 
### Slow Burn

### E. B. Walters

Copyright © E. B. Walters 2011

Published by Firetrail Publishing at Smashwords

Firetrail Publishing

Logan, UT

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it

is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names characters, places, and incidents are products

of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Any resemblance to any actual events or persons, living or dead,

actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Firetrail Publishing

P.O. Box 3444

Logan, UT 84324

Slow Burn

Copyright©2011 by E. B. Walters

ISBN: 10: 0983429707

ISBN: 13: 978-0983429708

Edited by Melissa Maytnz

Cover by Keary Johnson Landon

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any

manner . Whatsoever without permission, except in the case of brief

quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews

First Firetrail Publishing electronic publication: May 2011

www.firetrailpublishing.com

# DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my mother, Margaret Jane,

and father, Walter for guiding me and telling me I can.

May you rest in peace.

# ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my editor, Melissa Maytnz.

Thank you for streamlining

and weeding out the unnecessary words.

I couldn't have done this without you.

To my critique partners, Dawn Brown, Teresa Bellow,

Katherine Warwick/Jennifer Laurens.

Thank you for being there when I needed you

and sticking with it through the changes and modifications.

To my beta-reader Chicki Brown, thanks

for reading and reading this over and over again.

You're amazing. To my husband, Mike, and my children,

thank you for their continued support.

Love you, guys.

# ENJOY AN EXCERPT FROM

**My** _USA Today_ **Bestselling Series**

IMPULSE (book 1)

(Sneak peek)

EXCERPT 1

Lex slid in the front passenger seat and brought with him his masculine scents. The effect on her didn't surprise her anymore. Heat pulled low in her belly. The spacious car suddenly seemed too small.

He glanced at her. "Why did you leave? I was going to show you the rest of the plane."

Jillian had to clear her voice before saying, "I didn't want to intrude. You ready to go?" she asked, shrugging off her jacket.

"Somehow I know I'm going to regret letting you drive," he said, buckling up.

"You have trust issues, Lex." She put the car in gear and eased out of the tarmac.

"I'm letting you drive, aren't I?"

Jillian rolled her eyes. She turned right toward Victory Boulevard instead of taking Vanowen. "You know what your problem is? You control everything and everyone around you, so you don't know how or when to let go."

"Does that mean I control you, too?" he asked in a voice gone husky, his arm coming to rest on the edge of the back of her seat.

She laughed. If he moved any closer, she might just forget she was driving, turn her head, and kiss him again. "In your dreams."

"You have no idea what things I do to you in my dreams."

Not as naughty as what she did to him in hers. "No man will ever control me, Alexander."

"Oh, sweetheart, never issue a challenge to a man with a single objective." He lifted her hair from her neck and ran feather-light strokes along her nape.

The car swayed as Jillian lost control. _Dang it!_ She trembled and hoped he didn't notice. "We're going to end up in a ditch if you continue with that," she warned.

"Am I bothering you?"

"No." _Yes._ She leaned back and pretended his touch wasn't distracting her.

His fingers slipped under her collar. Her breath quickened. This time she couldn't control the shudder that rocked her body. Worse, her nipples pebbled under her silk shirt.

"What are you doing, Lex?"

"Trying to prove a point," he said in an amused voice. "Real trust is putting your life in the hands of someone with the power to take it. You have a sensitive neck," he whispered, moving closer. "How about this?" He lifted her hair out of the way, stroked her ear, and then trailed his finger down to her collarbone.

Jillian shuddered. She really should tell him to stop, except she didn't want to. It had been too long, and this was the most fun she'd had with a man in almost a year.

"And these." He grazed her nipple closest to him.

Jillian sucked in a breath. If this was his way of proving he trusted her, he should do it every day. The wanton in her wanted to see how far he'd go. The daredevil liked that he was doing it while she was behind the wheel.

She turned left onto Victory Boulevard and headed toward Burbank. It was almost eleven and there was still some traffic, but it was dark enough to hide his sensual exploration.

"Your belly button?" He reached down and slipped a hand under her shirt to caress her stomach.

Jillian jerked, her foot pressing on the gas pedal. The car accelerated. Lex chuckled, but his hand kept stroking her belly. The feel of his large hand on her skin was heavenly.

"Remember, I don't have control over you."

Oh so that was what his sensual exploration was about? His movements were unhurried, his voice silky with decadence. He was driving her crazy. She glanced at him and caught the wicked gleam in his eyes. He was watching her every reaction, probably noting that she was beginning to breathe erratically and her nipples were pushing against her shirt.

"Eyes on the road, sweetheart," he warned and Jillian's eyes flew forward. The next second, she whispered "Fuck!" as his fingers swept under the waistband of her stretchy pants.

"I'd love to, but you'll have to settle for this." He slipped under her silk panties.

Jillian tensed with anticipation. Her leg, the one not pressing the pedals, fell back against the door as she tucked her hips forward to give him access.

"Hmm," he murmured as he moved over her nether hair, parted her labia, and found the sensitive nub. "You are so wet and hot."

That was an understatement. She was burning and dripping. Her thighs trembled, hips lifting as he moved one finger over her moist clitoris. Jillian closed her eyes as sensation rocked her body.

"You can't close your eyes, babe. Remember, I trust you to get us home safely."

Jillian glanced at him again. If this was a lesson, she'd failed it the moment he'd flicked his finger across her nipple. She nodded and tried to focus on driving. But how could she when each stroke across her sensitized flesh was driving her insane? More fingers joined the first one, two parting her, while the middle one teased her and pushed her higher and higher.

She tried to move her hips and push against his hand, but everything worked against her—her jeggings, the seat belt, Lex's hand holding her firmly in place. He was in control.

"Please," Jillian begged. "I have to pull over."

"No, keep driving," he ordered.

Her ass was almost off the seat, her heavy breathing filling the car and mixing with the wet sounds he made as he pushed his fingers in and out of her pussy. Sex on the highway was a first for her. Possibly, the most insane thing she'd ever done, and it was exhilarating. Cars zipped past them. She was going at half the speed limit as the pressure built inside her and pleasure fanned out from her core.

"Lex," she moaned.

"Focus on the road. You are in control."

Damn right she was. She took one hand off the steering wheel and grabbed his wrist. At the same time, she widened her one leg and anchored it firmly against the door. She was setting the pace now, racing toward a mind-numbing orgasm.

Lex reached with his other hand and firmly guided her hand back to the steering wheel while he continued to stroke her, his movements fast, firm, and smooth. Jillian knew she was going to blackout when she came.

That she could still be rational amazed her, but she flipped on the turn signal, pulled up on the shoulder of the road, and shifted gears to park. Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she arched her back and yelled words she'd never dared utter with a lover as the first wave hit her.

Her body convulsed around his fingers, but he didn't stop. Her body shook as she curled and hugged the steering wheel, her breathing shallow, her thighs wrapped tight around his wrist. The convulsion didn't stop.

Fuck yeah!

Through the blood pounding through her veins, she heard him say, "Beautiful."

_Beautiful_ couldn't begin to describe what had just happened. Insane. Possibly the best hand job she'd ever had. She rested her sweaty forehead on the steering wheel and exhaled, willing her head to stop spinning, her heart to cease its offbeat rhythm, and the ringing in her ears to ebb. It took forever.

Funny she wasn't even embarrassed by what had just happened. How could she be when he'd opened up a possibility she'd never considered before? Sex could actually be better than all the daredevil activities she loved.

Suckling sounds filled the car, and she turned her head to find the source. Lex was licking and sucking on his fingers.

"Hmm, love how you taste," he said. She could hear the laughter in his voice.

"You are insane," she said.

"But we're not in a ditch."

This couldn't be a lesson in trust. This was about control. That he could make her curse like a sailor and scream his name with a touch of his fingers. And what beautiful, long, and talented fingers they were. Jillian squeezed her thighs, the remnants of the orgasm making her throb.

"Nice way to prove a point," she said, sitting and trying to find a comfortable position that didn't involve her sensitized organ rubbing against her panties.

"Nice? I thought that was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I wished we weren't in such a public place. I would have turned on the lights and appreciated it better."

Now he worried about being in public? Jillian's eyes went to his crotch, and a fierce longing washed through her. She wanted him. Wanted to see him naked. To hold and stroke him, and drive him crazy the way he'd done to her.

"Do you want to drive the rest of the way?" she asked, her eyes lifting to his. The light from the headlights wasn't enough to show his expression, but she heard the amusement in his voice again when he responded.

"No, sweetheart. I'm perfectly fine letting you be in charge."

_Yeah. Right._ Jillian's eyes dipped again to his erection. Her palm itched with a need to touch him. "I can take care of that for you."

He chuckled. "I know." He palmed her wrist and placed it on the steering wheel. Jillian hadn't realized she'd reached for him. "Not here."

"I don't believe in double standards, Lex. It skews things. You mess with my head, I mess with yours."

"I'm counting on it," he said, and anticipation shot through Jillian.

I hope you loved The IMPULSE Sneak Peek.

If you wish to read more about Jillian and Lex get your copy for free today.

IMPULSE http://www.author-ebwalters.com/impulse-chapter-1-and-2

NOW, ENJOY SLOW BURN, book 1 of the Fitzgerald family series.
CHAPTER 1

Ashley woke up gasping for breath, acrid air clogging her lungs. She jerked up as her eyes darted around the room. There was no smoke and no fire, just the familiar high ceiling of her loft. The light streaming from the downstairs windows reflected on the full-length mirror of her dresser, causing her to squint. She flopped back on the bed and took deep, calming breaths.

The nightmares were becoming more and more vivid. She was safe, not trapped in a burning house with her parents. And the shrill sound was the telephone, not a fire truck. She leaned sideways and picked up the phone from the cherrywood nightstand.

"Yes." Her voice came out muzzy and faint.

"Ashley Fitzgerald?" an unfamiliar, deep male voice said.

"This is she."

"Ronald Douglass. I left a message in your voicemail last night."

Ashley frowned at the slight censure in his tone. "I haven't gotten around to checking my messages yet. What can I do for you, Mr. Douglass?"

"May I stop by your studio for a brief talk?"

The grandfather clock downstairs chimed. It was seven-thirty—too early for someone who'd gone to bed at two in the morning. Worse, the male model for her next erotic series was due in less than an hour. Ashley groaned. She'd need a pot of coffee to function.

"I'm sorry, that's not possible," she said. "I'm busy this morning."

"I have a slight problem, Ms. Fitzgerald. I want to surprise my grandmother with a portrait on her birthday and I'm told you're the person to go to if I want a first-rate work. I promise you, I won't take much of your time. In fact, I'm only a few blocks away from your studio."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Douglass. I'm not accepting any more commissioned works, not for a while. But I can recommend a very good friend and colleague."

"I don't want anyone else, Ms. Fitzgerald."

His words were very flattering, but his timing sucked. With the grand opening of the new children's museum next month, the wall murals must be completed before then. Then there was her erotic series show. She didn't have time to take extra work.

"I'm sorry I can't be of any help to you, Mr. Douglass. I'm really swamped."

"Listen, I know I'm being particular about this," he said after a brief pause. "You see, my grandmother doesn't have long to live, but she loves your work and owns several of your original pieces. Having you do her portrait would mean so much to her."

A lump formed in her throat and her insides softened. She'd lost her grandmother when she was in her teens, just before her parents died. Like the caller, she'd adored her grandmother.

Ashley sighed. "Okay, Mr. Douglass. But we can't meet now."

"Later today perhaps?"

If she photographed the model in the morning, her afternoon would be spent sketching. Her evening was taken, too. It was the girls' night-out with her cousins. She dared not cancel or they'd have her hide. Besides, she preferred to meet potential clients in their homes.

"I'm completely booked today. Monday evening would be much better."

"I'll be out of town the whole of next week." He sounded frustrated. "What about tomorrow?"

No way. Sunday was her day off. "I'm sorry I can't. Listen, why don't you call me when you get back from your trip and we can pick a more suitable time?"

This time the silence on the line was longer, uncomfortable.

"Fine. Have a nice day, Ms. Fitzgerald." The line went dead.

Not a happy camper, was he? Ashley shrugged, scooted to the edge of the four poster king size bed and stepped down. Her feet sunk in the egg shell shaggy rug covering the wooden floor. Without bothering with slippers, she hustled down the winding metal staircase to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker, then headed straight back upstairs to shower.

The hot water didn't ease the tension coursing through her, the effect of the nightmare. Would they ever stop? At this rate, she'd go crazy. She pulled on a floral working kimono, slipped on loafers and hurried down the stairs. After pouring herself a cup of coffee and added hazelnut creamer, she scribbled a few notes on a Post-it and pressed it on the fridge door.

Sipping the coffee, she walked to the H-shaped, floor easel and smiled at the piece she'd finished the night before. What a beautiful kid. So unfair he had died so young, like her parents.

_Here I go again, thinking about Mom and Dad._ At this rate, she wouldn't accomplish much today. The problem was, the nightmares tended to remind her of her loss. She frowned at the door as though she could make the model appear through sheer will. Where was he? Dee's models were usually very professional and rarely tardy. Maybe she should have asked to see the portfolio of this new guy, talked to him first. No, that would have been pointless. Dee had never failed her in the four years they'd worked together.

A sigh escaped her. She needed to relax before the man arrived or their session would be a waste of time. There was only one way to deal with the angry energy twirling inside her.

Ashley drained her coffee and placed the cup on top of the chest of drawers that held her paints. Then she propped the finished oil painting on a shelf to dry, replaced it with a blank canvas and put a bucket of water on a stool by the easel. She squirted dime-size globs of paint on a palette, picked up a brush and started working. No pencil sketches to begin with, just bold sweeps across the canvas.

Her hand trembled, but she didn't stop working. Couldn't stop was more like it. Time stood still as her past and present collided, as the demons threatening her very sanity coalesced on the painting before her. She dropped the brush and the palette in the bucket of water and shuddered. How many times had she painted this house? The exercise didn't stop the nightmares.

She dragged her gaze away from the painting to the myriad of cloth-covered canvases on wooden shelves around along the walls. People commissioned and paid thousands of dollars for her one-of-a-kind paintings, yet she was locked in a loop—fifteen years old at night and twenty-five during the day, all because she couldn't let go of the past.

There was only one solution. She wanted the house razed to the ground. Ripped through to its foundation until not a single block, beam or panel was left standing. Call her childish or vengeful, but completely obliterating that place from the surface of the earth would fill her with a great deal of satisfaction, and give her the closure she sought.

Ashley turned and snatched up the telephone from the kitchen counter. Her glance touched the surface of the clock. It was nine o'clock and Toni should be in her office. She speed-dialed the realtor's number.

"Morning, Toni. Did you meet with Nina Noble's agent yet?"

"Ah, yes. He walked me through the house and the compound. It's in great condition and has lots of old trees, but I think you could do better."

"No, I want this one." She leaned against the counter and glowered at the painting on the easel. "Accept whatever they're asking for it and bring me the papers to sign."

"Are you kidding? That's not the way to get the best deal, Ash. I intend to check the market value first, then offer them ten percent less than—"

"Don't." She reached forward, flipped the painting so it faced the easel. "I'll pay whatever they want."

"O-okay. But her agent hinted that it's important to Nina who the new owner is and what he or she plans to do with the house."

Ashley grimaced. Only Nina, the grandstanding diva, would add such a stipulation to something she was selling. But there was no telling how the actress would react if she knew Ashley wanted to buy her house.

"I don't think giving them my name is a good idea. But if her people want to know what I intend to do with it, tell them I mean to turn it into a commune for artists, a place where in-house artists can offer dance, voice and art lessons to kids." It was the dream her parents had wanted before they died, and Carlyle House had been their chosen building. Now the dream was hers to fulfill except hell would freeze over before she used that house. "Call me when you have everything set, okay? I've got to run. Bye."

Ashley pressed the off button and placed the phone back on its cradle. For a beat, she stared at her shaking hand, her breathing shallow. She fisted her hand and took a deep breath. She was weary of being haunted by her past, longed to be free. No, she deserved to be free, to live a life without doubts and phobias, some of which neither she nor her therapist could explain. With the house destroyed, she'd begin her healing process.

_Now that's settled, I need to focus on something else._ Her glance went to the door, again. Where was her model? Dee had some explaining to do.

Ashley rinsed her brushes and palette, took one look at her kimono and groaned. In her haste to exorcise her demons, she'd forgotten to put on a smock to protect it. She hurried upstairs to change.

***

"You should have dropped in on her unannounced. I know I would have."

"What would that accomplish?" Ron leaned back against the leather passenger seat and glanced over at his long time friend Kenny Lambert, ex-FBI-agent-turned-private-investigator.

"A lot. In my line of business," Kenny continued, "being nice gets you zip. You want to get to the bottom of this, forget your corporate image and your scruples, and start playing dirty. You're already on the right path...Ronald Douglass. For an alias, it has a nice ring to it," he added with a smirk.

Ron grimaced. It wasn't much of an alias. Douglass was his middle name. "I couldn't tell her my real name, man. I've gotten nothing but ice from my father's fire buddies. They don't mind reminiscing about the past until I mention Carlyle House. Then they have places to go, things to do. I didn't want her shutting me out, too. But you're right. It's time to stir things up a bit." They entered NoHo Art District in downtown L.A. "Head to Lauderhill Boulevard. I want you to drop me off outside her building."

He exchanged a grin with Kenny, but his inside wound like a spring. He hated to lie, but finding out what happened the night of the fire meant a lot more than a few principles. And the wall of silence from these firefighters only made him more determined to get to the truth. To top that, guilt weighed hard and heavy on him. He shouldn't have allowed his uncle to dissuade him from investigating the fire when his father died. Granted he'd been twenty at the time and his mother had needed him, but he should have gone with his gut instinct and hired an investigator. He'd given up too fast, ran away from the rumors and the innuendo that his father started the fire. This time, he wouldn't be dissuaded. Someone out there knew what went down that night. Though their motive for leaving him the clues remained questionable, he'd not live with himself if he didn't try and find out the truth. Maybe he could even clear his father's name.

They entered Magnolia Boulevard, passed a light and turned left on Lauderhill. Ron waited until Kenny pulled up and parked before he spoke.

"What's the plan?" he asked, glancing at Kenny.

"A former colleague at the bureau owes me a few favors. I'm heading to Wilshire Boulevard and handing him these." Kenny indicated the Ziploc bag from the tray between the seats. In it were the two envelopes someone had left Ron in the past two weeks.

The first time Ron saw the small envelope stuck under the windscreen wipers of his car, he'd thought it was a parking ticket. Needless to say, he'd tugged at it, opened and left his fingerprints all over the envelope and the letter. That was two weeks ago.

The second time was yesterday afternoon. He'd been in his office and his car parked in the underground garage of the building housing Neumann Security offices, the Los Angeles branch of his family's company. His car was still in the same spot, waiting for Kenny. This time, he'd covered his hands before he took the envelope and opened the letter.

The letters had a list of three names and the question, "What really happened that night?" The weirdest thing was each letter was cut out of the newspaper and glued to the paper, very archaic. A simple text message would have sufficed. And the words 'really' and 'happened' were spelled with one L and P.

It had taken Ron days to identify the three men on the first list. All of them had worked at the fire station where his father used to volunteer as a firefighter. But was it a coincidence that they had quit right after the fire at Carlyle House? That question was driving him nuts. He had yet to talk to anyone on the second list. Ashley Fitzgerald's name topped it.

As for the cryptic message, he'd reached the conclusion that whoever sent him the letters either wanted him to reopen the case or had come up with a wacky blackmail scheme. Both the Fire Marshal's office and L.A.P.D.'s finest had refused to take the letters seriously. Not enough evidence to suspect foul play and reopen the Carlyle fire case. Neither did they consider the letters threatening. It didn't matter. Nothing would stop him from going ahead with the investigation, including Ashley's busy schedule.

"When do I get back my ride?" Ron asked Kenny. The P.I. had taken a detour to pick up Ron at his Hollywood Hills home.

"Sometime today...as soon as my friend dusts it for prints. You said you spoke with the building security?"

"Briefly. The recordings from their surveillance cameras didn't show anyone loitering near my car. But feel free to have another look at them, I might have missed something."

"Or someone. I'll also have another chat with your father's closemouthed fire buddies."

"Good. Thanks for the ride." Ron stepped out. Calling Kenny had been a brilliant move. Hopefully, the P.I would help him ferret out the person sending these damned letters. "Let's get together later."

Kenny saluted him with a finger. "I'll let you know when the car is ready and what my friend finds out. Are you still going to the convention in San Diego?"

As a volunteer wildfire firefighter, he rarely attended the firefighters' conventions. This year was different. His father's former chief's name was on the second list.

"Yes. I heard Jonathan Blackwell is receiving a medal. I hope to catch up with him there."

"Watch your back. Whoever is doing this must have something to gain. No one stirs up a ten year old case for shits and giggles." Kenny squinted at Ashley's building and added, "Let me know what the lady says."

Ron couldn't agree more with Kenny. No one did things from the goodness of their hearts, not from his experience. He stepped away from the car, waited until Kenny pulled away before he started for the entrance of the building.

The building, like many in the area, used the products and services of Neumann Security. His family manufactured and supplied state-of-the-art electronic surveillance equipment and custom-designed software to businesses, homes and even P.I. firms like Kenny's. The branch Ron ran also managed highly trained security guards. The one on duty recognized him and stood before he reached the desk.

Ron headed for the elevators after speaking with the guard. He fought the tension knitting his gut as he watched the LCD panel flash numbers. What if she recognized him and refused him entrance? Ten years was a long time for someone to remember details of an accident, especially one that changed her life. He'd be screwed if she chose not to help him.

When he stood outside Ashley's door, Ron took a deep breath before he pressed her doorbell. He waited a few seconds then angled his head to listen for movement from inside. There was not a whisper from inside, yet he knew she was home.

He leaned his thumb on the doorbell, held it longer than necessary. When there was still no response, he sucked in a breath and pivoted on his heels. Two steps away, the door opened and a low, throaty voice hit him from behind, sending a jolt through his system.

"Quit with the ruckus. You're, uuh...." Her voice tailed off.

He turned and took in her creamy, flawless skin, the pert nose and lush lips. Her almond-shaped eyes the color of honey drops flashed and the glossy, abundant auburn hair with coppery highlights struggled to burst free from whatever pinned it back.

Could this gorgeous woman be the frightened girl of ten years ago? The image of her from that night had stayed with him over the years. He couldn't even explain why.

"Ashley Fitzgerald?"

"You're late," she said in a cool, impatient voice.

He raised an eyebrow. "I am?"

She thrust a delicate wrist under his nose. Her gold watch caught the overhead light and sparkled. "It's after nine-thirty. You were due at an hour ago."

Her feminine scent drifted to his nose. Something flowery. Roses? He frowned, annoyed with himself for letting his mind wander.

He cleared his throat, readying himself to explain his present. "I believe you've mis—"

"Never mind," she said, took a step back, and with her other hand clutching a cell phone, gestured him into the loft. "You're here now. Come in."

She was obviously mistaking him for someone else. But after the obstacles he'd encountered in the past two weeks, he'd be a fool not to take the advantage of the situation. Being invited inside her home was one step closer to achieving his goal.

"Thank you." He flashed a grin as he strode into the loft.

"What's your name?" she asked, closing the door.

"Ron."

"Make yourself comfortable, Ron." She waved in the direction of a leather lounge. "I'm on the phone. I'll be with you in a sec."

He watched her sashay towards the kitchen, the phone at her ear, and found himself enjoying the way the silk one-piece outfit shifted and flowed around her curves.

Ron tore his gaze away, shook his head to rattle his brain back in place and grimaced. He needed to get a grip, quick. He couldn't afford to be distracted. Ashley knew a lot, but from the stubborn gleam he'd glimpsed in those eyes, she wasn't going to roll over and spill her gut just because he asked.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulled him farther into the room. He took a deep breath and looked around with interest. The sheer numbers of cloth-draped canvases along the walls combined with the effect of the light pouring inside the loft from large windows were startling. He wished he could see some of the pieces. The ones he'd seen around town, including the two his grandmother owned, were truly magnificent.

A piece on the easel drew his attention. It was facing backward, but something about it pulled him closer. He tilted it for a better look and sucked in his breath.

Carlyle House was unmistakable. Its massive front door was missing, flames leapt from every window and a face...no, a pair of large eyes watched from the smoke billowing over the turrets.

"Excuse me. What do you think you're doing?"

He let the canvas go, backed away from the painting and shifted his gaze to meet hers. Her hand was on her hip, drawing his attention to its enticing curve, and her hazel eyes smoldered. He'd be damned if he didn't admit she looked glorious.

"I apologize. I shouldn't have looked at your work without asking you first." He waited, his gut tightening with each second that passed. _Way to go, Noble. Now she'll kick you out, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself._ He gave her an apologetic smile.

She looked ready to read him the riot act. Then the anger seemed to drain out of her. She leaned against the counter and let out a long breath.

