And I asked a couple of days ago. About him, I mean. She said that he’d been coming to the bakery for about three months before the kidnapping. But he’d started asking about me after just a few days.”

“He targeted you,” Damien said. “We already assumed as much.”

“I guess. Still makes me feel dirty.”

“I get that,” Nikki said.

Bree rolled her eyes, looking like a lost teen instead of a woman in her twenties. “I can’t believe I went all ga-ga over his name. Rory Fucking Claymore. I told you he sounded like a romance hero, remember?”

A ghost of a smile touched Nikki’s lips. “I remember.” The smile morphed into a grimace. “I probably should have warned you off him right then, what with a last name like that.”

Bree frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Just being silly. I hadn’t even realized it at the time, but his last name is the same as this creep I used to know.”

Creep was putting it mildly. The first time that Nikki had revealed her scars to Damien, she’d been an emotional wreck, and as far as he was concerned, Kurt Claymore shouldered all the blame. Even now, Damien’s blood boiled with the memory. He’d wanted to kill Kurt. To look the bastard in the eyes and squeeze the life out of him.

He hadn’t—over the years Damien had learned to control his temper—but he’d still managed a sweet bit of payback. And that had felt pretty damn good.

To this day, Damien didn’t know if Kurt or Nikki’s mother, Elizabeth Fairchild, had hurt Nikki more. He didn’t care. They were both vile, and he’d done everything in his power to keep them out of her life and to avoid the specter of their memories.

Which was why he hadn’t told her before that he’d noticed the similarity in names. Or that, just to be sure, he’d investigated Rory’s family tree to make certain the two men weren’t related. They weren’t by blood. But they still had the common thread of being total assholes.

Across from them, Bree sighed, sliding her feet back to the wooden porch as she took a long sip of coffee. “At any rate, point being, he sought me out because I work for you guys. He used me to get to you.”

“He did,” Damien agreed. “And we’re sorry.”

“I know,” Bree said, smiling at them each in turn. “I really do know.”

“Have you decided what you want to do?” Nikki asked.

“I think so.” Bree twisted her hands. “I’m still nervous, but I’m going to go to school. I love it here, and I love the girls—but I have to figure out what I want to be. Who I want to be.” She drew a breath, then exhaled noisily. “I was hoping to stay here through the summer—give you guys time to find a replacement—and then head to New York a week or so before school starts so I can find a place to live and play tourist a bit.”

“That sounds fine,” Nikki said.

“And you don’t have to worry about a place,” Damien added, as both women turned to him in confusion. “You have an apartment.”

“I—what?” Bree looked at Nikki, who just lifted her shoulders, looking a little lost.

“Call it severance,” Damien said firmly. “And don’t get too excited. It’s only a studio. But it has a doorman and it’s not far from the school.”

“But—”

“I’ll put a trust in place to cover taxes and annual assessments. I’ll make sure there’s enough principal in the trust that it should generate income to cover those costs for at least the next ten years. By that time, you’ll be settled and can pay on your own, or you’ll have sold the place. Or rented it.”

“I—but—I mean, severance? That’s not usually a gazillion times more than someone’s annual salary. I mean, Mr. Stark—”

“Damien.”

“Mr. Stark, that’s too much.”

“No, it’s not,” Nikki said gently, and Damien released a small sigh of relief. Normally, he would have consulted Nikki, but he’d made the decision to give Bree the small Manhattan studio he’d bought a decade ago on the spur of the moment. Now, he squeezed Nikki’s hand, relieved when she squeezed back, her smile as sweet as sunshine.

“He took you.” Damien spoke gently to Bree, try

ing to make her understand that this was important to him. “You were watching our daughter, and he took you, too. Because of who you work for. Who I am. And you didn’t once resent me for that. You thought only of our little girl. You watched over her. Comforted her.”

“How do you know I did?” Her voice was low, shaky with unshed tears.

“Because I know you, Bree.” He’d failed her, too. He’d been so busy trying to protect his family that he’d forgotten that she’d become part of that family. “Take the condo, Bree. Please.” He needed her to. It was part thank you. Part apology.

Then he saw the tears flood her eyes and her mouth tighten as if she was fighting off a deluge. She nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. “This really does mean the world.”

“It does,” Nikki said, lifting his hand and kissing his fingers.

For a moment, they were all quiet, with only the little girls’ giggles filling the air. Then Damien’s phone chirped, and he jumped. Nikki laughed nervously, and Damien rolled his eyes, unsure why they should all be on edge, as if they didn’t deserve a moment of happiness and calm.

Then he glanced at the display, saw that the call was from Charles, and felt the foreboding rush back. He had no call scheduled with Charles-the-attorney today. And Charles-the-friend wouldn’t bother him on a day he was staying home with the girls.

“What’s going on?” he asked, ignoring the polite preliminaries.

Charles knew him well enough to cut to the chase as well. “Rory’s attorney just called. He wants to meet with you and Nikki tomorrow afternoon. Five o’clock. Before he’s transferred.”

“Transferred?” Damien repeated.