"There're two things I will not tolerate from a model—tardiness and peeking at my work." Her voice was firm, but neither rude nor angry. "Dee told me you've done this before, so undress there." She pointed at a partitioned area in the corner. "Since you were late, I'll just do a few shots. We'll start with upper torso, so the shirt goes and the pants stay for the moment. If you want to listen to music, I have classical, jazz, rock...whatever you wish. We'll work there." With a nod, she indicated the black leather chaise lounge near a window and the easel. "If we have time, I'd like shots of you in briefs. What?"

"Briefs?"

Ashley ignored his incredulous expression. Why had her request for a mature male model been filled with this six-foot mass of male arrogance? Beautiful to look at but trouble to work with. Dee already apologized for the man's tardiness during their brief telephone conversation, but swore he was a joy to work with. Yeah, right.

"Yes, briefs." She pushed off the counter and approached him, taking in his sun-kissed skin, which screamed outdoorsman. But the combination of Monet's cobalt blue eyes and short-cropped hair the color of midnight was more suited for a corporate office with a view. He was a contradiction, and her fingers longed to pick up a paint brush and immortalize him on canvas.

Slowly, she circled him, eyeing his tall, well-built body from every angle, wondering if he was tanned all over. The black T-shirt and blue jeans didn't do much to hide the lean muscles beneath. She wasn't into men with facial hair, but the shadowing on his jaw contrasted with his golden skin and gave him a sexy, rakish look. A tattoo of something was partially visible on his upper left arm. Did he have more on his torso? Not that it mattered. She easily imagined him with nothing on but a red, silk sheet draped across his hips. With her paintbrush, she could turn him into every woman's fantasy. She smiled at her thoughts. But that was for later, now she wanted him in briefs. No boxers or cutoffs. Just briefs. The smaller and tighter the better.

"I hope that's not going to be a problem because later, I'll need nude shots." Her smile deepened. "Lots of them."

"I have no problem with being nude." He turned until they were facing each other. A quirky grin played on his sensuous lips. "I just don't strip for money."

"But—"

"I'll do it for free, if I know the lady." Blue eyes twinkled above arched eyebrows. "I don't know you...yet."

She smothered a groan. "Look. Dee told me you were a pro and pros know the rules. No personal remarks or cheap come-ons. And FYI, buddy, I'm not interested in you knowing me, I just want your body." The corner of his lips lifted and her cheeks warmed. "Uh, I mean I want to use it."

When he crossed his arms and continued to grin, Ashley sighed. "You know what I mean. Be nice. Take off your shirt." She needed coffee, now. Maybe she would offer him some later, if he behaved. Right now, she was too bothered even to look at him. Dee was so dead for doing this to her. A professional indeed. He was a menace.

Ashley turned and marched toward the kitchen.

"Who's Dee?" Ron asked from behind her.

"What?" Ashley stopped and spun around. "Deirdre Packard, the owner of Dee's Artistic Expressions. Aren't you the model she sent?"

He smiled. "No. I'm not a male model, but thanks for the compliment." He moved to stand in front of her, the smile disappearing from his lips and his eyes growing serious. "I'm here to see you about an entirely different matter. We spoke earlier...Ronald Douglass."

Ah, the sweet man with a dying grandmother. Although 'sweet' wasn't exactly what she'd dub him this up close and personal. Arrogant came to mind, thinking he could waltz in here and lie to her. Too handsome for his own good was another. It irritated her to admit she'd been looking forward to capturing his square, raw-boned face and those electrifying blue eyes.

Ashley sighed. "I told you I was too busy to meet with you this morning. And why didn't you tell me who you were the minute you realized I'd mistaken you for my model?"

"I apologize. It's not often a woman asks me to strip immediately after meeting her." A disarming smile flitted across his sensuous lips.

Now he was a comedian. Ashley pinned him with narrowed eyes. "Do you even have a dying grandmother or need her portrait done?"

A guilty look crossed his face. "She's as healthy as a horse, and that's the truth. But I'd like to present her with her portrait on her next birthday. Listen, I hoped you'd spare me a few minutes." A lost puppy look settled on his face.

Definitely too sure of his charms and used to getting his way, she concluded. Either case, he was a total stranger. Although there was nothing threatening about him, Ron was a big man. How fast could he move? The panic button on her cutting edge security system was by the door, and he stood smack between her and it. She took in the Rolex and the designer jeans, groomed hair and those eyes. Something sizzled between them, but Ashley disregarded it. Good looks and expensive tastes didn't mean jack. She had two choices here, tell him to get out or hear him out.

Ashley moved until the kitchen island was between them. Only then did she indicate the stool across the counter from hers. "Okay, Ronald Douglass, you have my attention."

He approached her slowly. "I appreciate that."

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked.

"That would be nice, thank you." He smiled.

"How do you take it?"

"Black." He watched her as she pulled out mugs from a cupboard. "What I told you earlier was true. My grandmother really likes your work, and I do need a portrait of her done. Do all your subjects have to sit for you?"

"No. I often use photographs. You see that one," she pointed at the uncovered painting she'd finished the night before. "I used several pictures of both the young man and the horse."

"May I?" Ron asked.

"Go ahead." She filled two mugs of coffee and added hazelnut creamer to hers. From the corner of her eye, she watched Ron study the painting, his smile quick and appreciative.

A quirky smile. She was a sucker for anything unusual. Her gaze followed his jaw-line to his ear, the hollow beneath his jutting cheekbone and the arched eyebrows above an arrogant nose. She'd painted her share of beautiful men, but there was something about Ron that made her want to pick up a sketchpad, a paintbrush and palette.

"This is amazing...so real," Ron said, making her realize she was staring. "The pony looks as though it might step out of the painting and prance around." He laughed, and she smiled. "I can almost hear the boy yell, 'giddy up.' He must love horses."

"Yes, he did." Sadness crept through her voice and her throat closed so she had to swallow hard to clear it. "He died two months ago in a road accident." She heard him swear softly under his breath as she carried the mugs to the island counter and sat down on a stool.

"It must be hard to work on a piece like that." Ron's gaze locked on her face when he joined her.

He didn't know the half of it. "Yes it is. But I understood the love that prompted his mother to want to do something special in her son's memory. Here you go." She placed the second coffee in front of him.

"Thanks." He sat down opposite her, took a sip of his drink and cradled the cup in his large palms. "Ashley, I want your help with something very important to me."

"I know...your grandmother's portrait. I need to know how soon you want it. I can work from a few recent pictures, unless you'd prefer when she was younger and...." Her voice trailed off when she saw the bleak look on his face. "What is it?"

He hesitated before saying, "I want to talk to you about Carlyle House."

Ashley bit her bottom lip, her insides tightening. Had Toni given out her name despite their earlier conversation? "Are you Nina Noble's agent?"

"No, I'm her son."

"But you said your name was Ronald Douglass." Her voice was accusatory, but she didn't care.

"Both are my names, I just omitted my surname. Every time I give out my full name, doors get slammed in my face."

"Excuse me?"

His gaze shifted to the painting on the easel, then back to her face. "I'm investigating the fire at the house ten years ago."

A chill snaked up her spine. She opened her mouth to ask him why, thought better of it and decided she didn't want to know. Instead she pushed her stool back and stood. "Sorry, I can't help you. You need to leave."

Ron scrubbed his face and let out a deep breath. His gaze, when he looked up, was direct, almost pleading, but she wasn't completely sure about that. Still, she could not take any more craziness, not on top of the nightmares and everything else.

"I really need your help," he added softly.

She stepped back from the counter and away from him, her insides churning. "No."

He scowled. "I've been receiving anonymous letters with a list of names. One has firefighters, all friends of my father, all retired after the fire. I was curious enough to get in touch with them. Yet as soon as I mention the fire, they don't want to talk. It's almost as if they know something, as if they're afraid. What if the fire was deliberately set and someone wants me to find out the truth? The people responsible could still be out there. That would mean your parents—"

"No." She flung her arms as though to stop his words from reaching her ears. Not that it mattered. She already knew what he was going to say. "I don't want to hear it. My parents' death was accidental, I've accepted that. The Fire Marshal said it was faulty wiring." She swallowed, refusing to entertain the possibility that someone had started the fire, that her parents had been murdered. She'd mourned and accepted her loss. All she needed to move on was to get rid of Carlyle House, not relive that horrific night.

"I want you to leave now, Ron."

"Ashley—"

"Please, just go." She wrapped her arms around her body and refused to meet his gaze, but she could still feel it on her. After a moment, he got up.

Her head pounded with tension and her teeth hurt from too much clenching, but Ashley held it in. She followed Ron's lean, muscular frame to the door. A few days ago, she'd been ecstatic to see the house on a listing, and her decision to buy and demolish it had seemed so feasible. Now this.

Ron opened the front door, stepped out into the hallway and turned to face her. Before she could speak, he reached out and touched her arm.

"Think about it," he said.

"There's nothing to think about."

"I'll be in touch about my grandmother's painting." He turned and sauntered away.

Ashley stared after him, unwanted images from the past flashing in her head. When he entered the elevator and the door closed on his unsmiling face, she sagged against her doorframe. Her body was shaking. She no longer wanted to do his grandmother's portrait. He'd only used it as a ruse to get inside her home, she was sure. And for what? To fill her heart with dread, to dare ask her to relive her worst night. The man was out of his mind.
CHAPTER 2

Ashley placed the brush on the palette, wiggled her fingers and arched her back, careful not to make sudden movements. Her position on top of the ladder was precarious to say the least. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she turned her head to study the mural on the wall to her left.

Seventy-five feet long and ten-feet high, animals grazed in the savannah. Vivid blue skies contrasted sharply with the brown earth and Jacaranda trees. The tall grass seemed to sway gently in the breeze, an illusion created by her two talented assistants. Gazelles appeared ready to leap from the wall and into the room.

She smiled. The thematic scenes in each room would mesmerize kids. They'd gone the whole nine yards, from prehistoric to science. The last room would feature artwork by selected elementary students from schools across the city. She couldn't wait to work with them.

"Hey, don't you have a two-thirty meeting today with Ms. Noble?" a voice called from below her.

Oh no, she completely forgot.

"Thanks, Josh." This was the result of that arrogant woman changing their meeting time from tomorrow to today. Ashley shifted to get down, and the paint palette, brushes and sponges fell off her lap. They tumbled down while she watched helplessly. A curse escaped her lips.

"That brings the total to five dollars."

"What?" Ashley glowered at the bare-footed, mocha-complexioned man below her. Josh Keller was busy airbrushing the shadings and shadows on an animal, his dreadlocked hair held back in a ponytail.

"You used a swear word," Josh said.

"So?"

"So your cousins told us to keep count. Right, Micah?"

Far to her right, on a different wall, Micah Walden was working on a rainforest scene. His long, wavy, blonde hair brushed his bare, tattooed back as he nodded.

"Yep. A dollar a word," he said.

She wrinkled her nose. Her aunt had started that rule to curb her sons' use of four-letter curses. Somehow, the girls came in under her radar when she heard them slip up during family get-togethers.

"Tattle-tell on me and you're both fired." She stepped down from the ladder.

"And where would you find talents such as ours to finish the murals?" Micah asked without an ounce of shame.

"Yeah," Josh added.

Ashley couldn't help smiling. They were young, gifted and knew it. She couldn't fault them for being cocky. And they were right; she couldn't complete this job without them.

"Shameless. Whatever happened to modesty?" she muttered, but they heard her.

"Became obsolete—" Josh started.

"In the new age phenomenon of self-promotion," Micah finished.

"There's a thin line between self-advertising and bragging, and you two are very close to crossing it." She untied her apron and placed it on a table. Her gaze bounced between the two men. "I've got to make this meeting or lose my chance at getting the house. If you guys don't see me by five, lock up." She picked up her purse. "See y'all later...or tomorrow."

"Good luck," they said in unison as she headed toward the entrance.

She waved and exited the museum. It was a beautiful spring afternoon, but her mind was too preoccupied with the imminent meeting to appreciate it. A cloud of apprehension loomed over her, and butterflies did a jig in her tummy. She'd had two days to prepare herself since her realtor set the meeting, two long days of self-doubt and nervous tension. How should she present herself to Nina? Pretend the past didn't happen? Bring it up just to get it out of the way? Should she divulge her plans for Carlyle House?

At one time the house had been the in-place for new and upcoming entertainers, the place for creating stars. Even her parents had launched their careers in its banquet hall. Tearing it down would be erasing a part of music history, which made her feel like such a monster. But her sanity was at stake. How could anything compete with that?

_Here I go again, stressing._ If Nina's assistant hadn't called this morning to move forward their meeting, she'd have had one more day to compose herself, to think things through, to...what a crock of crap. She would have continued on the spiral path to nervous wreck-land. Why did the woman insist on meeting buyers anyway? It was a ridiculous stipulation.

Ashley put the top of her Mustang convertible down before she eased out of the parking lot. For once, traffic in the downtown area was slow. It gave her a chance to run through the speech she was preparing for Mrs. Noble.

To be honest, her nervousness went beyond the meeting with Nina. Ever since Ron Noble dropped that bomb about investigating the fire at Carlyle House, she'd lived with constant worry. It stared at her in the mirror every day, and stole her sleep most of the night. The fact that he hadn't contacted her or dropped off his grandmother's pictures didn't help either, although she'd expected him to hound her for an answer about his investigation.

Why did he have to stir things up? What did he hope to gain? He was nuts to think she'd want to revisit that night just to help him. On the other hand, he'd said none of his father's former colleagues was willing to talk about the fire. Could the men be shielding an arsonist, maybe one of their own? The person responsible could be out there, getting away with murdering her parents.

_No, stop it._ The copy of the report she'd gotten from the county records said faulty wiring started the fire. Her aunt, whom she'd spoken with after Ron left, had confirmed it, which should be reassuring but unfortunately wasn't. Every time she thought about Ron, the flash of determination in his eyes when they spoke, she knew he wasn't going to let this go. He was probably biding his time, giving her a false sense of security before he pounced. Icy fingers clawed up her spine at her thoughts, making her shiver. Better not think about that now.

Ashley was getting ready for the shower when she realized all her suits were still at the drycleaners. If Mrs. High and Mighty Noble had stuck to the original plan, she wouldn't be in this predicament. The older woman's blatant arrogance annoyed her. A moan of frustration escaped her as she grabbed the phone and dialed the drycleaner's number.

"No, no, Ms. Fitzgerald. Not now. Five o'clock. I told you five o'clock, yes?" the Pakistani said.

"I don't want the whole load, Mr. Noor. Just one."

"Not possible, Miss. I do rush job, yes? Have it ready by three. Three o'clock good, yes?"

"Three o'clock no good." She was beginning to sound like the man. She stopped short of begging him and hung up. Not only was she on a time crunch, she had nothing decent to wear.

Twenty minutes later, Ashley stepped out of the closet with yet another outfit and held it against her frame. "Ew," she said and threw it on top of the growing pile on her bed.

Every dress she'd pulled out of her closet had something wrong with it. They were too casual, too old or just plain. Ashley rocked on her heels and took a deep, calming breath. There was no point in stressing over this. Whatever she wore wasn't going to change Mrs. Noble's decision about selling her Carlyle House or ease her worries about Ron's investigation.

The next garment she pulled out was a straight black skirt with a slit on the side. Pursing her lips in thought, she studied it. She placed it on her dresser and turned to dig in the pile of clothes on her bed until she pulled out a silk fuchsia shirt with black buttons. A slow, satisfied grin spread on her lips as she held the skirt and the top against her frame and looked into the mirror.

"Not bad. Not bad at all," she murmured.

She put on the skirt and studied her image. A little tight around the hips, but it would have to do. She patted her tummy, checked her backside one last time and murmured, "Knew that late night chocolate chip mint ice-cream had to be going somewhere."

She put on the top and stared in the mirror. The gentle swell of her breasts above the décolletage elicited a frown, then a sigh. She couldn't do much about her well-endowed chest if she tried. This was as good as it was going to get.

As she sat down to apply make-up, her thoughts turned to the past week. Working on the murals at the new museum had kept her busy. Unfortunately, she had done nothing on her exhibition pieces. She'd already gone through three male models, but none had inspired her to create a masterpiece. At this rate, she'd have to cancel the show.

She checked the time, smothered a curse and jumped up from the dresser stool. Grabbing her high-heeled, black sandals and purse, she hurried down the stairs. She stopped briefly to scribble a reminder note to herself on a Post-it, slapping it on the fridge door before she exited the loft.

***

Ashley made it to the Noble's home just as a silver Jaguar drove through the gate. A tall, buffed guard marched from behind the security booth, raised his massive arm and signaled her to stop. The sun reflected on his brown skinhead as he stared at her suspiciously from above dark glasses.

"Wait here," he said when she gave her name.

She watched the guard walk back inside the security booth and resigned herself to waiting. From what she'd seen while driving, the homes in the area were huge, beautiful and well maintained. But she couldn't admire Nina Noble's home while she waited. Trees obstructed the house. Sighing, she turned her attention to the rear view mirror.

There was a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. Convertibles were great when they were in motion, but when parked, the sun was relentless. She turned up the AC and cool air fanned her face. She would have loved to pull the top up but she didn't think her nerves could stand the confined space—a phobia she could never explain. No need to fret over it, though. She always found a way around her demons, choosing convertible instead of a normal car, an airy loft instead of an apartment, rarely taking the elevator unless she absolutely had to. The list was long.

Not liking the direction of her thoughts, Ashley pulled out her powder and blush to repair damages to her make-up. It was another five minutes before the guard finally waved her through. She gave him a stiff smile and drove up the curving road to the cobbled, circular driveway.

Several cars were in the driveway, including a dark green pickup truck. As soon as she parked beside the truck and switched off the engine, the sound of piano music reached her ears. If she weren't so tense, she would have enjoyed the lovely tune and Nina Noble's beautiful home. Instead, she gave the well-tended lawn and colorful patches of flowers a sweeping glance as she hurried to the pillared entrance. Before she could knock, a tall brunette in navy-blue pants and a pink shirt opened the door.

"Ms. Fitzgerald, Connie Wilkins." They shook hands. "Come in, please."

Ashley glanced with awe at the two-story foyer with its gleaming staircase. Two earlier works of Francis Bacon shared a wall with a Chagall, and preserved plants were strategically placed around the room. The beautiful music she'd heard earlier appeared to come from a room to her right.

"This way, please," Connie said.

Ashley followed Nina's assistant across the foyer, past an arched entrance and into what was either an entertainment or a living room. A tall, lithe figure rose from a chair.

"Ron," she whispered. Her heart skipped a beat, then thundered away.

Their eyes locked and time seemed to disappear. An electrifying sexual charge zipped between them. She struggled to breathe. For a beat, he didn't move, then his sexy, quirky smile appeared.

"Ashley. It's nice to see you again." He closed the distance between them and engulfed her hand with his large one.

His scent, musky and male, teased her senses. Her temperature went up a notch and her breath lodged in her chest.

"I didn't expect to find you here," she managed to say. Her voice was steady, thank goodness.

"I hope you don't mind. Please, join me." He took her arm to lead her to a chair beside the one he'd occupied. A bottle of Heineken was on a table beside it.

She turned to thank Connie, but the woman had long since disappeared. It was just the two of them. The thought was exciting and a little discomforting.

She freed her arm and clutched her purse with both hands. "There must be a mistake, Ron. I'm supposed to be meeting your mother." She caught herself fidgeting with the clasp of her purse and forced herself to stop. It was bad enough having his presence throw her off but quite another to make him aware of it. "The meeting was supposed to be tomorrow, but her assistant called and changed it."

"I know." A slow grin settled on his mouth, then spread to his cobalt blue eyes. "My mother is not feeling too well, so I hope you don't mind if you and I talk instead. Would you like something to drink?"

A drink would steady her nerves, but that would mean spending time in his company. The speech she'd prepared was meant for his mother, not him. His agenda didn't exactly coincide with hers. Plus, there was the attraction between them. It kept catching her off guard.

"No, thank you. I'd rather—"

"Come on, Ashley. One drink. I promise I'll be a perfect gentleman."

As if that had anything to do with why she was wary. "Okay. White wine, please."

While he walked to the bar to get her drink, she sat down and took a fortifying breath, then another. He's just a man, one that I can handle. The word 'handle' brought to mind images that had nothing to do with Carlyle House. She found herself peeking at the way he filled his jeans and the ease in his swagger.

Focus, Ashley. She was supposed to be thinking about what she would say once he brought up his investigation not how he would look bare-chested. This was so insane, so unlike her.

"Here you go," Ron said as he handed her a crystal glass.

"Thank you."

He picked up his Heineken bottle and touched it to her glass. "Here's to friendship." Then he waited and watched her as she took a sip of her wine. His gaze lingered on her lips before snaring hers. "Is it okay?"

"Perfect." She studied him from above the rim of her glass as he sat down and took a swig of his beer. She would never have guessed he was a straight-from-the-bottle beer drinker. But then again, she knew nothing about him. The blue shirt he wore played tricks with his eye color, making them appear darker than usual, and the faded jeans couldn't hide his muscular thighs or strong legs.

He shifted, drawing her attention back to his face. The smile on his lips indicated he'd been aware of her scrutiny. Heat suffused her face and she rushed into speech.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Carlyle House."

The man was direct if anything. "If this is about your investigation, then you should know I have done a little of my own. I stopped by the Public Records Office again a few days ago and picked up a copy of the fire report on the house. Faulty wiring was the verdict. Also my aunt and uncle hired a detective to check into it right after it happened. The P.I. never found anything to indicate foul play."

Ron leaned back against his seat, stretched his long legs and studied her from under lowered lids. Her gaze stayed locked with his.

The silence grew tense, unnerving. Whoever was playing the piano stopped, and the house became eerily quiet. Ashley started to sweat. Hoping her hand didn't shake, she lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip of her wine. Swallowing was damn near impossible but she managed it.

"Well?" she asked, cocking her eyebrows.

Admiration flashed in his eyes, then quickly disappeared. "I wasn't talking about my investigation although I'm happy you took what I said seriously. With my mother flying back to New York tomorrow, I'm in charge of Carlyle House. Anyone interested in it must now deal with me."

That was the last thing she needed. "When will she be back?"

He shrugged. "Next weekend, perhaps. She's producing a play, so I don't know for sure. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why Carlyle House?"

Ah, the dreaded question. _Here goes._ "It's location near Culver City Art District makes it perfect for an art center. It was what my parents had planned before they died. They made their first public appearance at the old Carlyle Club and spoke about it with nostalgia." She smiled, remembering. "You know they used to say to work, sweat and dance in Carlyle Club was to be part of a tradition. A tradition an aspiring artist should be honored to be a part of."

He smiled with approval, and Ashley wondered how he'd react to her next words.

She swallowed and took a deep breath. "I plan to demolish it and rebuild."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm not. It's old. With its asbestos, lead and fire-safety problems, it wouldn't pass the building codes."

"Why not just refurbish it? It is cost-effective."

She'd checked into that and didn't have a good enough excuse except, "Meeting the new fire codes would cost me a fortune. As a part-time firefighter," oh yeah, she'd checked and knew about his volunteer work with the Kern Valley Hotshot wildfire crew, "you know the city requires sprinklers systems in commercial buildings rather than the old fire-escape routes from upper stories." She knew she got him when his eyes grew thoughtful and he leaned forward, his gaze not wavering. "Also, I wouldn't want anyone developing cancer years from now because of asbestos. They used it in everything prior to the seventies—flooring, ceiling spackle, roofing, siding, pipes, ducts, walls, gaskets, even soundproofing. But I plan to use the original architectural designs to recreate a replica of the house." She held her breath and waited for him to say something, anything.

Ron released a deep breath and leaned back. "Sounds like you've thought this through."

She'd picked her cousin's brain. Without Lex's expertise, she wouldn't have known where to start when it came to old buildings. "I mean to fulfill my parents' dream."

"I can understand that, except there's a slight wrinkle in your plans."

"What?"

"There's another person interested in the house."

Her eyes widened. "Who?"

His eyes were watchful as he added, "Ryan Doyle of Doyle Enterprise."

Ashley's heart dropped. Ryan Doyle was a real estate shark with rumored connections to organized crime. Born and raised in Los Angeles, he was street smart and ruthless. Rumor had it he made his first million at thirty by questionable means, billion at forty and was now worth a lot more than was usually reported in magazines. Despite his wealth, he was still considered a thug by the business world. There was no way she could win a bidding war against him.

"What could he possibly want with Carlyle House?" Ashley asked.

"According to my mother, he's moving his headquarters to Los Angeles. He intends to have his main office in the downtown area and in Culver City. He owns a large slice of undeveloped property nearby, a situation he means to rectify, and he wants to restore Carlyle House. Why, I don't know."

Ashley sunk back into her seat. Whatever offer she made, Doyle could easily top it or double it without putting a dent in his bank accounts.

"I'm not getting the house, am I? I mean, how could I possibly win a bid against Doyle?" And he wanted to revamp it, damn it. How could she even begin to compete?

"No one is starting a bidding war, Ashley. Besides, you can have me on your side." He wiggled his eyebrows as a naughty smile curled his mouth.

"That would be unethical. Kind of like insider trading." And tie a noose around her neck? She knew exactly what he'd want in return.

He laughed, the sound deep, warm and rich.

He knew he had her cornered. She scowled at him. "Fine. I do want you in my corner. I deserve to get the house since I offered first. Besides, I intend to pay market value. No fuss, no negotiations."

He winked at her. "Then feel free to use me. All you have to do is ask and I'll make sure you get the house."

So cocky, so sure he'd get his way. She ought to decline his offer but she wouldn't achieve her goals by being bull-headed. What if she waited for his mother to come back? Would that hurt her chances of getting the house?

She stole a glance at him through lowered lids. Ron gave the illusion of being relaxed, yet there was edginess in him that was part exciting and part unsettling. Despite his casual attire and relaxed manners, he projected an air of authority and self-confidence few men possessed. She didn't know how old he was, but she'd bet he was only a couple of years older than she. The polished veneer of sophistication was probably due to growing up among showy jetsetters. And the way he carried himself and the calm in which he spoke exuded a rare sensuality that was hypnotic.

His head lifted and their gazes locked. Raw desire sizzled between them, and for a moment, Ashley couldn't think or breathe. When he arched an eyebrow, annoyance coursed through her. He was enjoying toying with her.

"Well? Do you want my help in getting the house?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed. "Of course, I do. But first, I'd like to know what you'd want in return."

He touched his chest. "A selfless offer and you think I have an ulterior motive?"

"Don't you?" she challenged.

A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. "Of course."

How predictable. She hated predictable men. "Okay, out with it."

He leaned forward, his movements languid and graceful, like a timber wolf on the prowl.

Ashley swallowed. "Tell me what you want, Ronald Noble."

"The satisfaction of knowing I've helped a friend."

What kind of a half-baked answer was that? What about his investigation? Ashley studied his expression. He was plotting something. It was a good thing she had no intention of asking him for help. She'd rather take her chances with his mother. Still, it never hurt to have all her bases covered.

"A friend, huh?" she said slowly.

He leaned back and gave her a slow perusal. "Haven't you ever had a male friend before?"

Ashley laughed. "I did. A long time ago. His name was Silas Hendricks. He broke my heart."

Ron scowled. "You must have cared about him."

"I adored him. It was the first time my parents put roots anywhere long enough for me to make friends. When he caught chicken pox, I swore to never touch chicken again, and it was my favorite dish."

Ron's expression grew suspicious. "Exactly how old were you when you and Silas were friends?"

"Four."

He chuckled, cobalt blue eyes flashing. Laughter softened the chiseled planes of his face. She grinned back at him. "He was five, dumped me when he started kindergarten. Said he was a big boy and couldn't hang out with a preschooler."

"So how long has it been since Silas?"

"Twenty-one years."

"Well, I most certainly won't give you chicken pox. And I promise not to break your heart." Before she could comment on his outrageous statement, his gaze shifted to something behind her. "Excuse me." He uncrossed his legs and stood.

Ashley followed his gaze to find Connie Wilkins standing behind her.

"Pardon the interruption, Ms. Fitzgerald," the woman said. "Just want to borrow Ron for a few seconds."

"Excuse us, Ashley," Ron said again, following the woman out of the room.

Left on her own, Ashley studied her surroundings. Glamorous green velvet damask on the over-stuffed sofa, a tuft ottoman and the subtle, neutral wool upholstery used on three comfortable armchairs complemented the green and gold silk draperies. An eighteenth century English writing desk occupied a wall, right below a carved giltwood mirror. Combined with Persian rugs on parquet floor and strategically placed collectibles, the effect was an understated elegance that was pleasant and comfortable.

Then she heard Nina Noble say, "Did I hear you promise Carlyle House to that girl? I'd rather give it to Doyle for a pittance than have her set foot in it."

Ashley's breath caught. If the older woman had no intention of selling her the house, why had she asked for a meeting?

***

Ron scowled and reached for his mother's arm. "Come with me, please." She refused to budge, her gaze fixed on the entrance to the living room. "Mother."

"Don't mother me in that patronizing tone, Ronald." She allowed him to lead her away from the living room and Ashley. "Where are we going?" she hissed.

"Away from here." He led her toward the stairs. "I told you I'd take care of the situation with Ashley."

"And this is how you mean to do it? With laughter and silly childhood anecdotes?"

He meant to gain Ashley's confidence first. He couldn't guarantee it would work, but it was better than pushing her to see things his way. Besides, they'd reached an impasse—he wanted her help with his investigation and she wanted Carlyle House.

"I want to know what happened the night of the fire, Ron, and I want to know now." Tears danced in his mother's expressive grey eyes. "Go back in there and ask her for every detail."

Ron sighed. For years, she'd rejected the rumors that his father, her husband, had started the fire at Carlyle House. The same couldn't be said for his grandmother or uncle—the two had never approved of his father. And once Ron started receiving the anonymous letters, his mother's patience had grown thin.

"There're other ways of finding out what Ashley saw that night without antagonizing her, Mother. She's not the enemy."

"Isn't she? She lied, didn't she? Remember the photos?"

How could he forget? Another anonymous envelope was found at the gate last night. This time, there were photographs along with another note with cutout letters, but more detailed than the previous two, which had prompted his mother to call him back to L.A. from the firefighters' convention and reschedule her meeting with Ashley.

"She was fifteen years old at the time and traumatized by the death of her parents. She might have gotten her facts mixed up." He glanced briefly toward the room Ashley was in. He needed to go back to her. Ron beckoned Connie forward. "Mom, go back upstairs and rest. Let me handle things my way, okay?" He squeezed her arm and waited until she and Connie were halfway up the stairs before he went back to rejoin Ashley.

He'd chosen not to bring up the events of ten years ago because he knew his mother would eavesdrop on their conversation and interrupt if she heard something she didn't like. He wanted answers just as much as she did, but the timing had to be right. Ashley needed to be persuaded to see things his way. The woman gave a new meaning to the word stubborn.

One minute blushing and the next challenging him, she was beginning to fascinate him, which was bad in his book. Not that there was anything wrong with a captivating woman...physically. But intellectual fascination was a different ball game all together. It meant delving into how her mind worked, which could lead to unwanted complications. His priority right now was clearing his father's name, not getting involved with any woman at a personal level.

Ron paused in the archway separating the foyer from the living room and studied Ashley. How much of the conversation had she heard? She was looking away from him, her body seemed relaxed.

Suddenly, she arched her back and stretched her neck. Her posture pushed her breasts against the silk top, drawing his attention and sending desire rippling through him again. Hell, he was lusting after a woman he hardly knew.

He cleared his throat and stepped into the room. "Sorry about that."

"That's okay." Ashley picked up her purse and stood. "Since I won't be seeing your mother, I think I'd better head back to work."

She'd heard his mother. He could tell by the way she avoided looking at him and her jerky movements. Unfortunately, now would be a bad time to explain things to her. "Work?"

"The new children's museum. I'm working on the wall murals."

"Oh, yeah. I recall reading somewhere that you'd won the contract to paint it. How is it going?"

A sparkle entered her eyes briefly, then disappeared. "Great. I have two very talented and hardworking, young artists assisting me. We might finish earlier than I'd anticipated. Anyway, I'd better be going."

She looked ready to sprint out of the mansion, and he didn't blame her. Still, he didn't want her to leave yet, not like this.

"I must stop by sometime. Or aren't people allowed to see them yet?" he asked.

Ashley gave him an uncertain smile and took a step back. "No, they're not, but just ask for me at the reception desk in the old children's museum."

"I most certainly will." He didn't need to touch her or be so close, but the urge to connect was there, and he acted upon it. Her rigid frame stiffened even further when he cupped her elbow. He wanted to step back, but changed his mind when he felt her relax. As he led her out of the room, a heady rush of lust washed over him. He didn't know what was happening to him. Something about Ashley filled him with a sense of urgency. Despite her attempt to hide it, she was attracted to him. He saw it in the rapid pulse beating at the base of her neck, in her eyes when he caught her looking at him. What if she was dating someone? Would that stop him from pursuing her? Never did before.

When they reached the door, he opened it and escorted her to her car. "I'm sorry I haven't stopped by with my grandmother's pictures. Now that I'm back in town, is it okay if I drop them off?"

She appeared undecided about something. Then she nodded. "Sure. I'll be at home Saturday morning."

"Saturday it is." He held the car door for her to get in. From his position, he had a clear view of her perfect breasts. His stomach muscles knotted as desire hit him hard. He swallowed and shifted his gaze to her face, but she was staring at the house. He followed her gaze to the second floor balcony. His mother in red flowing pants and a matching duster jacket, her curly hair falling over her slender shoulders, stared at them with smoldering eyes. How long had she been watching?

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to your mother," Ashley said softly. "Maybe next time."

Not if he could help it. He didn't know where the thought came from, but once it took root, he knew it was true. His mother could be very vicious when pissed.

"Sure. I'll see you on Saturday." On impulse, he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"What was that for?" she asked, the smile on her face a little uncertain.

"A friendly gesture, that's all." He pushed off from where he'd been leaning against the car. "As in I'll see you soon. You know, friends. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Right," she whispered and started her car.

Ron stepped back and watched the car head toward the gate.

"I want you to remember one thing while you're busy coddling that girl, Ronald."

Ron turned. His mother leaned against the balcony, her eyes blazing.

"Your father would still be alive if it weren't for that girl." She turned and marched back into her bedroom.
CHAPTER 3

A cold lump had settled in the pit of Ashley's stomach when she'd heard Nina Noble's scathing words. She hung on to the steering wheel until she cleared the Noble's gate. Down the tree-lined road, a fair distance from the security guard's watchful gaze, she pulled up on the shoulder. Her hands shook so much she had trouble switching off the engine. When she finally did, she just sat there, trying to come to terms with what she'd learned.

She wasn't the only one needing closure. The pain in Nina's voice had been real, the hatred in her eyes on the balcony unadulterated. A vague memory flitted in Ashley's head. Nina had worn the same expression the night Carlyle House had nearly burned to the ground. It was obvious the actress still blamed her for the death of her husband.

What about the letters they'd exchanged? She'd poured her heart out in the letters she sent Nina after the funerals. Without the kind responses she'd received from the actress, she might never have dealt with the guilt of causing Robert Noble's death. Why then did the woman still hate her?

She tried to recall the details of that night, but as usual, very little came to mind. A worried face or two, gentle words from strangers amid the chaos of fire engines and firefighters. Why couldn't she remember what happened before the firefighters arrived? The clear memories were the loss of her loved ones and one brave firefighter. Yes, her stupidity had led Robert Noble to his death, but she'd grieved for him just as much as she had for her parents.

What if Ron's investigation was meant to help him and his mother come to terms with their loss? She was preventing that from happening by being difficult. Ashley looked back toward Nina's home just as a black stretch limo zoomed past her. Maybe she ought to go back and talk to them. It might help all of them to start the healing journey together.

I'm beginning to think like my shrink.

Nina's emotions were too close to the surface right now for talks to accomplish anything. As for Ron, it was hard to tell what was going on behind his charming smile. That quirky grin could be hiding all sorts of malevolent feelings. Not that she was a saint. Wanting to tear down a house with historical significance to a city wasn't heroic. Maybe she needed to stop thinking of herself. Maybe she should call Ron and tell him she was willing to help him. But could she survive reliving that night?

The sound of a slamming car door caused Ashley to turn her head. The limo had stopped ahead of her and a uniformed driver opened the back door for its passenger. Was it Ron? She hoped so. She could tell him she was willing to answer whatever questions he might have.

Wing-tipped shoes and charcoal-grey pants appeared first before a man stepped out from the back seat. A sigh of disappointment escaped Ashley's lips when she realized it wasn't Ron.

Whoever he was started toward her with even, unhurried steps. The expensive suit enhanced his wide shoulders and long legs. With his fair hair brushing his collar and dark sunglasses, he could have stepped off the pages of some popular men's magazine. Ashley frowned. Up close, he looked a lot younger than his bearing indicated, probably around her age. He flashed a smile, revealing a perfect set of teeth.

"Is everything okay, ma'am? You looked a little distressed," he said politely.

Ashley frowned then touched her cheek. A mortified groan escaped her when she realized a few tears had welled up in her eyes. She swiped at her cheeks, angry with herself for losing control in public. Worse, he called her ma'am. She must really look haggish and pathetic with tears and mascara stains. Just as she resigned herself to hiding behind her sunglasses, a crisply folded, white handkerchief appeared in her periphery.

Ashley stared at it and the hand holding it and then leaned back to glance at the man. Not only did he catch her indulging in self-pity, he was very much aware of her present predicament. No tissue. Served her right for leaving her studio bag at home.

"I promise you it's clean," he said, misunderstanding her hesitation.

"Thank you." She accepted the piece of cloth, dropped her chin to lift up her sunglasses and wipe her eyes. "This is very kind of you."

"No problem." He stepped away from her car.

Ashley scowled when he pulled off his glasses. A vague sense of having met him before washed over her then quickly disappeared. Must be her heightened senses playing a trick on her. She'd have remember such a handsome man if their paths had crossed. Then he removed his jacket, gave it to his driver and went to stand in front of her car.

"What are you doing?" she asked when he removed his cuff links and started to roll up his sleeves.

"Getting ready to inspect your car." He loosened his tie with his left hand, his gaze alternating between her and the hood. "It's the thing to do when a car stalls. Did it stop by itself or just refuse to start?"

"No. No please." Ashley gripped the dashboard and pulled herself up until she could rest one knee on the driver's seat. "It's not the car. I...uh..." She thought of a way to explain the situation without appearing even more pathetic. "I got something in my eye, and I pulled over to, you know, take care of it. But I'm okay now." When he squinted and continued to study her, she nodded. "Really. I'm fine."

"If you're sure." He stopped fiddling with his tie and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Thank you for the use of your hanky, though. It was kind of you." She wasn't sure whether to give it him or offer to mail it after washing and ironing it.

"My pleasure." He flashed another boyish smile and moved closer to her. "May I at least know your name?"

"Ashley. Ashley Fitzgerald." Surprise flashed in his eyes, but it happened so fast she could have been mistaken.

"Vaughn Ricks." They shook hands. Instead of letting hers go, he held on to it and added, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fitzgerald."

Ashley grinned. "Oh no. The pleasure is mine. It's not often someone charges to my rescue with handkerchief in hand."

"Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?" He laughed, sounding even younger than she'd thought.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ricks," the driver interjected. "Beg your pardon, ma'am. You'll be late for the meeting if we don't leave now, sir."

"I know, Manning," he answered without taking his eyes off Ashley. But he finally let go of her hand. "I hope our paths cross again."

He was nice, but she doubted that would happen. "Is there a way I can send this back to you?" She waved his handkerchief.

He shook his head. "Keep it." There was a pause as though he was debating with himself. "Or you can give it to me when we meet again." He smiled again, pivoted on his heel and started for the limo.

***

Ron paused in mid-stride to stare at the security booth in disbelief. He changed directions and hurried toward the gate. "What are you doing, Johnson?" he asked the guard.

The man jerked and turned to face him. "Just doing my job, sir."

He indicated the high-powered binoculars the guard was holding. "Spying on the neighbors is now part of your duties?"

"Mrs. Noble asked me to watch the activities at the house down the street."

What the hell was his mother up to now? Ron glanced at the envelope with photographs he still held in his hand and grimaced. Things were complicated enough without antagonizing her with questions about binoculars and spying on her neighbors.

"Put it away," he instructed the security guard. "I'm sure there's a law somewhere against doing that sort of thing."

"What do I do if I notice any funny business at Mr. Doyle's residence?"

A frown crossed Ron's brow. "Doyle?"

"Yes, Ryan Doyle. Your mother said something about not liking him living too close to her. Wanted to know what he and his son were up to."

When did Doyle buy a house in the neighborhood? After his father died, Doyle had tried to hit on his mother, appearing everywhere she went and stopping by the house uninvited. The man even tried to use Ron to get to her. Ron wasn't sure what Nina told him, but Doyle disappeared from their lives. "Regardless of what my mother told you to do—"

"But it's a good thing I did too, sir. I saw the lady who just left...Ms. Fitzgerald...talking with Doyle's son only a few seconds ago."

"What? Are you sure?"

"She pulled up a little past their gate." Johnson brought the binoculars to his face and peered through the lenses. "She's still there."

Ron wanted to grab the binoculars and see for himself, but restrained himself.

"Doyle's son is entering his limo right now. He's paused...looks back. She's—"

"Let me see." He accepted the binoculars from the guard and trained them on the road. It wasn't hard to find Ashley's red sports car. Anger, disappointment and jealousy zapped through him in quick succession when he saw her smile and wave at the limo. A hand waved back through an open back window before the limo disappeared around a bend in the road.

Smoldering anger replaced all other emotions. Why would Ashley stop to talk with Vaughn Doyle? Had she lied to him about not knowing the Doyles were after Carlyle House? He could have sworn the woman was a straight shooter, but it could be the attraction between them blinding him to reality. He didn't know what her game was, but he intended to find out.

Ron set the binoculars down, and without saying a word to the guard, stepped out of the security booth and hurried back to the house.

***

"She still refuses to sell the house to me," Ryan Doyle said.

Frankie didn't respond, but his alert expression said he knew who Doyle meant—the only woman Doyle had ever wanted but couldn't have, Nina Noble.

A man in Doyle's position, a man of his wealth and connection should not have to ask for anything. Over the years, he'd bought properties and women whenever it suited him. But his billions, offices and homes across the country couldn't guarantee him the one thing he'd always wanted, a willing and devoted Nina by his side.

Born in Culver City, Doyle had been drawn to the stately homes on the north with their pristine swimming pools and neatly trimmed lawns. The most impressive of them was Carlyle House, owned by the Neumann family. At first, he would climb the trees and peek into their compound. Later, he became their yard and pool boy. Often, he would watch Nina and her friends by the pool while he trimmed hedges, or look at her with longing as she danced and laughed at her birthday parties. She would flaunt herself on the pool deck in her bikini, glancing his way whenever she thought he wasn't looking. And when he could afford it, he bought her presents and left them on top of the deck table. She never failed to look at him and smile as she opened them. She'd loved him as much he'd loved her.

Everything changed the day she slipped on the wet deck, hit her head and fell into the water. Doyle had gone by instinct, rescuing her and administering CPR. A heated kiss had followed. All her parents saw was the pool boy on top of their precious daughter. He saved Nina's life that day, yet he ended up in jail on sexual assault charges. Nina never told the truth about the incident, but he forgave her. She was young at the time, only seventeen, and scared. By the time he was released from jail, Doyle had learned an important lesson—the rich got away with everything. He made a vow to amass as much wealth as possible.

Doyle studied the thin, bumpy skin that ran from his right middle finger and disappeared under his pale blue custom-fitted shirt with detachment. It was a scar from the day he rescued Nina. He even wore a ring on the finger to draw attention to it. He could easily have taken care of the blemish and the occasional twitch with surgery, but it was a reminder of what he was owed. Nina Noble belonged to him.

A sneer touched Doyle's mouth. He'd watched over her as she grew from the pampered girl to the beautiful actress adored by all her fans, but it had given him a great deal of satisfaction to punish the bastard who'd been her first lover and the next ones, too. They had hurt her. He was the only man who could make her truly happy. Robert Noble did for a while, which hadn't sat well with Doyle. But in the end he made the bastard pay. Dead or alive, no man who'd touched Nina ever escaped him. Ten years ago, she'd said she was in mourning and needed time to get over her husband's death. He was tired of waiting.

"Do you want me to do something about her?" Frankie asked.

"No. Nina is my problem," Doyle warned. One minute in front of a computer and Frankie could make a person disappear without a trace. Having no bank account, no social security number, no credit history and no birth certificate wasn't his plan for Nina.

Doyle rested his elbows on the polished mahogany desk and formed a steeple with his short, thick fingers. His gaze locked on the older man seated opposite him—Francis 'Frankie' Higgins. They first met on the streets of L.A., before Doyle's mother married his brute of a stepfather and moved them to San Bernardino. Frankie bailed him out when he got in a tight spot with a local drug lord, and even though he paid back every cent to Frankie, Doyle never forgot the deed.

Years later, when Doyle started making a name for himself on the streets, he'd gone in search of Frankie. Between his business acumen and Frankie's computer skills, they became a formidable money laundering team for major drug dealers along the west coast, until the day the Feds caught Doyle during a sting operation and threw him in jail. He never fingered Frankie. Although his businesses were mainly legal, he occasionally found that he needed Frankie's expertise, like now.

Physically, they were nothing alike except for their dark hair. Frankie was taller and leaner. But what Doyle lacked in height, he made up for with a wider girth, a presence and a desire to leave his mark on this world. Outside his computer skill, Frankie's nondescript features and unassuming demeanor made it possible for him to blend in crowds and shadows.

"What did you learn from Blackwell?" Doyle asked.

"Ron Noble went to see him during the convention and showed him the letters. Blackwell didn't tell him anything."

Doyle's eyes narrowed. For the amount he paid off the former fire chief, he'd better keep his mouth shut. "And the ex-firefighters?"

Frankie chuckled. "They know better than to talk to the boy."

"Good. Find the person who sent those letters, Frankie. Nina's boy would not be sticking his nose in things that don't concern him if it weren't for those damned letters." Doyle sat back and loosened his tie. He just lost control and didn't like it. The fact still remained that someone was out to get him. But who? Why now when things were finally going right for him? He'd just discovered the existence of his only son, and now had an heir to carry on his legacy. And he was in a position to court Nina Noble.

He was already the main investor in her new play, although he had no intention of letting her know it. He also had a man on the inside making sure the expenditure kept shooting up until the other sponsors backed off. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't run to her family to bail her out, just as she hadn't ten years ago. She would become completely dependant on him.

There was a discrete knock on his door, then his assistant stepped inside the office. "Sir? Your son's limo just pulled up."

"Thank you, Gayle. Ask him to come into my office when he arrives upstairs." He got up after the door closed behind the woman and approached the bar at the corner of his spacious office. He poured a slash of cognac in two crystal glasses and offered one to Frankie.

"How's Vaughn doing?" Frankie asked.

Instead of answering, Doyle sipped his drink, savoring the woody taste, and walked to the window. He studied the glass and concrete structures lining the street below with indifference.

The offices of Doyle Enterprise were temporarily in a high-rise in downtown Los Angeles. His company owned the building and rented most of office space to other businesses, including the L.A. branch of Neumann Security, which presently occupied the top floor. He hadn't needed the building, but it had amused him at the time to outbid the boy. Now the victory didn't matter.

Acquiring new buildings, refurbishing and then selling them had lost its appeal. The hunger that had pushed him to the top on his field had waned. Simply put, he was bored. He needed to diversify, try something new. He wanted a slice of Hollywood, not in secret but overtly, with his name out there for the world to see.

What did a producer tell him a few years ago? Accepting his money was like lying in bed with a drug dealer. Frankie had made sure the bastard paid for the slight. Pictures of the producer with young boys had appeared online overnight. Within a week, the man's career was over. Still, the incident was a reminder that his past mattered. No matter how much he tried to clean up, his name was still linked to his old, money-laundering activities. Being with Nina meant much more than fulfilling a fantasy. With her by his side, doors that continued to remain closed to him would open. He'd gain respectability, which would flow to his son. Above all, Vaughn must not be tainted by the past.

Doyle turned and studied the panel of screens on the wall to his left. Two of them showed Vaughn inside the elevator. At only twenty-two, the boy had a nose for business, a chip off the old block. Charming and astute, he used his age to disarm people before turning the tables on them. His next target was the Fitzgerald girl and outbidding her on Carlyle House. Should he mention the past to Vaughn? How her parents outbid Doyle? No, his son was untouched by the ugliness from the past and Doyle meant to keep it that way.

Doyle glanced at Frankie and smiled. "The boy has a solid head on his shoulders. He's spearheaded the acquisition of several buildings in Burbank through his private company and is negotiating with Nina's agent. He wants Carlyle House, to fix it and reopen it as a private club. With its history, it should be a successful venture. He's the future, Frankie. My future. And nothing must mess with it." He pursed his lips as his thoughts shifted to his son's mother, the crazy woman who'd tried to hide his only son from him. His right hand twitched and hatred burned in his heart. Before he could speak, the intercom flashed.

Doyle smoothed his tie and nodded at Frankie. "Come on, my friend. Allow me to introduce you to my son," he said with pride.

***

Ashley was rummaging through boxes of childhood memorabilia when the musical sound of her cell phone reached her ears. She pushed aside several rag dolls and stuffed animals to reach it.

"Faith, I thought you were too busy to talk," Ashley told her cousin.

"You know how it is when I'm in the fitting room with a client," Faith said. "And this client was one of those difficult ones. What's wrong, Ash? You sound funny."

"Coming down with a cold," Ashley lied smoothly, then got up and headed toward the kitchen.

"Nice try. I know you, missy." There was a pause, then, "Are you worked up over the meeting with Nina Noble?"

"Ha. I just left her place."

"Oh? I thought you were meeting tomorrow."

"She changed the time." Every time she thought about Nina Noble, guilt washed over her. "She doesn't want to sell the house, Faith. Not to me, anyway."

"Why not?"

"She still blames me for her husband's death. She couldn't even meet or talk to me, sent her son instead." She poured herself a cup of coffee, stepped back to open the fridge and reached for hazelnut creamer.

"That's rather childish, isn't it? I hate to be brutally blunt, but someone ought to tell Miss Movie Star that firefighters sometimes die in the line of duty. Her husband must have known the risks involved in his profession."

Ashley had thought the same argument before, but it never once made her feel better. She added the cream to her coffee, slid on a stool at the kitchen counter and took a sip as she listened to Faith.

A sigh escaped Ashley's lips. "The bottom line is, she's never gotten over her husband's death and still resents me. To compound the problem, Ryan Doyle wants Carlyle House." She briefly explained what Ron had told her.

"What are you going to do? Maybe you need to talk to Aunt Estelle or Lex."

Not if she could help it. She might not know what her next move would be, but she was through running to their aunt or older cousin whenever she had a problem. As it was, their aunt had done enough by taking her in after her parents died.

"No. I'm not going to push for Carlyle House. Not now." She couldn't dare tell her cousin about Ron's investigation or her decision to help him. Faith would think she'd gone crazy. "I'll ask Toni to start checking what else is available out there."

"Are you sure?"

She was on autopilot now, not confident about anything anymore. It was funny how so much had changed within a week. The morning she spoke to Ron, she'd known exactly what she wanted.

"Yes, I'm sure." Her voice came out weak and lacked assurance.

"Don't give up yet, Ashley. Let's discuss it tonight, okay? Instead of going out, I'll pick up dinner from Chase's place and join you and Jade immediately after work."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. There was really nothing to discuss. Until she learned the truth about the fire, she wasn't going to bring up the sale of the house, not with Ron. But her cousin didn't need to know that.

"Sounds good. Have you spoken to Jade today? I've left several messages in her voice mail, but she's not returning my calls." Jade had just gotten out of a bad marriage and was struggling to find herself.

"Mine either, but I'll try to get a hold of her and see if she's still coming."

"She'd better or—"

The sound of her doorbell reverberated through the loft, interrupting. Ashley froze, her coffee mug in mid-air. "I've got to go, Faith. Somebody is at my door." She put the drink down and stood up. "See you tonight, okay?"

Whoever it was pressed on the bell again as she approached the door. "Sheesh, hold your horses." Thoroughly annoyed, she yanked the door so hard her sunglasses slid from where she'd pushed them on her forehead and settled on her nose. Her eyes widened when her gaze landed on her visitor's furious expression. "Ron? What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk." He didn't wait to be invited, just stepped right in. Concern flitted across his face when he took a proper look at her. "What's wrong?"

Ashley crossed her arms and scowled at him. "Shouldn't that be my line?"

"You sound funny. Have you been crying?" Then his gaze shifted to the chaos behind her. "What happened in here? You had a break-in?"

She shrugged and gave her loft a sweeping glance. The room did look as though a tornado had hit it. Boxes overflowing with stuffed animals, dolls and photo albums were all over the floor.

"No. I was searching for something." The letters his mother had written to Ashley years ago seemed to have disappeared, but she was determined to find them. Maybe she'd missed something in them that could explain Mrs. Noble's present attitude. "What do you want to talk about?"

His attention shifted to her. He scowled at her sunglasses. "It can wait. What happened?"

She closed the door, ignored his probing gaze and walked past him. "Nothing happened. As you can see, I'm in the middle of something. But since you're already in, make yourself at home." She led the way to the kitchen, and could feel his eyes boring into her back. "So, what is it that couldn't wait until Saturday? I barely left your home—"

" _My mother's_ home," he corrected.

"You were raised there." She picked up her coffee cup, then turned to face him. "Weren't you?"

"Yes and no. Are you going to wear those glasses while we talk?"

Without them, he'd know for sure she'd been crying. She wasn't ready to discuss why. "Yes. Do you have a problem with them?" she challenged.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and stared at her upturned face. A wry smile crossed his lips. "No, but they're not hiding the fact that you've been crying, Ashley."

Sighing, she yanked the glasses off her face, and without making eye contact with him, walked around the counter. She caught a glimpse of her face on her toaster and saw that her mascara had run. Oh, God, raccoon eyes. Too late to do anything about it. "Do you want some coffee?"

His gaze stayed on her. "Sure, thanks. Was it something I said or did?"

She snickered softly as she refilled her cup and poured some of the dark brew for him. "What makes you think you could do or say anything to reduce me to tears, Noble?"

His lips curled into a derisive smile. "You have a point there. That leaves my mother."

She stiffened, but still managed to pass him his coffee without spilling it. Taking her time, she settled on a stool opposite his, then lifted her chin, daring him to say something about her smudged mascara. "Your mother? I didn't even speak with her."

"But you overheard what she said."

Wasn't he just Mr. Perceptive. "Is that why you're here?"

He wrapped one large hand around the mug and took a long sip of his coffee. His gaze didn't leave her, but he appeared to be rearranging his thoughts. "My mother can be very blunt, Ashley, but she doesn't always mean what she says."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. Did he blame her for his father's death, too? Ashley bit her lip, undecided on how to proceed. He could either listen to what she had to say or blow her off. Either way, there was no going around it. "She's still hurting, isn't she?"

A scowl settled on Ron's face. He was quiet for a moment, then he nodded. "Things haven't been easy for her."

"She must have really loved him." Warmth leaked out of his eyes until they were cold, but she ignored it. She refused to stop until she had her say. The guilt chewing her insides needed to be eased. "I know it's my fault your...your father died, Ron, and no one is sorrier than I about that. So I understand why she still hates me—"

"I didn't come here to discuss this."

She blinked at his brusque voice. "Oh. When you brought her up I just assumed you wanted to explain her position."

"You assumed wrong." His voice was uncompromising. "What I want is total honesty from you."

Was this about his investigation? She couldn't promise to answer all his questions, just what she remembered. "Of course, but that depends on what you want to know. Some of the things even I can't explain."

As if it were possible, his eyes grew colder. "You like to play games, don't you?"

She cut him a look and made a face. "I hate games. It's a total waste of time."

"Then tell me this. How well do you know Vaughn?"

Ashley blinked. "What?"

"You said you don't play games. Neither do I. How well do you know Vaughn?"

Her brow creased as her thoughts raced. "Vaughn Ricks? The man in the limo?" How did Ron know they'd met?

He smiled coldly at her. "Yeah, the one you met down the road from my mother's home. Vaughn Doyle, Ryan Doyle's son. What were you discussing with him?"

Her eyes widened at the revelation. No wonder he'd looked familiar. He looked like his father. Then the implication of Ron's statement sunk in. "You were spying on me?"

"And it's a good thing, too, otherwise I wouldn't have known about your little meeting."

She shook her head. "You have some nerve implying that I play games, Ron Noble." This was what happened whenever she let emotions control her actions, people stepped all over her. She'd let this man get to her before with his I-need-a-portrait-of-my-grandmother story. Not again. She rose to her feet and stepped away from the counter. "I want you to leave. Now."

Ron got up, but instead of heading for the door, he started around the counter. "What are you hiding? What did he offer you?" His gaze ran up and down her body, then his lips curled into a sneer. "Or should I be asking what you offered him to get Carlyle House?"

Her jaw dropped at the implication. Black spots appeared in her vision as anger replaced the shock. Her hand lifted, flew to his face and connected with his cheek. The sound echoed around the loft.

"And to imagine I was willing to help you with your investigation. To put myself out and face my worst...." Ashley pointed at the door. "Get the hell out of my house, Noble."
CHAPTER 4

Ron tried not to flinch as the sting spread from his cheek down his neck. He had seen the slap coming, but he hadn't tried to stop it. He deserved it. Truth be known, he had no idea what came over him to accuse her of something so debasing. "Ashley—"

"How dare you." She was breathing hard, her ample chest heaving. "How dare you imply I would cheapen myself by offering my body to any man in exchange for a favor?" She stomped past him.

He grabbed her arm. "I apologize. What I said was uncalled for and rude. I'm sorry."

"Quit manhandling me," she snapped and attempted to wrench her arm free.

He let her go and raised his arms in surrender.

"Now get out."

Ron released a sharp breath. This wasn't what he'd planned. He needed her help, and being thrown out wasn't a way to get it. From her flashing eyes, an apology wouldn't suffice. He racked his brain for a quick solution. "I can get you Carlyle House, Ashley."

A scathing laugh escaped her. "I don't want it anymore."

His gut tightened. "Why?"

"I changed my mind."

She must have heard his mother and despite her earlier assertions, had no intention of asking for his help. In fact, her rigid body warned him to back off. He frowned. Or maybe this was an act to manipulate him, to make him feel sorry for her. Growing up around his mother and her actress friends had taught him to question women's emotions. He knew it was wrong and often fought his response, but now.... Should he trust Ashley?

"We've nothing else to discuss," she said.

And he had nothing to negotiate with. He shouldn't have mentioned his investigation last week or jumped to conclusions when he saw her with Vaughn. Ron ignored her words and studied her angry expression. He saw through her bravado and anger to the pain he'd caused.

A sudden urge to take Ashley in his arms and offer her comfort came from nowhere. He wasn't going there. He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans instead. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions and accused you of doing something unethical."

She stared defiantly at him, her hazel eyes overly bright. He pulled his hands from his pockets and scrubbed his face, then studied her through narrowed eyes. Lord, the woman was maddening. Why couldn't she accept anything gracefully?

"What did he want?" he asked.

"I don't owe you an explanation."

"I know." The Doyles were ruthless bastards, and he had to know what they were up to. He swallowed his pride and added, "Please. I need to know."

Ashley sighed, her shoulders sagging. "I was concerned after I heard your mother's words and realized she was still hurting from what happened ten years ago. I pulled over and was thinking of going back to your place to tell you I'd help with the investigation when Vaughn's limo stopped. I didn't know who he was. He told me his name was Vaughn Ricks, not Doyle. He thought I was having car trouble. I had no idea that I was outside the Doyle residence."

"I didn't know he purchased a home around there until the security guard told me. My mother was concerned. The Doyles are not the nicest of people."

She shrugged. "I don't know anything about that. Vaughn was kind enough to offer me a hand when he thought I needed it."

The green monster in him reared its head. "Vaughn Doyle is a ruthless bastard, Ashley. Just like his father."

She stepped away from him. "Not from where I'm standing. He was a perfect gentleman."

While he was not, Ron thought with a sigh. She didn't have to say it. He hated explaining himself, but in this case, he owed her that much. "Okay, my behavior this afternoon has been less than exemplary, I admit. I don't usually talk or act like this. This investigation is getting to me. And I wasn't spying on you. The security guard was."

Her eyes widened. "Why?"

"My mother asked him to keep an eye on the Doyle's residence. The fact that he happened to see you and Vaughn and reported it to me was merely a coincidence. No one was spying on you."

She went quiet, her arms across her chest, her eyes shadowed. He didn't know what else to say to regain her trust. "Please, say you forgive my deplorable behavior."

She shrugged, appearing to accept his apology. He sighed with relief, then went on to explain. "Ryan Doyle tried to court my mother after my father died. I don't know what he did or said, but she doesn't like or trust him. She's not the forgiving type."

Ashley nodded. "I realize that. I was fifteen at the time, had no idea what was happening with my parents and acted on pure instinct." She spoke softly as though talking to herself. Her gaze shifted to the first button on his shirt before she added, "Maybe it was foolish of me to ask him to save my parents, but my entire life was in that inferno." She searched Ron's eyes. "I now know what he did was heroic. When I later learned that he'd died, I wrote letters to your mother asking her to forgive me."

"Ashley—"

"Let me explain. Please. I didn't get a response from her, but I kept at it for six months. Then she wrote back, twice." She waved toward the boxes on the floor. "I was searching for the letters she sent me before you arrived. Her forgiveness helped me deal with my grief, Ron."

Ron didn't want to disappoint her, but he highly doubted his mother wrote those letters. He'd grown up hearing her blame Ashley for everything that went wrong in his family. Connie Wilkins, her assistant, most likely wrote them. The woman had been with his mother for almost thirty years now.

"Do you...do you blame me, too, Ron?" Ashley interrupted his thoughts.

His mother never let him forget the part Ashley played that night and yes, he had resented her for a while. But as he had matured and been able to see things realistically, he'd let go of the anger. "No, I don't blame you."

Regret and distress flitted across her face. "Thank you. I know he'd still be alive—"

"Don't." He wanted to step away, but he found himself cupping her face. Tears trembled on her lashes. He could feel her body quiver, and in that moment, a connection he couldn't explain formed between them.

Her anguish became his, and he was helpless to stop it from searing through him, twisting his gut and reminding him of his loss. He hadn't really mourned his father, not when his mother had needed him and the accusation and rumors of his father's treachery had floated around. His father, the one person who'd given him unconditional love, and he had been too angry and ashamed to mourn him, until now. Something closed around his heart and squeezed.

"Ron?"

His gaze shifted to Ashley face. The anger and the pain were gone, and in their place was concern. Resentment came from nowhere, the lingering accusations he'd grown so accustomed to replacing his pain. He didn't want her pity. All he needed from her was a description of what she saw that night.

He stiffened, stepped away from her and folded his arms across his chest. "My father was a firefighter, Ashley. He knew the risks involved in his profession." Her eyes searched his, as though she could see through his feigned indifference to the pain and regret within him.

"I'm sorry for putting you in such an awkward position with my questions. You lost someone you loved that night, too, and I had no business bringing it all back."

"Let it go, Ashley." Why did women insist on analyzing everything? He was through tiptoeing around. He had to know if he could count on her. "There's something else we need to discuss, the reason I'm here."

She opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it. A frown settled on her brow. "What is it?"

"I need your input on something." He pulled a folded, brown manila envelope from his back pocket and offered it to her.

She scowled instead of taking it, mistrust evident in her eyes.

"My mother received them this morning. Someone left the envelope at her gate. I was at a conference in San Diego this week, but she called and asked me to come home because of this. Unfortunately, after going through its contents, she wasn't in the right frame of mind to discuss anything with you. I want you to look at the pictures and tell me what you think."

Ashley's suspicious gaze shifted from the envelope to Ron's face, then back to the envelope. "What pictures?"

"Just open it, please."

She took the envelope, opened the flap and pulled out the contents. Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her lips when she saw the top photograph.

***

"It can't be," Ashley whispered. The envelope and the other photographs slipped from her nerveless fingers and flitted to the floor, as she sat on the nearest stool.

"What is it?" Unease filled Ron's voice. "What's wrong?"

Everything was wrong. She recognized the photograph she'd taken ten years ago. It was from a film she'd lost the night her parents had died. Obviously, someone had removed it from her camera. But who? Why?

Ron hovered over her. "Talk to me. Knew I shouldn't have sprung this on you like this," he berated himself. "I should have warned you." When her gaze stayed riveted on the photograph, he stepped back, picked up the others and the envelope from the floor and rejoined her at the counter. "I thought seeing their picture wouldn't matter after all this time, but... Talk to me, please."

She heard his voice, the concern lacing his words, but emotions had seized her throat, making speech difficult. Her eyes bounced back and forth between her father and her mother's face. They looked so real, so...so alive. The sparkling eyes, the full smiles and the love shining from their faces were all unforgettable. Her hand trembled, as she gently stroked the cold, glossy paper.

"It's mine," she finally whispered, her voice hoarse and foreign to her ears.

"What?"

She cut Ron a look, and saw the same confusion in his voice mirrored in his eyes. Biting hard on her lower lip, she took a deep breath, then another. When she had some modicum of control, she stared straight at him and said, slowly and clearly, " _I_ took this picture. It's mine. I want to know who sent it, Ron."

"There's no return address on the envelope or signature on the letter. What do you mean you took the photograph?" he asked.

She slanted him an impatient glance. "I lifted the camera, pointed and shot it." Her voice was edgy, harsh. "It was the night of the...," she swallowed, then her chin went up, "the night of the fire."

Ron rubbed his nape, a puzzled expression on his face. "How's that possible? How did someone get a hold of them? It doesn't make sense."

"I know." Nothing made sense anymore, including why all this was happening to her now. She could accept Ron's mother's hatred, work around Ryan Doyle's bid, but the sudden appearance of a picture from the roll of film she thought was lost threw her off. Could Ron be right? Did someone start the fire?

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Ron was waiting for an explanation. She wasn't ready to give one. Scenes from the past flashed through her head. Shopping with her mother, watching her get ready for a performance, listening to both her parents rehearse, devising ways to escape the paparazzi, private picnics in the parks... Then there was that night. Acrid smell of black smoke choking her lungs, burning her eyes, scorching hungry flames at the windows, raucous sounds of the fire trucks...

Her eyes snapped opened in surprise, and her gaze zeroed in on Ron's hand on top of hers. She welcomed its warmth, the comfort his gesture offered. Irrationally, she wished they were anywhere but in her loft discussing the past. She thought she would never have to revisit that night.

Ron tugged at her hand to draw her attention. "I realize this isn't easy for you," he said. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay with me."

"No, no. I'm okay." Her voice sounded husky to her ears. Who could blame her? Ron was gently stroking the back of her hand with his fingertips. Sensation shot up her arm, filling her with the urge to seek the comfort he was offering, distracting her from what was important. She slid her hand from underneath his.

"I wouldn't put you through this if it weren't important," he said gently.

The low timbre of his voice washed over her, soothed and cocooned her raw nerves. Yes, this was important. If it was tied to an arsonist, it was vital. "I know."

"Good." He reached under the brown envelope and pulled out the pictures she'd dropped earlier. He passed her one, his eyes watchful.

Ashley pursed her lips at the picture of three of them together. Her mother and father were on either side of her. "Dad...my father had shown me how to set the camera on a timer. See?" She indicated the background. "It's the same room as in the first photograph."

Ron gave her the third photograph. She studied the glossy print. "I took this one outside Carlyle House...I mean, the Carlyle Club, as it was called then. It was the first time I saw it. It looked so grand, magnificent, like a castle straight out of a fairy tale."

"An exclusive club for the A-list stars was more like it," he corrected wryly. "A cousin of my mother's ran it at the time. You were probably the only child ever to enter it at night. I'd been inside it numerous times, but always during the day, when families used the pool and the restaurant."

If only she could remember going inside. It was frustrating, but at the same time, comforting. She knew it was cowardly of her, but fewer memories of that particular night suited her just fine.

There was a brief, tense silence. From Ron's expectant expression, she knew he was waiting for her to say something. She'd never wanted to discuss what happened, but something about the man's calming presence urged her on.

"It was my birthday," she finally said, deciding to tiptoe rather than dive into the horror.

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "The day of the fire?"

She gave him a weak smile and nodded. "Makes one wonder what the big guy upstairs was thinking."

"Damn," he said under his breath.

Damned was exactly how she felt on her birthdays. Celebrating, and at the same time mourning, was enough to throw a kink in anyone's psyche. But to a child, it was pure torture. Without her dear, loving Aunt Estelle, she didn't know if she could have endured it.

A frown creased her brow when she caught Ron's expression. Was it pity or compassion? Pity was the one emotion she refused to accept from anyone. She clenched her hand.

"I've learned to live with it." Her tone came out defensive. "My aunt made everything okay."

Ron shook his head. "But you're reminded of your loss on your birthdays. How can anyone make that okay?"

She shrugged. "By making me have two birthday parties—one in the morning with my cousins and friends, and another in the afternoon at the cemetery. I'd pick flowers from the garden, take pieces of cake and drinks from the party, a cassette player and a recording of a rendition of the happy birthday song my parents did while they were still alive. My aunt and uncle would go with me, wait for me while I talked to my parents."

Did he think she was loony because she talked to the dead? She shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye, expecting to see shock or derision. Relief and something close to gratitude zipped through her when she saw him nod.

"In the early years, I'd always talk about the same thing—my birthday party and the presents I received that morning. Then I'd play the tape and arrange the cakes and drinks by their graves and leave."

"That must have been tough." His voice was gentle, encouraging.

"At first, yes. As I grew older, it became easier. I know it is illogical, but I believed they could hear me. I still do. I always see things clearly after talking to them." When she saw the fascinated expression on Ron's face, she blushed. "Silly, huh?"

Ron covered her hand with his, again. "No, it isn't. My grandmother used to speak with my grandfather all the time. She once told me that when you truly love someone, you share a bond that transcends the physical world. I believe her."

Hmm, interesting. There was more to this man than a sexy body, a sensual mouth, mesmerizing pair of electric blue eyes...she could go on forever. She glanced furtively at their joined hands. It felt natural, yet his large hand swallowed her smaller one. He was back to caressing her skin, unleashing a storm of emotions inside her.

She wrenched her gaze away. This was silly. To find a man totally fascinating was so unlike her. And what were they discussing before they switched to 'talking to the dead'?

This time, Ashley slowly eased her hand from underneath his and placed it on her lap. A chill washed over her at the loss of his warmth. Her gaze searched for a distraction. Anything. The pictures came to her rescue.

"Anyway, on that day," she continued, "I got what I'd always wanted—a Nikon camera and a chance to celebrate my birthday with my cousins. We were staying at Aunt Estelle's home, but almost all of my cousins were there. It was a beautiful party." She paused and smiled. "I didn't know we were celebrating much more than my birthday, until later. My parents had saved the best present for last."

As though reading her mind, Ron said, "Carlyle House?"

"Yes."

"An unusual gift for a child," he murmured.

"Not when you consider what it meant to me. I'd spent the first fifteen years of my life traveling with my parents and the band all over the world. Buying Carlyle House was going to change all that. It signified stability, not that I knew that at the time. I just knew my cousins would be thirty minutes away and I could do things with them, have friends and sleepovers. They told me about the papers they were signing that evening, their plan to stop touring and start working with local talents."

Slowly, she stroked the glossy prints, a nostalgic smile on her lips. The shock of seeing the pictures was now gone, but she still needed to know where they came from. "I remember everything that happened before we left for the Carlyle Club. My mother's soft, floral scent." _Oh, the memories, so sweet I can see and smell them._ "Roses. She always smelled of roses. The two of us were waltzing and singing the lyrics of a ballad they'd produced, when my father joined in." Her eyes misted and she had to swallow past a knot in her throat to continue. "He gave me a hug and a kiss after the song ended, called me his precious. I was so happy I had to capture the moment. This is the shot." She tapped the first picture.

Ron scowled. "And the film?"

"It disappeared. My aunt told me it wasn't in the camera after the fire. I think I lost it that night." A thoughtful expression settled on her face. "At the time, I was too confused to ask questions, but now I can't help wondering who removed the film and why."

"Could you have dropped it?" Ron asked.

"Only if the camera's cover was faulty, but that would have exposed the film." She rubbed her temples. A headache was brewing there fast. "A lot of things happened that night that still don't make sense. I need to show you something."

She got up and worked her way through the boxes on the floor to get to the huge metal box at the corner of the room. Inside it were sheets of music, records, an old record player, newspaper clippings about her parents, and family photo albums. She opened a black leather case, pulled out a camera and started to shake it.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked.

"Checking if the camera is defective." She repeatedly opened and shut the camera cover, as she walked back to where she left him at the kitchen counter. The brand was the most rugged and versatile mechanical camera ever made. Even if the film had fallen, someone must have rewound it first. "The film couldn't have fallen out. Someone removed it."

Ron went to stand beside her. "Are you telling me this is the same camera you used ten years ago?"

"Yes."

He indicated the camera. "May I?"

Ashley gave it to him, then rested her elbows on the counter, cupped her chin and studied him—his bold nose, the arched eyebrows, the intense blue eyes that warmed up with mischief but became cold in a beat. What was it about the man that made her feel comfortable enough to discuss the past? Was it because they'd both lost so much that night? It was true she thought he had a calming presence, but underneath it all, he was edgy. It was that edginess she found both exciting and unnerving.

Ron suddenly looked up and caught her staring. Air lodged in her chest as she waited to see what he would do next. Her heart thumped hard with excitement. As though he knew the effect he had on her, he gave her a slow, killer smile. Heat crept up her face, up her legs. This was insane. She couldn't even summon the willpower to look away. When he finally looked away, Ashley released her breath in spurts. This attraction was beyond her.

"It's in pretty good shape for something that old," Ron said calmly. "Looks almost new."

Ashley frowned. How could he be so calm when she was still catching her breath? When she didn't answer right away, he threw a glance her way. The camera came to her rescue. Her gaze shifted to it and stayed locked on it. _Concentrate._

The camera _did_ look new, yet she'd had it with her during the fire. She recalled the filth on her dress, her hands....

Filth?

Her body jerked. Where did that come from? The Carlyle Club was an exclusive club with world-class service at the time of the fire, yet the word filth had crossed her mind. She bit her lip and tried to concentrate, but the memory eluded her.

She looked up and caught Ron's gaze on her. "I never used it after that night. I couldn't bring myself to, so my uncle bought me a new one instead, a different model." _Filth_... What did it mean? "At least I now have the three pictures I'd taken that night."

Ron scowled. "Three? There are a total of six pictures here."

"Six? That's strange."

"Damn right it is." They both reached for the remaining pictures at the same time. "So you didn't take these?"

Ashley gave the pictures a sweeping glance. The first one showed her parents in an opulently decorated room—an office or a private sitting room, perhaps. Black, leather chairs, bar stools around an ornate bar and musical motifs adorned the walls. A vague memory flitted in her mind then disappeared, leaving her unsettled. She tapped the picture. "Where's this?"

Ron shot her a puzzled glance. "That was the lounge in the basement. Don't you remember?"

No, she didn't. No matter how hard she stared at it, the memory escaped her. Sighing with frustration, she moved to the next picture. In it, her parents were with Ron's mother and three other men. From their animated faces, raised glasses and the curling swirl of cigar smoke, they were celebrating.

Ashley pointed at the tall, gangly man in a three-piece suit and dark-rimmed glasses. "That's Jeremy Kirkland, my parents' attorney." Now hers since her parents died. Uncle Jerry hadn't changed much in ten years. He still preferred striped suits and dark-rimmed glasses. The only difference was his hair—he didn't have any now. "Who is the other man?"

"My mother's attorney. Dave Hogan. He's retired now, lives on Orcas Island. And that's my father." Ron pointed at the taller man dressed in all black. "He was there briefly but left early. Now this one doesn't make sense."

Ashley studied the last picture. It was a blurry face of a man taken at a close range. The only discernible thing on the photograph was the gold studs on his ears. They'd reflected the flash of the camera. A shiver raked her body for no apparent reason.

"Why send this one? It's impossible to identify the man in the picture."

"How can you tell it's a man?"

Ashley shrugged. Her artistic eyes saw things ordinary people didn't. "The shape of his face, the jaw line and even his lips are masculine."

A scowl settled on Ron's brow, as his gaze shifted from the pictures to her. He opened his mouth to say something and then appeared to change his mind. He went back to frowning at the pictures. Finally, he looked up and said, "You said you only shot the first three pictures, right? How can you explain these last ones?"

She heard the suspicion in his voice and couldn't blame him. "I can't. All I know is that I didn't take them." _I think. No, I hope._

Ron's gaze was steady on her face. "Maybe you put the camera down and someone borrowed it."

"Not likely." She'd been too excited about it to let anyone else touch it, which meant she did take the pictures. The pictures were definitely from the same film. At fifteen, she hadn't been camera savvy. She hadn't bothered to clean the lens before taking the pictures, and a piece of string was in exactly the same position in all the photographs. "Besides, my parents left me upstairs with, uh, Sally...Sheila...the woman who ran the restaurant upstairs. I can't remember her name now."

"Sherry McKinney," Ron said.

"Yes, Sherry. I never left her side the entire evening, never went to the basement or the club, which was closed that evening." She sounded like a parrot, which wasn't far from the truth. She'd just repeated the statement Sherry had told her and her aunt. "Maybe I need to find Sherry and talk about what happened that night."

"Sherry died a month after the fire, Ashley. Her car skidded on an icy road near the Tehachapi Mountains and overturned."

"Oh, no. How terrible." Where did that leave her? Talk to Nina Noble? _Yeah, she'll be jumping over hot coals to accommodate me._ Her lawyer Jeremy Kirkland was a surer bet. The man treated her like the daughter he never had and would never hide anything from her. Then there was the mysterious person who'd sent the pictures to the Nobles.

Ashley leaned toward Ron. "I'd talk to the person who sent these pictures, Ron."

He nodded. "So would I. Unfortunately, we don't know who it is. Like I said, the pictures were left at our gate along with a letter."

"A letter? Can I see it?"

He shook his head, his eyes burning with an intensity that had all her internal antennas on full alert. She wasn't surprised when he said, "Let's leave that for another day. We've covered enough today."

Ashley's eyes narrowed. "Ron, you're not being fair."

"I know this hasn't been pleasant." He stiffly stepped away from the counter. His entire attitude had changed, become distant, colder.

"Let me decide how much I can take." Ashley straightened and faced him. What was in the letter that he didn't want her to see? She hated to do this, but there was no other alternative. She thought about the pain of losing her parents and tears pooled in the depth of her eyes. Then with just the right pressure, she allowed huge drops to roll down her face. She noticed the change in him. He became more edgy. Now for the kill.

"Please, Ron. I'm not going to rest until I know what is in that letter. Since you've shown me the pictures, why not just let me read the letter too." Her voice shook with just the right amount of distress. He scowled at her, as though trying to decide if her tears were real or not. Jeez, who had made him so distrustful of people? "Please."

"Okay, okay." He sounded exasperated. "Just stop crying. Can't take it." He pulled out the letter and thrust it in her hand.

"Thank you." Ashley gave him a brief smile and opened the letter. Some of the letters were big, others small and several words were misspelled. Whoever sent notes like these anymore? He could easily have typed it.

The first part leapt at her...not an accident. The fire at the house wasn't an accident. Her parents were murdered and someone out there knew it. The last part had her catching her breath, panic torpedoing through her. Her head jerked up, and her gaze connected with Ron's.

"Me? What does he mean I've the answers?" Her voice came out squeaky.

"It's possible you—"

"Is he implying I had something to do with the fire?" she finished, cutting Ron off.

He watched her with a steady gaze, his expression guarded. "Why would you think that?"

Because she couldn't recall a thing. What if she'd started it? Was that why she'd blocked the memories? Had she killed her parents? A moan escaped her.

Ron grabbed her arms and shook her. "Hey. Stop. The letter implies you witnessed something, not started the fire."

"You don't know that." A surge of anger went through her at her helplessness. She wrenched her arms free and gripped her head. "You don't know that, and neither do I."

Ron scowled. "What do you mean neither do you? You were there, weren't you?" He waited for her to respond. "Weren't you?" he asked, again, when she didn't answer.

She lifted her head to whisper, "Yes, I was there. But," she shook her head, "I don't remember a thing."

Ron's eyes narrowed with confusion, then widened as realization hit him. "You lost your memory?"

"Yes," she continued through gritted teeth, an attempt to stop her trembling chin and the tears threatening to fall. She hated feeling like this, weak and helpless. "She lied to me, Ron. She lied to me, to my aunt and uncle, to the police. She lied to everyone. Why?"

Ron's brow furrowed. "Who lied?"

"Sherry-the restaurant manager. She told them that I never left her side. That I never went to the basement." She waved a hand toward the pictures. "Those pictures prove that I did. I know what happened that night, but it's...it's...." She touched her temple, her hands shaking so much she dropped them to her side and made fists. "I can't remember a thing."

Having confessed, the need to run away washed over her. She threw Ron a glance from the corner of her eye and caught his stunned expression. His dark eyes were brimming with questions. _Please, no more cross-examination._ Her tattered emotions couldn't take any more.

"You know what? You were right. This is not the time to discuss this." She took a deep breath to steady her trembling voice. "Why don't we finish this later, uh-mm, on Saturday?"

She got up and walked to the area littered with boxes and her childhood memorabilia. Dropping on her knees, she started putting them back in the boxes. She waited to hear the door open and close as Ron left, but all she heard was the blood pounding past her ears.
CHAPTER 5

Ron watched as Ashley retreated, distancing herself from him emotionally and mentally. He was still reeling from her revelation.

His gaze fell on her slight form. She was a strong woman, a go-getter who didn't take crap from anyone, yet now she seemed so vulnerable. The urge to move closer and offer her solace stole through him. Like before, he fought it. He did not intend to be emotionally involved with Ashley, or so he kept telling himself, but he was failing miserably. Something about the woman kept tugging at him.

Was it lust? Without a doubt. Those lush lips, rounded, firm breasts and the gentle swell of her hips were made for lovemaking. He would do something about it before their association was over. What he couldn't deal with...didn't want to deal with, were the tender feelings. His original intentions were to come to her house and demand some answers, yet ever since he walked into her loft, his emotions had shifted from one plane to another. She set the pace, and he followed.

He moved forward to stand beside her, yet he couldn't open his mouth and ask the questions burning the tip of his tongue. He needed to know what little she remembered, if she'd ever tried hypnosis to recall the lost memories. His gaze dropped on her silky hair, pulled back into a ponytail. The soft skin on her nape peeked at him. An urge to place his large hand on its base, massage it and ease the tension pouring from her stole through him. Annoyed at the direction of his thoughts, he balled his hands.

Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. His gaze took in the childhood memorabilia all over the floor and the empty boxes beside them. "Cardboard boxes aren't safe storage containers."

She glanced at him. "What?"

He indicated the boxes with a nod. "These are flammable. You shouldn't be using them to store your valuables." He wasn't surprised when she looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. But talking about storage containers was safer and less emotional.

Her hazel eyes sparkled with wry amusement. "Thanks for the warning, Firefighter Noble. I'll make sure I buy the right containers."

He looked around and frowned. "Make it sooner. Combined with your painting paraphernalia, your home is a fire waiting to happen."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, you've made your point. And since you're obviously not leaving, want to get down here and lend me a hand?"

He squatted beside her. Despite her casual tone, he could feel the tension emanating from her. He picked up a porcelain doll in a frilly dress and tried to straighten the creases.

"Do you mind?" Ashley retrieved the doll from his hands. "Sarah Lee's one of a kind."

His gaze bounced between her and the doll. "You give your dolls names?"

"Of course." She gently placed the doll in a bubble wrap and covered it, then placed it in a box. "They were my companions when we were on the road."

"Must have been lonely," Ron murmured quietly, intrigued by her despite his constant pep talks. He continued to pick up more dolls and stuffed animals and pass them to her.

"A little, but my mother treated everywhere we stayed like home." A smile touched her lips. "She would place family pictures on every table and chest of drawers in our suite. And my bed always had my favorite quilt and the dolls and stuffed animals arranged the way I liked it, no matter how late we got into a town. I don't know how she did it, but each place always had a homey feeling about it. She was really wonderful," she whispered, then overlapped the four flaps to close the first box.

"She had an amazing voice. They both did. I never saw them perform, but I have a collection of some of their music. They are reissuing them." He gave her a sheepish smile. "But I guess you already knew that."

She nodded. "You see that metal case?" She pointed at a box at the corner of the room.

He twisted his head to follow the direction of her finger. It was the same sturdy, metal box where she'd retrieved the camera. " _That's_ the kind of box you need to store your stuff in, not these...." His voice trailed off when her eyes narrowed with irritation. "Sorry. Yes, I see the box. What about it?"

"It has an old record player, and stacks of records of some of their old songs—the ones that will never be reissued."

"Really?" He wanted to ask why, but decided to keep it for later. "Can we play some now?"

She smiled at the curious expression on his face. Then her gaze fell on the clock on the wall and the smile wavered. "Tempting as that sounds, I can't. I have a dinner date tonight and must clear this mess."

"Oh." With whom, he wanted to ask. He'd already checked her home for any male things and didn't see any. Her fingers were bare of rings. But those little observations didn't mean she wasn't dating. _Lucky man._ "We'd better finish here then. Wouldn't want you to miss your date."

She cut him a look, but he pretended not to notice. Her soft flowery scent teased his senses, starting a now familiar ache in his belly. He shifted so he could watch her. His gaze followed the smooth contour of her face, the sloping cheeks, the defined cheekbones and her sexy, slanting eyes now smudged with mascara. Raccoon eyes, his mother called it. He'd dated his share of beautiful women, but none of them would be caught dead entertaining without a flawlessly made-up face. With Ashley, on the other hand, vanity wasn't an issue. Did she have any idea what a major turn on that was?

His gaze shifted upward, liking the way her long dark lashes contrasted her creamy skin. Her mouth drew his attention the most. She'd chewed all traces of lipstick from her lips, until the natural pink color was visible. He wondered how she would taste. Succulent and sweet? Hot and exotic? Combination of both? It didn't really matter, the pleasure he'd get working with and on them was limitless.

She suddenly looked up and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Ron knew he ought to feel guilty for ogling, but he didn't. He was a red-blooded male, and she was a beautiful woman. It was only natural for him to appreciate her God-gifted attributes.

"How much of that evening do you remember?" he asked.

She stood and nervously rubbed her palms on her pants, her expression becoming guarded. He straightened too, and followed her to the kitchen counter, where the photographs were still spread out. For a moment she didn't speak, just pursed her lips and squinted at the glossy pictures.

"Not much." She gave him an uncertain look. "The ride to the club. The firefighters and lights from the fire trucks. Sherry holding my hand while talking to my aunt and uncle. It's as though I fell asleep when we arrived at the club and didn't wake up until I was pulled from the edge of a gaping hole on the first floor."

Ron felt the tightening in his chest and steeled himself against the pain. It still slammed into him, making him clench his teeth. The floor had given away from right underneath his father as he ran back to check on Ashley's parents. The man deserved a medal, not the ugly rumors Ron and his mother had had to live with since his death. They deserved to know the truth, and Ashley was the link.

"Have you ever thought of using hypnosis to recover your lost memories?"

Ashley started to shake her head before he finished speaking. "No. I never wanted to relive that night," she said.

"Even now?"

She glanced at the pictures again, wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. "I want to help you, I really do, but hypnosis? I don't know." Frown lines appeared on her smooth brow. "I think it's better to talk to the other people who were there that night. Kirkland shouldn't be a problem. He's like an uncle to me. You can talk to Hogan."

"Actually, that won't be necessary. I have a friend looking into this even as we speak. He can talk to Kirkland and Hogan." He was more interested in what she saw that night. "I know it's asking a lot, but it would mean a lot to me if you agreed to hypnosis, Ashley."

Her smooth brow furrowed. "A friend?"

Ron noticed how she totally ignored the issue of hypnotherapy. Oh, the woman thought she was slick. She had no idea who she was dealing with. "His name is Kenny Lambert. He used to be with the FBI and now runs a P.I. firm. He's very competent."

"What has he learned so far?"

"Is this really necessary?"

"I just want to know the truth, Ron. Going by that letter you showed me, someone may have murdered my parents. Not the faulty wiring and smoke rendering them unconscious story I was given. What did your friend find?"

He knew he shouldn't be irritated by her third degree, but he was. When it came to this investigation, he wasn't letting her handle him. In fact, he didn't want her involved, period. It was too personal and too close to home to share with someone. All he needed from her was the information buried in the inner recesses of her mind, however damning it was.

He inhaled sharply, reining in his irritation. Sometimes you had to give a little to receive more. "He gave the letters I received to a former colleague with the FBI to study the paper and check for fingerprints. According to their expert, the sender appears illiterate yet the paper used was expensive. The inconsistency indicates the person is attempting to mislead us."

"Fingerprints?"

"None. Not on the envelope, the letters, or my car. The first two letters were left under the windscreen wipers of my car. But if anyone or a company in my building ordered that type of paper, Kenny will find them. He's good at what he does."

Ashley shook her head. "I still don't understand. Why would this person contact you? Why not the police?"

"Possibly he or she got the same response I got last week when I asked the Fire Marshal to reopen the case—case closed. The cops weren't cooperative either. With no new evidence, there's no case."

"Maybe they're right."

"No." He shook his head.

"Ron, you're blinded by your loss and—"

"Enough," he snapped, causing her to flinch. "Please."

"Then don't snap at me."

She pouted, drawing his attention to her lush lips. The thought of how they'd taste stole through him, but he squashed it. This wasn't the time to be distracted.

"You brought this to me, Ron, not the other way round. I have a right to know what you've learned, and I sure don't want to waste my time chasing a wild goose here, okay?"

Unbelievable. Tenacious, bold and a real pain in the rear, she held all the aces. He knew it, his mother knew it and the faceless, nameless person who sent the photographs knew it. But she wasn't making him forget what was at stake by laying guilt on him.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, Ashley. But I'm not answering any more of your questions unless you're willing to meet me halfway."

Her shoulders sagged. "Don't ask me to do it, Ron. I can't."

He saw the fear lurking in the depths of her eyes, and he couldn't blame her for it. No sane person would want to revisit what she must have seen that night.

"Don't you mean you won't?" He inched closer. "Come on. As long as there's the slightest chance that someone started that fire, we can't afford to leave anything uncovered."

Her eyes snapped with heat. "You're not being fair. You can't waltz into my life and start dictating what I should or should not do."

"I know I'm asking too much, and to be honest, I know nothing about hypnosis, but I'm willing to learn. I promise I'll be with you every step of the way."

She let out a frustrated growl. "Haven't you heard anything I said?" When he continued to stare at her, she looked away. "Don't try to make me feel guilty. It won't work."

He had no intention of laying a guilt trip on her, not when seduction often produced the right results. He reached out to caress her cheek with his knuckles. The feel of her warm skin, soft and smooth, sent a jolt through his system. In a beat, desire pulsed along his nerves.

She stiffened, but didn't move away. Her eyes, wary and defenseless, tugged at him, making him feel like a low-life for using the attraction between them to get his way.

"Ashley." He kept his voice low, heard her catch her breath and felt her body quiver. Perfect. "Do this for me, babe."

Her breathing became shallow, her gaze asking, begging for...what? He was more than willing to accommodate any needs she might have. His too. He moved closer and dropped his head until her cheek was a whisper away from his. Anticipation surged through him. He meant to seduce her, yet he was the one losing control of his senses. Her scent, her warmth, the need in her eyes all seem to call to him. Hadn't he told himself a moment ago he couldn't afford to be distracted? The urge to taste her was so strong he could barely breathe.

His "I need you," was true in every sense of the word.

Another shudder shook her body. Her mouth opened, hopefully to say 'yes,' but the peeling sound of her doorbell intruded. Ron smothered a curse and glared at the door. The moment was lost when Ashley blinked, as though waking from a stupor, and jerked away from him. Her eyes narrowed.

He braced himself for another slap, waited while she glowered, her breathing uneven. He was surprised when she relaxed and laughed.

"Were you by any chance trying to seduce me into doing your will, Ronald Noble? Shame on you."

His ears grew hot in embarrassment. Still, he managed to flash a grin and stepped back. "You can't blame a guy for trying."

"You're unbelievable." Ashley rolled her eyes.

"My middle name, babe," he said as the doorbell rang, again. When she looked at the clock and frowned. "Your date? I ought to sue the bastard for ruining a perfect moment."

"Perfect?" She sucked her teeth in exasperation, then jerked her thumb toward the counter, where he'd left his keys. "Take your keys and leave before I say something that's inappropriate."

He thought she sounded thoroughly disgusted with him, until he saw the corner of her mouth lift before she turned and started for the door. He sauntered to the counter, picked up his keys and approached her. She still hadn't opened the door, just stood there with her hand on the knob.

"Are you saying you weren't even a little bit enthralled by my moves?" he asked.

She laughed. "Not even close. Better luck next time, pal."

"Hmm, next time. I like the sound of that."

"I didn't mean...I meant to say..." A sigh escaped her. "You know what I meant."

He grinned, loving the vulnerable look in her eyes. A confused Ashley was as riveting as one in a full-blown temper. How would she look when fully aroused? He only caught a glimpse of how responsive she could be during that brief caress, and he loved it.

"I do know what you meant. You want me to do a better job next time." He winked. "And I plan not to disappoint you."

She shook her head. "You are, without a doubt, the most arrogant man I've ever met. You're a pain in the a...in the you-know-where and I want you gone." She jerked the door open.

"Babe, if I were anywhere near your delectable _you-know-where_ , pain is the last thing you'd be feeling." His gaze ran down her curvaceous body, lingered around her rounded ass. Hmm, he loved some meat on a woman, something to hold and bite. Their gazes met. Her eyes were wide, as though he'd shocked her. He grinned. She hadn't heard anything yet.

"Ah-hmm, excuse me?" a male voice interrupted them from the doorway.

Ron turned his attention to the tall man wearing an expensive black suit and an amused smile. His gut tightened with envy. Lucky bastard.

Her senses still thrumming from the hot look she'd seen in Ron's eyes, Ashley stammered through, "Baron. What brings you upstairs?"

"Thought I'd stop by and see how the paintings are coming along," Baron said, then threw Ron a glance. "Didn't know you had company."

She took a sideways step so she wasn't between the two men. How much of the conversation had her cousin heard? She glanced at Ron, remembering the feel of his breath against her skin, his words, the look in his eyes. Heat crawled up her neck. Okay, just because he was yummy and was obviously attracted to her, it didn't mean she should lose it.

She straightened her spine. "Ron, my cousin Baron Fitzgerald. Baron, Ron Noble."

Baron's expression hardened.

"Le Baron Gallery downstairs, right?" Ron asked but didn't offer Baron his hand.

"That's me," Baron answered, his tone cold. Then his gaze shifted to Ashley. "Ash, give me a buzz when you get time. I need your opinion on something."

Ashley scowled. The coolness puzzled her. Her cousin was usually very amiable. "Why don't you come in now?" Her glance collided with Ron's. "Ron was just leaving."

There was a moment of tense silence. Baron's gaze bounced between her and Ron, then he murmured 'excuse me' and walked past them.

Ron stepped out of her loft and turned to face her. "About—"

She shook her head. "I'll think about it." She didn't want to discuss hypnosis in front of her cousin.

Ron appeared to understand and nodded. "Okay. I'll see you on Saturday."

"Hey, Noble," Baron called out. "You forgot something."

Ashley turned to look at her cousin and froze. Oh, no. He was standing by the counter, the pictures Ron had brought in one hand and the envelope and letter in the other. He was studying the top photograph with a scowl. Why hadn't Ron taken them? She shot him a look from the corner of her eye and hurried toward her cousin. "Those are mine, Baron."

Baron's brows shot up, then he glanced at the cover of the envelope. "Ron Noble? I don't think so. What's going on, Ash?"

"Nothing." Ashley reached for the photographs, but he moved them out of her reach. She glared at him. "This isn't funny. Give me the pictures."

"The envelope and the letter, too," Ron added coldly from behind her.

Baron ignored him, his gaze locked on Ashley. "Were these taken the night your parents, uh, the night of the fire?"

"Yes." She extended her hand, palm up. "Give them to me, please."

He ignored her request. "What are you doing with them?"

Ashley's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me? I have a right to look at my pictures without asking you for permission, Baron Fitzgerald. And you shouldn't look at things that don't belong to you." Once again, she reached for them.

"They were spread on the damn counter, Ash. I had to be blind not to notice them." He gave them to her, then jerked his head toward Ron. "Is he responsible for this?"

"Don't be ridiculous." She took the envelope and the letter from his other hand and shoved them in Ron's, then mouthed 'go please.'

"No." Ron cut her an unreadable glance, then his gaze shifted to Baron.

She smothered a growl. She had no idea what macho nonsense was behind the animosity between these two, and frankly, she didn't care.

"Suit yourself." She turned to Baron and said the first thing that popped into her head. "I have these pictures out because I'm thinking of seeing a hypnotist to recover my lost memories." She felt Ron move behind her. He probably thought she was an airhead, one minute vowing to never agree to hypnosis, the next consenting. He had no idea what a mistress of contradictions she'd become since meeting him.

"Why?" Baron frowned. "Last I heard you were dead set against the idea."

"I changed my mind."

"Don't you mean _he_ changed it for you?" Baron retorted then shot Ron a disdainful look.

A cold smirk touched Ron's lips. "I don't know you, man, yet you seem to have a problem with me."

"You bet I do," Baron snapped. "Stay away from my cousin."

"Hey," Ashley protested.

"Your family has done enough to hurt her," Baron continued as though she hadn't spoken.

A lethal expression settled on Ron's expression. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean. Leave." Baron jabbed a finger toward the door. "If you ever come anywhere near her again...."

"You'll what?" Ron didn't move, yet Ashley had a distinct impression he was primed for action.

"Stop," she yelled, and got their attention. "Enough. Both of you." She grabbed Ron's arm and tugged. He scowled down at her. "You're leaving." He didn't budge, but his muscles flexed underneath her hands. If it weren't for her cousin and their tiresome exchange, she would have savored the feel of him. "Now, Noble."

Amusement flickered in the depth of his eyes, then disappeared. "We need to talk."

"Saturday." He still hesitated. What was wrong with him? "Please go."

He gave Baron one last heated glance, then allowed her to lead him to the door. Once there, he lifted her chin with his finger and said, "Until Saturday."

"Good bye."

His finger lingered on her chin, shifting into a brief caress before he dropped his hand and walked away.

Ashley watched him, the imprint of his finger on her chin still tingling. When he reached the elevator doors, she nudged the door closed with her hip and turned to face her cousin. "What was that about? I have never seen you treat anyone with so much disrespect and—"

"Mother is going to have a fit when she finds out you're associating with a Noble. As for recovering your memory, she'll think you've lost your mind."

She approached him, her anger increasing with each step. "Why are you bringing Aunt Estelle into this? She wouldn't care one way or the other whether I recover my memory or not. No, I take that back. She'd encourage me to go for it."

Baron raised his hands in surrender. "Okay. Forget about Mother. Tell me why you'd want to recover what your mind chose to block. Have you forgotten the nightmares?"

She hadn't forgotten waking up sweating, heart pounding and echoes of her screams still in the air. The worst part was always never remembering why. It was time she stopped letting the fear cripple her. If that meant bearing her darkest moments, so be it.

Ashley plopped on a stool beside Baron's, propped her elbow on the counter and rested her chin in her palm. She eyed her cousin and sighed. "It's time I faced what I saw that night, Baron. I can't stay afraid all my life."

"What did that bastard tell you?" Baron snapped.

"Whoa." Ashley leaned back, her eyes widening. "Enough already. What's with you and the Nobles? Are you forgetting I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Ron's father?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then what's wrong with you? What did you mean his family had hurt me enough?"

Baron studied her guardedly, hesitated as if weighing his response. "There was a rumor that the fire was the work of an arsonist."

"I know that." When he looked surprised, she added, "Ron told me. He's trying to find out the truth about what happened. That's why he was here."

His lips curled derisively. "Did he tell you the suspect was one of his relatives?"

Ashley eyes widened. "What? Who?" Why hadn't Ron mentioned it?

"I don't know. We...Chase and I overheard our parents discussing it. They even hired some guy, a private detective, to look into it."

"I know. I asked Aunt Estelle about it. She said the man found nothing."

Baron shrugged. "That doesn't mean you can trust a Noble. One of their own started that fire."

"Rumored to have started it," she corrected him. "You can't base your hatred on a rumor, Baron. I mean, do you really think Ron would come to me for help if someone in his family was guilty of starting a fire that killed my parents?" She shook her head. "I don't think so. Anyway, I'd rather deal with facts. His father saved my life. I owe him something for that." She went around the counter, opened the refrigerator door and retrieved a bottle of water. "So, I'll go through hypnosis and share with him what I remember."

"As long as that's all he wants."

The seduction Ron had pulled flitted in her mind. It had been perfect, darn it, felt right too. No time to think about that now.

Ashley planted a hand on her hip and jabbed the water bottle in her cousin's direction. "You have it in for this guy, don't you?"

"He has a reputation. A new woman on his arm every week. He's supposed to run the L.A. branch of Neumann Security, but the man's rarely in his office." When Ashley raised her eyebrows, he added sheepishly, "I dated a woman who works for him. He's always out. Probably chasing women."

Or fighting fires, she wanted to correct Baron. Although why she would want to defend Ron was beyond her. The man packed too much sensuality to be faithful. Based on his looks alone, she should have factored in player status. Lucky women.

Not liking the direction of her thoughts, Ashley opened the bottle and took a gulp of pristine spring water. "I don't care what Ron does or with whom." _Oh, the lies we weave._ "But you'd better hide your feelings because you'll be seeing him again."

Baron's brow shot up. "Meaning?"

Oh, she and her big mouth. She couldn't dare mention the investigation. An idea popped into her head. "He's going to be the model for my next series," she fibbed without batting an eye.

Baron burst out laughing. "You're kidding."

Ashley scowled at him, irked by his reaction. She rather liked the idea now that she'd voiced it. "Why would I be kidding?"

"The man is old," Baron answered.

"Seasoned."

"Over the hill." He still didn't bother to mask his amusement.

Ashley pressed her lips together in annoyance. "He's about your age, Baron. I don't see you shuffling around with a cane. Beside, he's a beefcake."

"Yeah, you'd think so. You don't see men unless they're on a canvas or through your lenses. You need to get out more."

"From what you said earlier, Mr. Smarty Pants, I'm not the only woman who thinks Ron Noble is hot. A different woman on his arm every week, remember?"

Baron dismissed her comment with a shrug. "The man is the heir to Neumann Security. Fill in the blanks."

Ashley dropped her chin on the counter and gave her cousin a condescending look. Ron could be dirt poor, but he'd still be a magnet for women. The dreamy eyes, the world-class buns, the rippling muscles... She got heated just thinking about him. Baron, being a man, couldn't see those attributes.

"I'm the artist, and I say he's just what I need." She caught Baron's amused expression and quickly added, "For the series."

He raised his hands in surrender. "If you think he's marketable, then who am I to question you."

_That's right._ She never had to discuss the subjects for her paintings and wasn't about to start now. Baron sold her pieces in his gallery and made a tidy sum for the both of them.

Ashley took another gulp of her water and capped the bottle. "Now that's settled, what really brought you upstairs?"

"A cup of coffee."

She noted the way he avoided making eye contact. Baron had never been good at lying. "You must think I was born yesterday." She got up to pour his coffee, brought it back to the counter and set it before him.

"Thanks." He accepted the mug and stood up.

"I'm waiting, cuz, or is my coffee off-limit?"

He laughed. "Faith was concerned after the two of you spoke. I promised her I'd stop by."

She was going to smother Faith. She loved her cousin dearly, but Faith's overprotective instincts could drive anyone to plot her death. "As you can see, I'm a picture of perfect health."

"It's a good thing I came up," Baron added as he headed for the door. "Probably stopped Noble from charming more than hypnosis out of you." He paused near the door to study her. "Ash, promise me you'll be careful. Don't trust him."

Unease coursed through her at his tone. Should she take the rumors about Ron's relative being an arsonist seriously? "I can take care of myself."

"Good. I'd hate to see you get hurt by a Noble, again." Baron opened the door and left.

Eyes on the closed door, Ashley forked her fingers through her hair and dropped her forehead on the counter. The headache that had started earlier was now a hurricane slamming repeatedly against her temple.

Could Ron be hiding something or was she allowing her cousin's words to get to her? No, Ron wasn't cold and unfeeling enough to seek her help if he already knew the identity of the arsonist.
CHAPTER 6

Ron gripped the steering wheel and squinted as he replayed the conversation between him and Baron Fitzgerald. How much did the man know? From his 'your family has done enough to hurt her,' probably quite a bit.

The rumors, again. Unsubstantiated and damaging. For years, he had foolishly let them point him in wrong directions, doubting his father's heroism. Chances were Ashley would, too, especially when the source of the information was a relative. Ron cursed under his breath. The last thing he needed was to have her turn against him. Not now.

_No one and nothing must stand in the way of this investigation._ After the last letter and those pictures, he now knew this wasn't a blackmail scheme concocted by some deranged person. Someone out there wanted him to find out what happened that night. He didn't know or care about their motive. The truth was out there and he'd be damned if he didn't uncover it.

He signaled to change lanes, glance in the rearview mirror and waited for a biker to pass. The biker didn't, just slowed down. Ron switched lanes and entered a side street. Frowning, his gaze bounced between the street ahead and his rearview mirror. After a few more detours, he knew he hadn't been mistaken. Someone was tailing him.

At first, he thought it was coincidence when the biker pulled behind him outside of Ashley's building. With a helmet, aviator glasses and a beard, it was impossible to see his face, but then again, it didn't really matter. His uncle's men came in different shapes and sizes. They never bothered to make contact, just watched him and reported to his persnickety uncle.

Good ol' Uncle Gregory had assigned people to follow Ron since he'd become old enough to drink, and it wasn't always because he cared about his welfare. The older man lived and breathed Neumann Security. Since his grandmother retired and his uncle started to run the company, all the executives were expected to follow the company's code of conduct. Archaic couldn't begin to describe the rules. Ron broke them so often, every meeting with his uncle and grandmother started with a lecture.

Ron pulled up outside the building that housed Neumann Security Inc., but instead of getting out of the car, he watched the biker pull into the parking lot across the street. When the man glanced his way, Ron knew he hadn't been mistaken.

He left his car and entered the building. At the security desk, he quickly outlined to the guard what he wanted him to do before he headed toward the elevator.

His usually poised secretary, Nicole Weber, was waiting for him when he stepped off the elevator, her blonde hair just a tad untidy and her glasses slipping down her shiny nose.

"Thank goodness you're here," Nicole said in a way of greeting, then pushed her glasses in place and glared at him.

"Let me guess," Ron said with a slight grin. "You've been trying to get hold of me the whole day."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir?" He shot her a glance from the corner of his eye. She dogged his footsteps, an imposing figure in six-inch heels. He didn't know how she could balance her five-foot-nine frame in those narrow spikes. "What have you done with my real secretary? You know, the sassy woman who never curbs her tongue and is allergic to the word 'sir'."

"I'm not yet done...sir. Your mother's assistant didn't know where to find you. The dispatcher at the Kern Valley whatchumicallit—"

"Hotshot...the best wildfire firefighters in the state," he supplied.

"Needs lessons in phone etiquette," she finished as though he hadn't spoken. "She thought you were still at the conference in San Diego. Even after I told her that I spoke with some of your buddies."

"Okay, Nikki, out with it." He stopped walking all together to stare at her. He couldn't recall ever seeing her so rattled, except....

"He is here," she whispered.

Only one person had that effect on her. "When did he arrive?"

"This morning. He and the boys are in your office. I didn't know what to do when he asked for the McClain Group file. I tried to hold him off, but he threatened to fire me."

"He can't fire you."

"He can't? Are you sure?"

Ron smiled reassuringly at her. "I run this branch, not my uncle. Why didn't you just call me on my cell phone?"

She gave him a disgusted look. "I tried. It kept going to the voice mail, so I, uh, gave him the file and—"

"It's okay, Nikki. And thanks for the warning." Then he pushed the door open and stepped into his office.

Papers and files were all over the coffee table, the sofas and his desk. Across the coffee table from his uncle was Stanley, his uncle's younger son. Occupying Ron's desk was the other son, royal pain-in-the-ass William. The three of them looked up when he stepped into the room.

His uncle's face was unreadable as usual. Stanley was so much in awe of his adopted father he had a perpetual whipped-puppy expression. The defiant, angry glance William shot Ron lasted only a few seconds before a polite mask slid into place, but he hadn't expected the red carpet. William resented not having Neumann blood in his veins. Stanley, on the other hand, couldn't care less.

"Uncle Gregory...guys, what a surprise seeing you all here."

"Good afternoon, Ronald. I heard you were at a firemen's convention." His uncle didn't bother to look up as he spoke. His gaze stayed on the pad before him. "I was told you weren't due back until Saturday."

Which one of his employees was his uncle's spy? Knowing the old man, he probably had several.

"I needed to come back early." Since his uncle didn't care a rat's tail about anything outside work, he didn't bother to elaborate. Instead, Ron turned to stare down at William, who still sat behind his desk. "Do you mind?"

William was a year older than he, Stanley two years his junior. When they were younger, the two would gang up on him and beat the crap out of him. They got him in trouble with both his grandmother and his uncle more often than he cared to count. Things changed when he'd turned thirteen and hormones kicked in. Now a mean look was all it took to keep them at bay.

Without a word, William jumped up from the chair and started to gather the papers on the desk. When Ron spied the contract from McClain Group, he reached for it at the same time as William. A tug of war ensured.

"Let him have it, William." His uncle gazed at Ron from the rim of his glasses. "I told him to use your desk, Ronald. There's no need to act childish."

Ron ignored the dig, waited until William joined his brother and father around the coffee table before he said, "Nikki told me you requested to see the file on McClain Group, Uncle Gregory. What's going on?"

"We are not the only west coast firm vying for the McClain Group contract for this region, that is what's going on," his uncle said impatiently. "We need their account to put this company in the national limelight where it belongs. I know you and McClain's son had set a meeting for next week." He patted William's back. "My boy here convinced McClain Senior to push the meeting forward."

Ron ignored William's triumphant look and fixed his gaze on his uncle. It was true that Neumann Security was a regional company, with offices in Nevada and California only. Working with McClain Group, with its chains of hotels and retail stores, would give them a lot of national exposure and an edge in the competitive world of security and surveillance. "I see. Where and when?"

"Five o'clock tomorrow at their head office in New York. I expect you to be at the airport tomorrow morning at nine, Ronald. We'll leave at nine-thirty."

A five o'clock meeting could go on until late at night. To make it to Ashley's place on Saturday morning, he'd have to catch the red eye, if he was lucky. "Damn."

"If you have a prior engagement, Ron, I can close the deal for you," William offered.

_I bet you would, you self-righteous prick._ "I'll be there," his told his uncle firmly, ignoring his cousin.

His uncle jerked his chin toward the door. "William, Stanley, I need to discuss something with your cousin. Wait outside."

While his cousins packed up and left the room, Ron walked to the window and searched for the biker. He was still there. When his uncle cleared his throat, Ron turned around and resigned himself to another lecture.

"I don't care what plans you have lined up, Ronald," Gregory stated firmly, "I want you on the jet first thing tomorrow morning. You must focus on this deal and nothing else. We can't afford another screw up."

The muscle ticking on Ron's cheek was the only sign that he resented the talk down. So what that he chose to be by a friend's side after a fire accident rather than make a meeting, big deal. He'd made up for it several times over, but his uncle was determined never to forget it. "Why are you asking me to accompany you if you're so sure I'll mess things up?"

"McClain's son insisted that you be there. William could easily have finished the negotiation. He knows the inner workings of this company, but we must go with our client's wishes." His uncle got up. "Just remember what I told you. No screw-ups. If you think you can't give it your best shot, do me favor and let me do the talking."

Not if he could help it. This was his deal. "I'm ready."

"Good." His uncle removed his glasses to scowl at him. "Now, what's this nonsense I hear about you investigating the fire at Carlyle House?"

Ron blinked, totally blindsided. How did he find out? His mother had promised to keep everything to herself. "I'd hardly call it nonsense, sir. Someone out there suspects an arsonist started the fire and wants me to find out who it was."

A disdainful laugh escaped his uncle. "The fire happened ten years ago. No one cares about how it started."

"I do. I want to prove that the rumor about my father starting it was false. So does Mom."

His eyes became cold. "I don't know who started the rumor. It's not true. Convince your mother of that and stop this investigation." He put his glasses back on and picked up his suitcase as though the matter was closed and then started for the door.

Blood roaring in his ears and heart pounding, Ron took a few steps forward and effectively blocked his uncle's path. At six-one, the older man was a couple inches shorter than Ron, but was wider in girth and in great shape for someone his age. All in all, an imposing figure, but this was one time Ron wouldn't be intimidated. There was too much at stake.

His uncle stopped short, glared at him. "What are you doing? I have an important meeting in exactly," he glanced at his watch, "thirty minutes."

"This is important, too, sir." He searched his uncle's furious expression. "How did you know I was investigating the fire?"

"Stop wasting my time, Ronald." His uncle glowered. "If you have something to say to me, say it," he snapped.

"You've been sabotaging my investigation, and I want to know why."

"What are you talking about?"

Ron didn't buy his outrage. "I tried to interview my father's former colleagues. Every last one of them was eager to talk about the old days until they learned who I was and why I was calling them. Then they either had a prior engagement or developed amnesia. No one wants to discuss my father or the fire. When the P.I. I hired to investigate tried to follow through, the men disappeared. Did you tell them not to talk to me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I just found out your mother's started receiving those letters again."

"Again? Are you saying someone had written to her before? How come I was never informed?"

His uncle didn't bother to answer him, just slipped on his glasses. "Stop the investigation, Ronald. I'll take it from here."

_Over my dead body._ "I can't. I need to know what's going on. What was in the letters Mother received before? Did they imply my father started the fire?"

His eyes became cold. "Haven't I made myself clear? You will drop this investigation or else—"

"Or else what, Uncle Gregory? You will withhold my allowance? Fire me?" Ron gave a humorless laugh. "I'm not that young boy you used to withhold things from every time he didn't behave. You can't threaten me, sir. Not anymore." His voice rose and the older man's eyes bulged with rage. Or was it shock that Ron dared to stand up to him? "Why don't you want me to investigate the fire? What are you afraid I'll find?"

"You need to calm down. You don't want to have a panic attack."

Ron took a deep calming breath and smiled. That was low. For his uncle to bring up his ailment was a sure sign he felt cornered.

"That wasn't necessary, Uncle Gregory," he said in a calmer tone. "You can't order me to stop this and expect me to obey. Not without a reasonable explanation. This is the only chance I have to clear my father's name of something you've all been whispering behind closed doors for years. He didn't start that fire ten years ago. He's a hero. Nothing you say or do will stop me from proving it."

"You're just like him," his uncle sneered. "Arrogant, irresponsible...."

"Don't stop now," Ron urged him. "You want me to stop the investigation, tell me more. Tell me what happened ten years ago. Tell me about my father."

He dismissed Ron's request with a wave. "I don't intend to discuss or negotiate with you over this, Ronald. Do us all a favor and stop this now."

"I can't." Ron stepped back. "Now that we know where we stand, go and tell your biker-friend down there to stop shadowing me?"

His uncle frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The man you have tailing me? Tell him to back off. I will not tolerate being spied on."

The scowl on his uncle's face intensified. "Sorry to disappoint you, Ronald, but I have nothing to do with your stalker." His uncle opened the door, paused to say, "I hope you'll see reason and stop this." That said, he left, slamming the door behind him.

Ron blew out a breath. He didn't know what bothered him more, the shadow of anxiety in his uncle's eyes or the biker. He turned to stare down at the man. He removed his cell phone from its holder and dialed security.

***

Ashley spread the pictures on the counter and crunched her lower lip as she studied them. Why couldn't she get past the feeling that she was somehow involved in what happened that night at Carlyle House? She retrieved a writing pad from a nearby drawer, quickly scribbled the word 'filth' on it, and pinned it up on the corkboard beside her refrigerator.

Any recovered memory, however insignificant, must be written down. Dr. Irene Reuben had told her that years ago. She hadn't recalled anything until today. Why had she been filthy that night? Maybe she needed to pay the good doctor a visit. It had been years.

She pulled out cell phone, searched her contacts for Dr. Rueben's number and dialed. After explaining why she needed to see the doctor, the assistant found her a slot on the following Wednesday afternoon. The next call was to her uncle Kirkland, but she hesitated, her fingers hovering over the buttons.

Ron had said his friend would talk to Kirkland and the others. What if her cousin was right about the arsonist being a member of the Noble family? Would Ron tell her the truth? Her gut told her she should trust him. _He'd have to be crazy to come to me for help if his relative started the fire that killed my parents._

She needed to talk to someone. Her cousins were out of the question—they'd tell her not to trust him and hire her own detective. The appointment with Dr. Reuben was days away, not soon enough for her. That left her parents. First thing tomorrow, she'd stop by the cemetery for a heart to heart.

Sighing, Ashley placed the phone down, dragged her body from the stool and headed upstairs. The phone startled her when it rang just as she stepped into her bedroom area.

She picked it up, flopped on the bed and mumbled a tired, "Yes."

"Ashley. Can you talk?"

Her body jerked to a sitting position, energy spiking through her. "Ron?"

"Sorry to call so soon. Is your cousin still there?"

Should she trust Ron? "No, he just left. What's going on?"

"Did you mean it? About hypnosis?"

The very thought filled her with fear, yet she knew it had to be done. If the rumors were true, someone killed her parents. She'd want justice. "Yes, I want to go ahead with it."

A cheerful laugh came from Ron. "That's great. Thank you. I know it was a difficult decision, so I really appreciate it."

She smiled, absorbing his excitement. "You don't need to thank me. I want to know what happened that night too, especially if the rumors are true." Should she ask him about what her cousin told her? No, she'd play it by the ear. If he wasn't forthcoming, she'd walk, hire her own detective. "Uh, Ron, did you mean what you said about being there when I do it?"

"Of course. I told you, I may not know much about hypnotherapy, but I'm willing to learn. I'll do a little research before we meet on Saturday."

Just knowing someone had her back gave her a modicum of relief, even if it was someone she wasn't sure she should trust. But to completely ease her mind, she'd need to know everything Ron's investigator friend discovered as the investigation progressed. There was only one way to accomplish that, be joined at the hip with the gorgeous firefighter. Indecent images of the two of them popped in her head, pictures she had no business imagining.

"Ashley, are you still there?"

Better concentrate on what I want from him, not my physical needs. "Yes. Can I ask you something, Ron?"

"Sure."

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, or assume it's tied to the hypnosis thing. I've given it a lot of thought, and it makes perfect sense." God, she was babbling. Oh here goes. "I'd like to paint you."

There was silence on the line, then a brief laugh from him. "Me?"

"Yes. I need to start on my erotic series and can't seem to find a suitable model." That didn't come out right. "I'm not saying you're my fall back guy, you understand. It's just that you have a perfect body and face." She realized how what she said could be misconstrued and her face heated. "Perfect for painting that is," she corrected.

He chuckled. "Perfect body. I like that."

Oh, the arrogant man. She flopped back on her back, sucked in her bottom lip and harangued the ceiling. _Come on, say yes. Don't make me beg. "_ Can you do it?"

"You're talking about nude paintings, right?"

The image of him without a stitch on flashed in her head. Ashley licked her lips, anticipation coursing through her. She had to swallow first before saying, "Semi. You know, pants, shorts, silk draped over your hips...tasteful but erotic. I know it's asking a lot and you've never modeled, but I promise to make it effortless. I'll take lots of photographs and work mainly from them. We'll only do a few sittings. You won't have to pose longer than thirty minutes at a given time." When he didn't say anything, she added, "Come on, Ron. Consider it a favor from one friend to another. Remember? You did say we were friends. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Oh? What did you have in mind?" His voice was a smoky baritone.

_Letting you warm me and my bed._ Ashley's eyes widened with shock. Jeez, what was happening to her? Granted it had been a while since she dated or had sex. Still, she didn't hop in bed with just anyone, especially she didn't trust.

"Ashley? Are you still there?"

His sexy voice brought her back to the present. "I'll take you out to dinner every time you sit for me."

"Sorry, I'm old fashioned. When with a woman, I pick up the tab."

Cute, but very Neanderthal. "How about a home-cooked meal?"

"That has possibilities. How many weeks are we talking about here?"

"A couple, three tops." His friend should be done with the investigation by then.

"You want my body bad, don't you?"

She shook her head. _The man gives a new meaning to the word arrogant._ "Just want to paint it, Noble. If you can't handle it...."

"I can handle anything you dish out, babe. How about you let me decide what taking my clothes off is worth?"

His smooth, sensual tone sent a shiver up her spine. This was bad. She'd never reacted to a man this fast. It was his fault for pulling that seductive move on her just before her cousin arrived. It was giving her ideas. "As long as it's within reason."

"I've been told I'm a reasonable man. When do you want me to start?"

"Saturday morning okay? About seven? You were still planning on dropping off your grandmother's pictures, right?"

"Yeah. I have a previous engagement the night before, so I can't promise to make it by seven, but I'll try. I'll call you if I'm running late. Oh, just a second." Ashley could hear a woman's voice in the background, then he came back on the line. "I'll see you in two days, Ashley."

Ashley hung up the phone and grinned at the ceiling. Yes! She couldn't believe he'd actually agreed to model for her. Now all she had to do was control her wayward hormones when around him. Baron's words, a new woman on his arm every week, floated in her head. Those words should keep her grounded.

She looked at the clock on her bedside drawers and jumped off the bed. She'd better hit the showers before her cousins descended on her.

***

"Ash? Where are you?" Her cousin's voice reached her upstairs thirty minutes later.

Dang, they were early. Ashley poked her head out of the bathroom door and yelled, "Upstairs. Be down in a sec." She dried herself, wrapped the towel around her and walked into her bedroom. "Is Jade with...," her cousin's head appeared at the top of the stairs, "you?"

"No. Something came up." Faith bit off a piece of an asparagus tip and propped her tall model-thin frame against the stair rail, her short hair dyed a crazy red color. "She works too hard, but her vacation starts this weekend. We could join her at the beach house for a girls' night out."

Ashley threw her a disgusted look. "That's what this was supposed to be. Besides, can't afford to take a break now. I've got the murals to finish." Then there was Ron and his investigation. Ron and his perfect body. Possibilities and probabilities.

"I'm starved," Ashley blurted out. Forcing her mind to concentrate on food, she pulled on a floral dress over her camisole, hugged her cousin and muttered, "Let's go stuff ourselves." Maybe then she would stop thinking about him.

"Sounds good," Faith said, following her down the stairs.

"What did you bring?"

"A little bit of everything—lemon-herb flounder rolls, scallops Dijon, braised artichokes, oyster hushpuppies, crab cakes, asparagus and a bottle of Chardonnay. So what's up?" Faith stopped beside her at the kitchen counter. "You look as though you'd like to commit murder."

"You don't know the half of it."

Faith raised her eyebrows. "Nina Nobles?"

"Please," Ashley answered derisively. But she felt Faith's curious gaze on her, as she pulled out food-filled Styrofoam containers from the white paper bag. "That woman has issues. I wouldn't waste any thoughts on her." It wasn't bad as far lies went.

Faith shot her a skeptical glance. "Yeah."

Okay, so she wasn't convincing, but that didn't mean they had to discuss her feelings towards Ron's mother. "By the way, who appointed you my guardian angel?" She jabbed an asparagus tip in Faith's direction. "Telling Baron of all people to check on me? He came here acting big brotherly, offering unwanted advice and—"

"Interrupted something with the handsome playboy Ron Nobles." Faith wiggled her eyebrows naughtily.

Ashley blew out an explosive breath. Oh, she was going to seal Baron's mouth with super glue.

"You've been busy, woman. Is he as fast as they say?" Faith added.

"Nothing was going on," she answered through gritted teeth. She scooped food and dumped it on her plate. Was she the only one cursed with meddling relatives? Times like this, she wanted to disown the whole bunch of them. "We were having a _business_ discussion."

"So I heard. I'm amazed he's agreed to model for you, though." Faith retrieved two wine glasses from the cupboard above the counter and turned to add, "I heard the man is inaccessible except when he calls the shots. That he'll have a woman in the sack faster than she can say her last name. Never sticks around for the sheets to cool, but," she gave Ashley a feline smile, "he gives the best—"

"I don't want to know," Ashley screeched. How had they moved from discussing food to what Ron did with women? Best what? Her temperature shot up a notch just thinking about what Ron could do with his mouth.

"I meant to say parting gifts, sweetie," Faith said dryly, opening their chilled Chardonnay. "I hear he's a very generous man. So, how good is he?"

"How would I know?" But she'd wanted to taste him so bad earlier. If her cousin hadn't arrived, she'd know for sure.

Faith rolled her eyes, carrying their glasses and the bottle of Chardonnay to the coffee table. "He's your next model. You can't use him unless he can perform."

"How Ron performs has nothing to do with why he's modeling for me. Sheesh, woman, get your mind off sex, will you?"

Faith stared at her with rounded eyes, then burst out laughing. "I've got...to meet...this man," she managed to say between giggles. "You're tripping over your hormones, girl."

Ashley glared at her, then a giggle escaped her as well. Faith was right. Lust had abducted her mind and taken it south. She couldn't stop thinking about Ron naked. He would be removing clothes to pose for her, not for lovemaking. Somehow she must make her mind...no, make her hormones understand that before Saturday.

"I meant how he performs as a model, silly. You always test your models to see if they can follow directions without bitching or sit still for at least an hour."

She'd put her sandaled foot in her mouth this time. "Okay, you had me going there."

"Me? I think someone else has you in knots." Faith settled on the couch and pointed at the couch opposite hers. "Sit. I want details. Is he as hot as they say?"

Ashley scowled. She was beginning to hate hearing about Ron's exploits. Still....

"Where exactly did you hear about his exploits?"

"The models I use for my shows love to kiss and tell."

Models, she should have guessed. "Forget I asked. Let's talk about something else."

Faith threw her an amused glance and poured wine in the two glasses. Once she passed Ashley her wine, she settled back in her seat. "Okay. Let's talk about Carlyle House. Why are you giving up on it without a fight?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Faith fired back. "Which, if you promise not to bite my head off, is very typical of you."

Ashley's eyes widened. "What?"

Faith gave her a you-know-what-am-talking-about look. "Peter."

Not her ex-boyfriend. "You don't want to go there. His crazy ex was calling my home, threatened me, and the man didn't have the balls to check her. I have no time for such foolishness."

Faith shook her head. "You didn't give him time to deal with it. Then there was the deal with the gallery in San Francisco, the interview with the reporter from National Artist's Magazine, the—"

"Oh, shut up. I'm hungry and you're messing with my appetite." She forked a roll from her plate and took a bite. Yeah, she might have been a bit hasty in getting rid of Peter, but that didn't mean she shied away from conflicts. She swallowed and cut her cousin a look from the corner of her eye. "I choose my battles, no crime in that. You know I can't stand too much drama."

Faith chuckled. "What you can't stand, woman, are the little glitches that add spice to life. With you, everything's got to run smoothly all the time."

Ashley frowned. Maybe there was some truth to that. But that was in the past. She was changing, slowly but surely. She never wanted to deal with her unpleasant lost memories and had put off hypnosis, but she was planning on it now. "For your information, Miss Know-it-all, acquiring Carlyle House is still very much on my agenda."

"Good." Her cousin gave her a thumbs-up sign and Ashley hoped her trust wasn't misplaced.
CHAPTER 7

Saturday morning arrived too soon. Wearing only a demi bra and silk camisole, Ashley flung open her closet. A dress, pants, or shorts? She pulled out one outfit after another. What she wore shouldn't really matter, should it? Photographing and sketching Ron was work, not a date, something she did with models all the time. Still, none of her previous models ever starred in her fantasies.

Her arms laden with clothes, she sashayed barefoot across the bedroom carpet to her dresser, caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror and froze. Six-thirty in the morning and her grin could rival a toothpaste ad. She wasn't even a morning person for pity's sake.

She scowled at her image. "Wipe that stupid smile off your face and start acting like a professional. So Ronald Noble is the first man in eons to make you pulsate like a plucked wire, you can handle him."

Easier said than done. Even the sound of his name on her lips caused anticipation to surge through her. Sucking her teeth, Ashley pivoted on her heels, stomped back to her closet and dumped the clothes on the closet floor. She pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a plain white tee, and yanked them on.

After pulling on pants and her hair back in a ponytail, she paused to study her reflection. Good. Normal. If only she had a formula for making her thoughts of Ron normal, too. Sighing, she hurried downstairs.

As Ashley padded across the floor to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee, her gaze touched the microwave clock. Six-forty. Twenty minutes to go. Although he did say he might be late, she reminded herself. She fiddled with the cameras, which she'd loaded and arranged on the table behind the living room couch, adjusted the lounge for maximum lighting. Too edgy to cook herself breakfast, she reached for a banana. She looked at her list of things to do today as she peeled and nibbled the fruit, but her mind couldn't move past the first item on the agenda, photographing Ron Noble Saturday morning. It had a big question mark at the end of it.

What if he couldn't make it? What if he forgot? What if...?

There was only one cure for this. Ashley pinned the list on the corkboard, opened the freezer and pulled out a container of her favorite ice cream. She settled back on her couch and dug in.

When her doorbell rang, she was more composed. For twenty minutes, she'd been telling herself she was strong. That she was capable of controlling her emotions and dealing with more than six feet of raw masculinity.

Her gaze swung to the clock, as she stored the remaining ice cream in the fridge. Seven o'clock on the dot, impressive. She hurried to open the door.

Beautiful couldn't begin to describe a clean-shaven Ron in a dark-blue polo shirt that molded his wide chest and showed the sinew under. The color made his cobalt-blue eyes pop. Strong be damned, a woman had to be blind not to want to jump him.

"Hey, beautiful," Ron said, his voice dark and smooth, his smile slow and easy.

Her stomach tilted, and her thought processes slowed down big time. She yanked herself back into focus. "Hey back to you. You made it."

"I promised I would. Are you going to let me in?" he asked.

Ashley shifted sideways, noting a few things which had escaped her first inspection. Rivers of red discolored the whites of his eyes. "You must have had one hell of an evening."

"But very productive." He stepped inside her house, and before she knew his intention, he bent his head and landed a kiss on her lips. "Hmm."

She leaned back. "Whoa, what was that for?"

"A thank you for agreeing to hypnosis."

For that he had to tease her with a peck? She ought to grab his shirt and show him what a real thank-you kiss was.

"You're welcome." She took a step back and watched him swagger into her loft as though he hadn't sent her pulse into overdrive. Her gaze dropped to the blue denim caressing his buns. _Focus on something else._ He probably left another woman's arms a few hours ago. The thought was like a cold shower to her overheated senses.

"So? When will you make an appointment with a hypnotist?" He glanced at her over his shoulder.

"I already did. Dr. Vogel, my therapist, is also a licensed hypnotherapist. She'll see me next week on Wednesday."

"You're a sweetheart." He glanced around. "So what do you want me to do? Take it all off?" The quirky smile she found so irresistible lifted the corners of his lips.

"Just the shirt," she said in a voice that was just a tad unsteady. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Coffee would be nice, thanks." He gave her an apologetic smile. "And aspirin if you have some. Oh, and I brought my grandmother's pictures, too. Her birthday's not for six months, so there's no rush." He waved the manila envelope she hadn't noticed in his hand.

"Just place it on the table. What time did you get home last night?" she asked as she walked past the stairs and headed toward the downstairs bathroom for the aspirins.

"Didn't make it home until this morning," Ron admitted.

She shook her head at him and darted inside the bathroom. For a moment, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes sparkled and her lips tingled.

Ashley took a deep breath and retrieved a bottle of aspirin. _You can handle this...you can handle this...._ She chanted silently as she rejoined him in the kitchen area. "Do you think maybe you party too much?"

Ron shrugged. "I work hard and play hard. If you don't grab the opportunity whenever it presents itself, life will pass you by." He threw two pills in the back of his throat and washed them down with the water she'd given him. He grinned and glanced at the lounge. "Is that where I make myself comfortable?"

Ashley nodded then moved behind the counter to pour him some coffee. When she turned around she froze solid for a few seconds with the coffee cup in her hands. He was pulling off his shirt, revealing what she'd been imagining ever since they met—an expanse of beautiful golden skin, muscular chest and a six-pack abs, fuzz between his pecs and an intriguing arrow disappearing into his pants. The flame tattoo on his left shoulder and upper arm had Asiatic writings around it. He was beautiful, lean and solid...hers.

Hers?

The coffee splashed on her hand. The sting jolted her, and she averted her eyes. _Take a deep breath and count._ One Mississippi...two Mississippi...three Mississippi....

Of course, he wasn't hers, she told herself once she could think coherently. Ron couldn't be tamed or tied to one woman. Besides, he was here to model for her paintings. She'd better get that through her thick head before she started hoping for the impossible.

"Ready," Ron said.

"Good." Pasting a serene smile on her face, she looked at him.

He was reclining on the lounge, his shirt, socks and shoes off, his hands cupping the back of his head. Against her better judgment, her gaze caressed his strong chest, his hard belly, lingered on the bulge in his pants and his powerful thighs. His toes were long, beautiful. Her palm itched to touch and stroke him, every inch of him. Honestly, there ought to be a law against giving a man too much of everything. Taking a deep breath, her gaze moved back to his face and caught his knowing grin.

Shameless man.

"Did I tell you we're meeting with Uncle Jerry this afternoon?" she blurted out to cover her embarrassment.

His arched eyebrows shot up. "Who?"

"Jeremy Kirkland, my parents' lawyer. He's expecting us this afternoon at his office."

"I thought we agreed my friend would talk to him."

She gave him what she hoped was a repentant grin. "I know. I called him to discuss something else and it sort of slipped out." Dang, Ron made it so difficult for a girl to think rationally. Even his belly button was cute. "But, uh, this will give us a chance to tell him about your friend...to expect him." Heart thumping, she walked to his side and placed his coffee on a side-table, an arm's length from the lounge. "You don't have to come with me if you don't want to."

He sat up, his movements a little sluggish, and reached for his coffee. "Thanks for this, and yes, I'd like to accompany you. Kenny flew to Orcas to meet with Hogan. I expect a call from him sometime today." He rotated his neck as if to work out kinks.

Ashley studied him and debated what to do next. The man was on the verge of falling flat on his face with fatigue. What was so important last night that he couldn't go to bed early? And how would he sit for her if he were this tired?

"Ron, are you sure you're up to this?"

He gave her his quirky grin. "Of course. That's why I'm here."

"Forgive my language but you look like crap. Your eyes are bloodshot, you keep stifling a yawn every time I turn my back and you're so tense you could snap in half if I touched you."

A roguish glint appeared in his eyes. "Touch me and find out."

_Don't tempt me._ "Very funny. I'm offering to help you relax."

"Exactly what I had in mind." He ran a finger down her sweatpants-clad hip.

She swatted his hand and stepped away. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Noble. I'm going to give you a massage."

"You're no fun," he grumbled. When she slanted him a pointed look, he drained his coffee, then laid down on his stomach.

Perching one butt cheek on the lounge, right beside his hip, Ashley placed her hand on his back. Good heavens, he was hot. His muscle contracted, and her arm jerked at the heat. She was almost tempted to stop. No, she couldn't miss this chance to touch him. No way. Her heart hammering, anticipation dried her mouth. She licked her lips, ran her palm across his shoulders, loving the smooth texture, the hardness underneath. Delicious sensations rippled across her skin.

"Are you trying to drive me crazy?" he growled, the thick muscle of his shoulders contracting.

She smiled, then started working his shoulders. "You're tense."

"The last twenty-four hours have been nerve-wracking."

Why, she wanted to ask, but curbed her tongue. She didn't want to talk anyway. Touching him was much more fun. His skin was velvety soft, his hair silky and thick. The urge to run her fingers through it washed over her. She sucked it in and kneaded his muscles instead, first with her fingers, then the heel of her palms. He was so deliciously male he made her want to wrap herself around him and soak him up. Her finger traced a raised birthmark on his right shoulder. What would he do if she pressed her lips on it?

_Quit fantasizing,_ the annoying cautious voice in her head warned. Her gaze lowered to his butt. Yum yummy. A ravenous hunger clawed at her gut, made her want to rip his pants off and feast on his nakedness.

Talk about self-inflicted torture. Offering to massage him was the dumbest thing she'd ever done. Her hands itched to touch more than his back. As for his woody scent, it was engulfing, stimulating. When her body trembled ever so lightly, she swallowed. The impossible man wasn't helping matters any. The "hmm" sounds he made while she worked on his taut muscles were driving her crazy.

"What's the writing around the tattoo?" She traced the flame, then worked hard at easing the tautness there.

"Forged by fire."

His skin was hot enough to have been created by fire. And touching him was making her hot, too. Still, Ashley hung in there, body heating and humming. She wanted to converse, say something witty, but she knew her voice would fail her. When her arms began to ache, she shifted her body and almost landed on the floor.

"You okay, babe?" he asked in a hoarse voice

At least she wasn't the only finding their proximity unbearable. "Yes. Just don't fall asleep on me."

He chuckled. "You're mistaken if you think I can fall asleep with your hands on me."

She couldn't think up a response to that statement. Instead, she tried to imagine he was some ugly troll she had to touch. Tough luck. Trolls didn't smell or feel the way he did.

"I'm done." Ashley jumped up and took a step back, almost tripping over the coffee table.

Ron turned around, and their gaze connected. His face was taut. The hungry look in his eyes wasn't supposed to scare her, but it did, making her take another backward step. She swallowed, gave his body a sweeping glance and froze at the straining bulge in his pants.

"Keep looking at me like that and I won't be responsible for what happens next." His voice was low, filled with the promise of sinful pleasures.

Her eyes snapped to his, as she fought a blush. "I, uh, I'll get my camera."

She hurried to the table and fiddled with the camera, her back turned to him, but she could still smell him on her hands. Offering to massage him had been downright idiotic. How was she going to work when his body teased her senses?

She heard movements behind her and jerked around. Ron was on his feet and closing in on her fast. The look in his eyes had her taking a step back. "Ron?"

"I don't think I can do this."

She blinked. "But you said—"

"I _will_ pose for you sweetheart, but right now I need to touch you or go crazy."

Her eyes widened. _What am I supposed to say to that?_ She couldn't open her mouth and lie to him, or order her legs to move. She had wondered how those perfectly shaped lips would feel, taste. Heck, she'd even woven fantasies about the delicious things they could do to her body. The peck he'd given her earlier only added to her craving.

She took a deep breath and released it in spurts. Her heart thudded against her rib cage, excitement pulsing through her. This was so not her. Messing around with a man she hardly knew was insane, and she didn't do insane. Yet, she felt almost delirious with anticipation as Ron stopped before her.

His arm boldly snaked around her waist. The arrogant way he assumed she wouldn't object to his intentions left her weak in the knees. Ashley opened her mouth to say something, but his expression froze the words in her throat. The wicked sensuality and the raw lust in his eyes was enough to make a woman snap on a full metal chastity belt. Yet, he appeared to be waiting. For what?

She frowned. Could he be seeking her consent? Ron didn't look the type to ask for anyone's permission. Her gaze still locked with his, her lips parted, invited. His eyes grew fiercer, hotter. Still, he waited. She lifted her hand and laid it against his masculine chest. His body jerked as though scalded. His muscles flexed under her palm, his heart thumping hard and sending pulses of excitement along her arm.

He meshed her body with his. The intimate contact caused a moan to escape her lips. His head dipped, his hot breath against her lips making her quiver. Then he angled his head and covered her lips.

His lips were hot and gentle. Not exactly what she'd expected from such a large man. The taste of him, the velvety texture of his lips was new, exciting. His scent, volatile, musky and male, slammed into her with a force of a tsunami.

Heart pounding in her ears, Ashley surrendered and let him take charge of her mouth. She moved into his arms as though she had always belonged there. Tongues, flavors and breaths mingled. His scent teased her senses, making thought and reason difficult. His mouth caressed and explored, taking and giving her sweetness that was so unexpected, so intoxicating her entire body throbbed with raw need.

She couldn't afford to need this man. She had enough craziness in her life without needing someone who was here now but could be gone forever tomorrow. She jerked, pulled her face away and tried to break the spell he'd cast over her.

"Please," she sobbed achingly, gasping for breath.

"Please what, babe? Please don't stop?" Ron whispered erotically along her cheek. "Please take me?" He took a tiny bite of her ear, then soothed it with his tongue. His final, "Please tell me how to please you," was a homerun. Her resistance ebbed.

Ashley turned her face and claimed his lips this time. Forget tomorrow. Right this moment, he was hers. She slid her hands up, slowly loving the muscles shifting under her palm, and cupped his cheeks, touched the corner of his mouth before forking her fingers through his hair. She couldn't get enough of him.

His kisses became bolder, hotter, awakening every yearning cell in her body. Her fingers dug into his chest, eliciting a groan from him. He was all over her, his hands, his mouth, his breath, his very essence.

Fireworks exploded behind her eyes. She felt feverish, yet more alive than she'd ever been in her entire life. Panic torpedoed inside her. Where was her freaking control?

Ashley flung her head back and gasped for air. "Ron? Please. I need...we need to...."

"Yes," was his craggy response. "So much." He dropped butterfly kisses along her neck, inhaled deeply. "Hmm, wild roses. You smell so good." He bit her jaw, causing her body to vibrate. "Dark, juicy, exotic."

She was barely hanging on to her control. Lord knew she had a healthy sexual appetite, but this was way, way out there. She'd never lost control from a kiss. If one would define what he was doing to her a kiss. He was plundering, ravishing, branding her. A surprised huff escaped her when he circled her waist and lifted her off the ground.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded hoarsely, pressing her more intimately against him.

Her knees wanted to lift, but she willed them to stop. It didn't matter that she could feel his arousal against her or that his take-charge attitude was a major turn-on. This had gone too far. Somehow, she must stop, regroup and start thinking like a mature, rational woman.

His "Please," sounded guttural, raw. It called to something inside her.

Her thighs opened, knees lifted, legs wrapped around him. The bulge in his pants nestled perfectly against her. Exquisite sensations migrated from all over her body to the joint between her legs. His mouth closed on hers, tongue boldly thrusting into her mouth, mating, dancing. Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, reveling in his perfection, her mouth welcoming his. Her fingers silently urged him on. Then his weight shifted and the next thing she knew, her back was up against the wall, his hips grinding into hers. A primitive growl rumbled through his chest.

She clung to him, floating, aching and craving. He let her mouth go and sought her face, her neck. His long fingers slid up her back, cupped her face as he plundered her mouth. She moaned. Or did he? It didn't matter. The more he gave, the more she wanted. His hands on her bare skin...hers on his sexy body....

His hand skimmed over the thin cotton fabric of her T-shirt and landed on the underside of her breast, but stopped shy of covering her aching nipples. Ashley stopped breathing. _Touch me. Please._

As though he heard her, he sought a taut nipple, her T-shirt no barrier to his questing fingers. A burst of sensation annihilated what little control she had left. Ashley arched her back and tried to stop her hips from pushing against his, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own. It greedily sought his, loving the feel of him against her, needing a release so bad it wiggled and rocked.

Sanity returned. To lose control this fast was unlike her. Worse yet, it was with a man she wasn't sure she should trust. She wrenched her lips free from his and gasped, "Ron...stop." Her voice was low and unconvincing, more of a whine than a command. She wasn't surprised when he didn't heed her. She stiffened.

"Please. Stop." Her voice came out firmer.
CHAPTER 8

Ron froze, chest expanding as he fought for control. Not now, he wanted to howl. This was worse than a slow, agonizing death. He stared at her in disbelief, but something in her hazel eyes told him she meant it. He cursed silently, took a deep breath and rested his sweaty brow against hers, his eyes closing. "Why?" he asked in a voice low and rough.

"I can't...I don't...," she paused, "I can't make love to someone I hardly know."

He could feel her sweet breath brush his face, her heart thunder against his and the heat between her legs. Their clothes were no barrier to the fire beckoning him down there. Slowly, he opened his eyes,

Uncertainty, regret and arousal were clear on her beautiful face. He could take uncertainty and arousal any day. Regret was bad, very bad. Was it for kissing him or stopping their heated foreplay? She pulled her full bottom lip between her white teeth and gnawed on it. He smothered a groan, fought the urge to coax that lush lip out with his tongue.

Had he read her wrong? Had he rushed her? He didn't think so. She'd shown a raw enthusiasm that was surprising. Even now, she was staring at him with a mixture of fascination and uncertainty, her body still trembling.

"Okay, babe, let's play twenty questions, get to know each other, then pick up where we stopped." His gaze slid to her lips, the zenith of all his fantasies. He couldn't wait to get lost in them again.

Ashley slumped against the wall and shook her head. "I can't."

"Can."

"I need to photograph you." It came out as a plea.

Ah, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. The thought filled him with satisfaction.

"We have the whole day." He wrapped his arms securely around her buttocks and walked with her to the lounge he'd previously occupied. Her arms came to rest on his shoulders and her legs tightened around his hips. Her body quivered in response as he lowered her down, making sure she felt his arousal all the way to the floor.

She was meant to be his, but a nagging guilt followed that thought. He knew he shouldn't start a relationship with her while the issue of the fire was unresolved, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. "I want you, Ashley, and I'm not afraid to say it."

Her hands slipped lower to rest on his arms, her fingers digging into his flesh. "Look, Ron. I'm sorry if I led you on and gave you the wrong impression. I truly am."

Her voice was unsteady, her eyes shadowy and he'd never wanted her more.

"I'm not." He looked down at their meshed bodies. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with what we've been doing or will be doing," he added. "You want me, and I sure as hell can't seem to keep my mind off you or my hands off your delectable body. Let's keep the Q and A short and sweet, okay? Two minutes, tops."

She opened and closed her mouth without uttering a word, and he knew he had her. He lowered himself on the couch and pulled her down on his lap, right on top of his engorged organ. Ron winced and tightened his arms around her waist to hold her down when she could have jumped up.

She stayed, but sat stiffly. Then as though garnering some inner strength, she lifted her chin and glowered at him. "Two minutes is hardly enough time to discuss anything, Noble."

"You think? Allow me. Born thirty years ago, grew up here in L.A. and Vegas, have no siblings, never been married, don't have out-of-wedlock children. Don't smoke, only drink socially, love spicy foods and have a healthy," he gave her a brazen grin, "change that to a very healthy sexual appetite." She rolled her eyes. "I did my undergraduate at UNLV and got my MBA at Columbia."

She couldn't hide her surprise. "All the way across the country?"

Anything to escape the rumors and his responsibilities, he thought. "An inspired countermove against a tyrant grandmother," he improvised. "She and I had reached an impasse."

Her intelligent eyes lit up with interest, but all she said was, "Let me guess? You couldn't bully her into seeing things your way. Poor woman."

"See? Less than two minutes and you already know me so well." When he trailed his finger around the thin skin along her waist, she swatted his hand. Okay, so she wasn't ready to play, but at least she was relaxed. "And for the record, no one bullies Penelope Darden, and she doesn't deserve your sympathy. I'm the one in need."

"Of what?" She laughed at his expression. "No, don't answer that."

"I'm serious here. Fighting fires is in every Noble's blood. Four generations of firefighters, and she wanted me in a suit, behind a desk." She tried to get off his lap again, but his arms tightened, pulling her closer into him. But her wiggling sent blood flowing to his groin. She soon realized her mistake and froze.

"Can we, uh, continue this conversation while I photograph you?" she asked with a slightly wobbly voice.

He rather liked their closeness. Her perfect ass fit his lap so well, and it wouldn't take much to pull down both their pants and slide inside her. Oh, yes, the position had possibilities. "I like this."

She pursed her lips. "You're perverse."

He kissed her nose. "Tell me you don't find this stimulating."

"I don't."

Yeah, right. She might not be aware of it, but her body curled naturally around his when she relaxed. "You're such a liar, Ashley Fitzgerald. But, I'll forgive you this time." He dropped his arms to free her, but he couldn't stop himself from running a possessive hand down the small of her back as she got up.

She shot him an accusatory look. "You don't play fair, Ronald Noble."

Not when it came to the opposite sex. "Me? I'm not the one who halted things just when they were getting interesting. That, sweetheart, definitely falls under unfair."

He leaned back against the lounge and watched her as she crossed the room to pick up the camera. He liked the way her old clothes hinted at the lush, feminine curves underneath. But nothing compared to her kisses, her responses. They were stimulating, raw and honest.

She shot him a glance, caught him ogling her and wrinkled her nose. He winked at her. She lifted the camera, aimed the viewfinder at him and clicked.

"A firefighter with an MBA. Very interesting." She continued to snap pictures of him from different angles. "Tell me more."

"Part-time firefighter, part-time, uh, I'm not exactly sure what title I presently hold. Director or messenger boy, it all depends on the whims of my grandmother and uncle. You could say we reached a compromise. I put on the suit and sit through boring meetings and lunches, and I get to pit my skills against nature during fire season."

She kept moving, the camera in her hands constantly clicking. "I read somewhere that she single-handedly started the company, securing contracts with major casinos and hotels in Vegas before branching to L.A."

Crafty, demanding and invincible, that was his grandmother. Rumor had it that she'd used questionable means to acquire the Vegas contracts. Probably true. His family had way too many dark secrets. "She's a formidable woman."

"That explains it."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Explains what?"

"How you've managed to waltz past Jeffrey downstairs. Last week and today, he didn't bother to check with me before letting you come upstairs." She lowered the camera and walked toward him.

He chuckled. "The man knows who signs his paycheck every month."

"I won't have you bully him just because you're his boss," she admonished and knelt beside the lounge.

"Don't let his wife Marina hear you. She claims that title...or used to. I believe baby Justin has replaced her now. Cute little boy."

An expression of regret crossed her face as she contemplated him. "You're full of surprises." Her voice was almost sad.

He didn't know what to make of that. "Good ones. I hope."

She shrugged. "Yeah. I need to take more pictures of different poses. Shift slightly to the right, please. Yes, that's good. Left arm behind your head. Bend your right knee slightly." She touched it and his muscle contracted. "Much better. Left leg extended, slightly parted." He let out a ragged breath and she grinned. The little tease was deliberately driving him crazy. "Right arm across your stomach...no, no, just above your bellybutton."

"How long are we going to do this?" he growled.

Ashley smiled. "Just a few more minutes. Why?"

"I think my two minutes are up. I was hoping we could leave your stats and the photo shoot for later, and pick up where we left off."

She laughed. "A firefighter, director, messenger and a comedian. Wow. You're a real piece of work, Noble."

He liked the way she found humor at the oddest moments. "You're pretty special, too."

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me. Do you want some music?"

"Nah. I rather like the view," he muttered, his gaze locked on her.

She lifted the camera and aimed at him. "I like the view too." When he smiled, she ripped off a shot, then another. She kept instructing him and moving around, the shutters snapping nonstop. When she zoomed in for close-ups, she caught the hungry look in his eyes, his sensual mouth, his abs, his kissable belly button. Heavens, even his toes were perfect. Click. Snap.

Through the lenses, her inhibitions were gone. She was the bold lover seducing him with words and her eyes, making him do her will. Would he be that accommodating in bed? Let her take the lead? Hmm-mm, the things she'd do to him. The thought had her grinning like a cream-fed cat. _Naughty, naughty, Ashley._

She lowered her camera to say, "Tell me more about you, Ron." With his mind occupied he wouldn't mind the sitting. Besides, she wanted to catch his facial expressions. She returned the first camera to the table and picked up another, then turned to face him.

"I thought it was your turn to give me your stats."

"My life isn't interesting."

"It is to me."

"Okay. I, uh, started drawing as a child. My parents recognized my talents and hired a tutor to work with me. Jonathan was eccentric, but fun. I learned a lot from him. For a while after my parents died, I didn't want to touch a paint brush." She'd been too angry at them, everyone, the world. It took her a while and a lot of therapy to move on. "Finally, something, I don't know what, pulled me back and I went back to lessons. Later, I studied theater arts at UCLA. After graduating, I started with commissioned pieces and murals. Now I try to have a show once a year."

"Why theater arts? Why UCLA?"

She shrugged. "I thought I'd try my hands at acting, but I didn't have the temperament for it. I did better behind the camera."

"Makes sense. You enjoy ordering people around."

She knew he was referring to her present performance. "Thank you," she said glibly. "And you are surprisingly good at following directions."

He wiggled his eyebrows. "I have an ulterior motive."

No kidding. She lifted the camera and captured him laughing. "Anyway, after wandering with my parents, I wanted to be close to family, and UCLA seemed a wise choice." Her finger hesitated on the button. "I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"Talk and photograph you at the same time. Do you mind...?"

He shrugged. "No. Uh, what did you want to know?"

"About your college days...family... why the Hotshot organization. I mean, wildfires are kind of unpredictable."

"That's why they employ a lot of part-time workers. When my father died, I spent a month with my grandmother Deanne and my uncles in Kern Valley. Heard their stories about wildfires, the challenges of working them, and I was hooked. When I started college, I applied to the Forest Services for a part-time position. Learned to get by and make do in the outdoors fast. Made me wish I had stuck with boy scouting though."

A reflective expression stayed on Ron's face as he spoke. Her finger on the button twitched as she captured it. "That must have been tough."

"At first. My uncles and cousins didn't cut me any slack either, just like they didn't my father. He worked with them before he met my mother. After he took over running L.A. branch of Neumann Security, he worked part-time with the local firefighters. Anyway, they made sure I could operate a chain saw, drive a truck with a five-and-a-two transmission, and I obtained a license to drive heavy rigs before I went out. Pitching a tent, cooking over fire, tying a half dozen knots became as easy as breathing."

Amazing he'd want to be a firefighter after his father died in the line of duty. His mother must have gone ballistic. "How did your family take it?"

He grimaced. "My mother refused to speak to me for weeks. She couldn't understand why I had to do it."

Ashley stopped taking pictures all together and studied him. "Why do you do it?"

"It was something to do," he said, his expression closed. "Still is."

Yeah, right. "Working at Neumann Security would have sufficed if you were just looking for something to do." She studied him, wondering if she could dare voice her thoughts. "It makes you closer to him...your father, doesn't it?"

He shot her an unreadable glance. "What makes you say that?"

"Because we all do things to make us feel closer to those we've lost. I listen to my parents' music, kept the lawyer they had when I could have gone with a younger one. Even opening a commune for artists was their dream. It's perfectly normal to have these feelings."

There was a silence, as though he was debating on how much to admit to her. Finally, he said, "Yeah. My family didn't think so." A far away look entered his eyes. "My grandmother threatened to disown me, and Uncle Gregory blamed my father's "blue-collar" genes on every bad thing I did."

From his expression, she couldn't tell if their reaction had hurt him. "It doesn't really matter what anyone thinks, you know. As long as it brings you peace, joy, or whatever it is you're searching for, nothing else matters."

He smiled. "I don't know about all that. I like the physical challenge of fighting wild fires—walking miles on end on the rough, uneven terrain, living out of a backpack, sleeping on the ground and staying at remote spike camps."

Filling his father's shoes or at least trying to. "And here I had you pegged as a city boy," she teased.

"I guess now you know my deep, dark secret."

And a whole lot more. "You want to take a break?"

"Thought you'd never ask," was his response. He stood, moseyed to where she was rewinding the films. He slipped his arms around her waist, pressed his cheek against the side of her head and watched what she was doing. "I have a new respect for models. Or maybe you're just a demanding photographer. Right arm there...left there...chin tilted this way...legs apart...together.... I was beginning to plot your demise."

"I would never have guessed," she lied smoothly and forced her body to behave. It wasn't easy. His masculine chest was naked and yummy-looking. "If you ever want to change professions, I have Dee's phone number."

"No way. I'm too old to be prodded and told how to sit." He kissed the side of her neck and let her go to retrieve his shirt. "So what's next?"

"I'm going to cook breakfast, then hopefully you'll have the strength to sit for me, again. Without the pants." He groaned and she smiled. "Uh, I forgot to ask before. Did you have breakfast?"

"No. I was too far gone to eat whatever the flight attendant prepared."

Flight attendant? Where in God's name had he flown from this morning? "Would you like something now? I make a mean omelet." She started for the kitchen.

"Then I'd definitely like some." He followed her to the kitchen, pulled out a stool and sat. "How come you don't use digital cameras?"

"I do when it's convenient, but I like the results better when I use film." She retrieved a pan from a cupboard and placed it on top of the stove. "The highlights and overexposed objects tend to look garish on digital prints while the film prints depends on the person processing them."

"Do you do your own processing?"

A shiver went through Ashley at his words. The thought of being in a dark room was enough to make her break out in sweat.

"I drop them off at a friend's. I don't like small spaces." She removed butter and brown eggs from the fridge. When he didn't speak, she threw him a look from the corner of her eye.

He was studying her loft as though seeing it for the first time. She'd bet the lack of draperies on her windows made sense to him now. Most of her visitors usually assumed the artist in her liked the extra light. Little did they know dark rooms, confining spaces filled her with unreasonable dread.

"It has something to do with that night, doesn't it?" His voice had her looking up from the bowl of eggs she was whipping. He sounded angry.

"Maybe. I don't know. My therapist thinks so, but since I don't remember much, I can't say with certainty."

"And these notes on your fridge door and the corkboard?"

This time, she felt heat crawl up her face. There was sharing information and there was baring one's soul. She wasn't ready to go there with him. But if she ever lost her memory again, those notes would tell her exactly what she missed. "Would you like more coffee?"

"Sure, thanks. But I'll get it. You continue with your cooking."

Ashley told him where everything was and watched as he retrieved his mug from beside the lounge. She was busy chopping red, yellow and green peppers when he joined her in the kitchen. He dwarfed the space and didn't seem to be in a particular hurry to return to his stool on the other side of the counter. She glanced nervously at him, but his gaze was on the yellow Post-Its dotting her fridge door.

"I hope you don't mind pepper in your omelet," she said, attempting to draw his attention.

"No, I don't." His gaze stayed glued on the notes.

"Hey."

He looked at her and cocked an arched eyebrow.

"Don't you know it's considered rude to read someone's messages?"

"I know." He leaned against the counter, tilted his head to the side and contemplated her with a thoughtful expression. "I could apologize and tell you I'm sorry, but I'd be lying. You fascinate me."

Ashley finished cutting up the vegetables and added them to the pan. "Why?"

"The truth?"

"Absolutely."

"I want you in my bed." She blinked at his boldness, her hand moving faster and faster as she turned the omelet. "Or yours. I don't have a preference, really. It could even be on the floor or a couch, standing, sitting, or lying down. It doesn't matter as long as I make us happy. I want to kiss you all over. I want to hear my name on your lips when you come apart, when I—"

The telephone interrupted him. Ashley put the knife down and dove for the phone like a drowning person would a passing log. Her hands shook as X-rated images flashed in her head, and her galloping heartbeat made speech difficult.

"Yes?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. Totally pathetic.

"Ashley? Is that you?"

It was Jeremy Kirkland. She had to clear her voice before saying louder, "Yes, Uncle Jerry."

"I want us to meet at my home instead of the office," Kirkland said briskly.

Something in his voice pushed Ron's seductive words to the inner recess of her mind and brought back sanity. "Sure, Uncle Jerry. Is everything okay? You sound funny."

"Everything is fine." There was silence, then, "Nothing I can't handle."

There was a loud noise in the background then she heard him curse. "Uncle Jerry? Are you okay?" There was silence. "Hello. Are you still there? Uncle Jerry?"

"Yes." His voice was breathless. "I don't know what's going on, but someone on a motorbike has been following me these couple of days. I thought I saw him outside the building as I drove in."

Why would anyone be following him? Kirkland was semi-retired from the law firm he co-founded. He only handled a few accounts, including hers. "Are you alone in the office?"

"For the moment I'm in the underground garage, heading to the elevators," Kirkland said. "I don't want you to worry about me. Shouldn't have mentioned the biker, except I wanted you to know why we'll be meeting at home. Give me an hour or so. I mean to stop by the police station and give them the description. Just a second."

Silence followed.

"Hello," Ashley said into the phone after a while. "Uncle Jerry?" When her cell indicated the call was terminated, Ashley put the phone down. "That's strange."

"What is?" Ron asked. He had taken over from where she'd stopped, finished cooking the eggs and now scooped them into two plates.

"That was Jeremy Kirkland. He wants us to meet at his home. Thanks," she added when he slid a plate in front of her.

Ron frowned, wolfing down his food. "What's strange about that?"

"He thinks someone has been following him. He sounded scared, so unlike himself. He said he was going to the police, told me to wait a second then hung up. Why would anyone follow Uncle Jerry? He's a harmless, old man. What if he's in trouble?"

"Easy, sweetheart." Ron squeezed her hand, his eyes searching her face. "Why don't you call him back?"

She should have thought of that. Why did she always choose the worst-case scenario? She quickly dialed his cell number, but the phone went unanswered. She couldn't control the fear that gripped her.

"He's not answering. Do you think...?" She shook her head. It was foolish to ask Ron if she was worried over nothing or if the aging lawyer could really be in trouble. That old man had been like a father to her. If he were in trouble, she had to help him.

Ashley plucked a sheet from a Post-It and scribbled like crazy, then pressed it on the fridge door. Only then did she look at Ron. "I have to go to his office and make sure he's okay. Finish your breakfast. I'll be back before you know it."

"I'm coming with you," Ron said. He pushed his half-eaten food aside and went to get his socks and shoes.

"Thanks. I'll call the cops too, just in case." She grabbed her cell phone and dialed 911.
CHAPTER 9

Ron gave Ashley a concerned glance. She had been shredding her lower lip ever since they left her place. She was convinced that something had happened to Kirkland.

"Ease up, sweetheart." He reached over and briefly gripped her hand. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"You didn't hear the fear in his voice, Ron. Who would anyone follow Uncle Jerry? He's such a nice guy."

Even nice lawyers could rub a client the wrong way, he thought, but he was sure she would not want to hear that. "You need to stop thinking about the worst case scenario. There's probably a good explanation for his behavior."

She rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated. "Like I said, you didn't hear him. Uncle Jerry is not easily scared. Someone is...was after him. Can we go a little faster, please?" she urged.

If they went any faster, they'd end up on top of the cars in front of them. "What kind of clients does Kirkland work with?"

"Not the kind who'd want to hurt him. He doesn't even accept new clients anymore. The ones he has are older people who've been with him for years. Most of them are actually his close friends."

"There you go. Friends don't do each other in."

"What about their children?" she added with a frown. "Maybe someone wants their trust fund, and Uncle Jerry is in the way."

A smile crossed his lips. Ashley, he was quickly finding out, was stubborn once she decided on something. Arguing with her was pointless. "Yeah, you're probably right."

For a while, they drove in tense silence. At the next stop light, Ron studied Ashley's profile from the corner of his eye. She held her auburn hair in a ponytail, but a few strands escaped and now caressed her soft cheeks. Her eyes were narrowed with distress, her brow furrowed and hands clenched. He wished he could ease her worries.

If people had told him a week ago that he'd be more concerned about comforting a woman he was attracted to than bedding her, he would have said they were out of their minds. Earlier, when she looked at him with concern, he almost explained why he was tired and sleepy, which would have led to why winning the McClain contract was important to him. He wasn't yet ready to share his dysfunctional family's dirty laundry. What then did he want from Ashley? As a rule, he didn't do relationships. The women he bedded knew the score from the word go.

If there was something he learned since he was a kid, it was never to leave himself vulnerable. People were vicious. Like predators, they knew when a person was at his weakest point, knew when to swoop down to do more damage. The only way to survive was to be vigilant, to stay strong.

"Ron?" Ashley touched his arm then her hand dropped and accidentally grazed his thigh.

His muscles tightened. "What is it?"

"You were so deep in thought. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay. Could you turn right at the next light? That should bring us to the back of Uncle Jerry's building and near the entrance of their underground parking garage."

Ron nodded then muttered a curse a few minutes later when he entered the street and saw a crowd of people and squad cars near Valley Towers. The top part of an ambulance was visible from where they were.

"Oh, no," Ashley murmured. "Stop the car."

"Ashley, don't jump to any conclusions just yet."

"Just stop the car, Ron. Please." She threw off her seat belt, readied herself to get out at a moment's notice.

Ron looked up and down, but cars lined the street on both sides. There was nowhere to park. He stopped in the middle of the street. "Ashley—"

"Find a place to park and catch up," she yelled, as she jumped out and hurried toward the crowd.

He stared after her and shook his head. A car honked behind him and he stepped on the gas. Five minutes later, he found a spot to park.

By the time he caught up with Ashley, a young officer was asking her, "Are you Mr. Kirkland's relative, ma'am?"

"A family friend," she answered, craning her neck to see what the paramedics were doing. "How badly hurt is he? Is he going to be okay? Can I ride with him in the ambulance?"

"Only immediate family," the officer explained impatiently. "Move away from the yellow tape, miss."

"But I'm his niece," Ashley interjected. "Well, you know, not blood niece, but close. I'm practically family." When the officer scowled at her, she took a step back. "You could at least tell me what hospital they're taking him to." The officer ignored her.

Ron tugged Ashley's arm. "Come on."

"Can you believe this guy?" She jerked her head toward the police officer. "He won't tell me what's going on or let me through. If I hadn't called them, they wouldn't have known about the accident."

"I know. Let's go back to the car. We can follow the ambulance."

"What did she say?" the officer interrupted their exchange. "Are you the woman who reported the attack?" When Ashley nodded, he said, "Wait just a minute. You fled the scene of the crime." Before Ashley could say anything, the officer dropped his chin to talk into his walkie-talkie. "Sir, I've apprehended the suspect...yes, sir...she's right here with me."

"Suspect?" Ashley screeched.

"Officer, there's a misunderstanding," Ron interrupted. "Ms. Fitzgerald is not a suspect."

The burly police officer turned to stare at them with piercing eyes. "She reported talking with Kirkland before the attack, called 911, then disappeared. Were you with her at the time, sir?"

This was ridiculous. Ron's eyes narrowed. "You're making a grave mistake, Officer...?"

"Rudolf. And there's no mistake."

"Listen," Ron snapped. "Mr. Kirkland called Ms. Fitzgerald on his cell phone. He hung up abruptly, but when she called him back, he didn't pick up his phone. That's when she called 911. She had no idea what was going on. She was merely concerned."

"You're saying she didn't witness the incident?" Officer Rudolf asked.

"Yes," Ashley and Ron said in unison.

"We have to straighten this out." The officer muttered a curse. "At least ten officers are going through this building questioning people and trying to find you, Ms. Fitzgerald. We'd assumed that you were either involved or witnessed Mr. Kirkland's attack. Excuse me." The officer radioed someone on his walkie-talkie and explained the situation.

When the ambulance started up the ramp, the on-lookers moved back and out of the way. Ron turned to Ashley. "We need to go."

"Not so fast, sir," Officer Rudolf ordered. "We need a statement from the lady first."

"Not now, please." Ashley pointed at the ambulance. "We must follow them."

"Ashley?" Ron said at the same time as the officer chimed, "Ma'am?"

Ashley scowled. "You're not going to detain me here, Officer Rudolf. Not when my uncle needs me. I must be at the hospital when they bring him in or Aunt Sonya...oh, Sonya." She covered her mouth, her eyes rounded. "Ron," she whispered. "We have to tell her what happened."

Ron turned to Officer Rudolf. "Has someone informed Mrs. Kirkland what happened, sir?"

"A squad car was sent to his home, if that's what you're asking," the officer answered. "About that statement, Ms. Fitzgerald?"

Ashley sighed. "Listen, I must be at the hospital for my aunt," Ashley added. "She'll need me. She's very frail, and the shock of seeing her husband might be too much for her. Please." The officer remained unmoved. "If you need someone to vouch that I won't disappear on you, call my cousins or uncle. They're in the force, just at different precincts."

The officer's gaze narrowed. "You're taking about Captain Lou Fitzgerald and his son Eddie and nephew—"

"Yes," Ashley said, her eyes on the ambulance as it disappeared down the street. "Where are they taking him?"

"Good Samaritan," Officer Rudolf said. "But I must have your full name and address."

Ashley froze, her eyes fixed on the line of squad cars leaving the parking garage. Then she clutched her throat and started to cough.

"Ashley?" Ron reached for her. "Are you okay?"

"Smoke," she whispered.

"What?" Ron asked.

She staggered, her eyes filled with confusion. "I remembered something."

"Is she okay?" Officer Rudolf asked from behind them.

"No, she isn't. She needs to sit down." Ron placed his arms protectively around Ashley.

He gave the officer Ashley's phone numbers and address, his name and phone number, before he led Ashley to his truck. As they walked, his arms tightened around her when she stumbled.

"I remembered something, Ron. The image was so real. I was in a room, a dark room, and it smelled kind of funny. I was looking through an opening into that room."

"What room?"

"The one in the pictures you showed me. There was smoke everywhere." She frowned and rubbed her temple. "I was more scared of something else, not sure what, than I was of the fire. Does that make sense?"

Ron nodded. It did if someone or something had frightened her before the fire started. "Absolutely. C'mon. Into the car you go." He helped her in and started to buckle her seatbelt.

"Hey, I'm not an invalid," she protested with a slight grin and snapped the seatbelt on. But the smile was gone from her lips by the time Ron sat in the driver's seat. "This isn't the first time I remembered something about that night."

"What have you remembered?" He pulled out of the parking lot. "And what triggered them?"

"I think seeing the ambulance or the squad cars might have triggered this one, but the first one occurred when we were discussing the pictures. I remembered that I was filthy that night." She massaged her temples. "It didn't make any sense. Carlyle House was a first class club. Why would I be dirty? "

Why indeed. When he'd seen the footage of the chaos outside the house on the night of the fire, Ashley had a blanket around her. The brave expression on her face had held his interest more than anything else. He tried to recall the layout. The last time he'd gone there was eight years ago, after his family fixed it up and before the nuns moved in. He'd never actually seen every room and couldn't say whether there were dusty hidden closets or dingy, funny-smelling rooms.

"Have you gone back to Carlyle House since the fire?" he asked.

"No."

"Would you like to?" When she hesitated, he added, "It might help jog your memory."

Furrowed lines appeared on her forehead. "Yes. I think I'd like to visit it. I couldn't bring myself to do it before, even after I read that it was on the market. But now I'm ready."

Outside Good Samaritan ER, he used the valet service the hospital offered its patients. His gut tightened with each step. He hated hospitals. Hated the way they smelled, the sterile atmosphere, the white walls and gray floors. Every damn time he stepped into one, someone he cared about ended up dying.

She slipped her hand through his as they approached the doors. Her hand clenched and her feet faltered before they could enter the building. She shot him a glance from underneath her lashes. "You don't have to come in with me, Ron. I will be okay. I can handle it from here."

_Accept her offer and run, man._ How he wished he could, but he couldn't just abandon her. She might not be ready to admit it, but she needed him.

"I don't mind," he lied. He took a deep breath and steeled himself as they walked into the building.

The smell assaulted his nose, sounds of screaming babies and groaning patients hit his ears. His chest tightened and a cold knot formed in his gut. People with their ailing loved ones glanced at them, then away. The nurses and the orderlies hurried past, hardly paying them any attention.

Suddenly, he was twenty years old again. Then, he'd accompanied his mother to see his father. The old man hadn't lasted more than a couple of days. Six months later, his grandmother Deanne had taken ill. Again, endless trips to the hospital followed by death.

By the time they reached the ER information desk, Ron was sweating, his heart pounding.

"Excuse me. Ma'am?" Ashley hailed one of the people behind the counter. "The ambulance dropped off a Mr. Kirkland here a few minutes ago. Could you tell us about his condition?"

"Are you family?" the woman asked, her gaze moving from Ashley to Ron, then back to Ashley.

"Close family friends," Ashley answered. "We're waiting for Mrs. Kirkland, his wife, to join us and...oh, there she is." Her voice ended in a whisper.

Ron watched Ashley hurry toward a thickset woman in beige pants and a floral blouse. Mrs. Kirkland's eyes were puffy and red, as though she'd cried all the way from her home. When she saw Ashley, relief flashed in her eyes, then a fresh flood of tears started.

He winced, steeling himself against the pain in her eyes. More reasons why he hated hospitals were watching the hopelessness, the frustration and the devastating acceptance in the eyes of relatives. Ron crossed his arms and wished he could be anywhere but in here. When that didn't ease his discomfort, he turned to the nearest nurse.

"Is it possible to know Mr. Kirkland's condition?" The sooner he found out what was going on, the faster he'd get out of here.

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's not possible."

His eyes narrowed. "Why not? This is the information desk, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, but I can't tell you the extent of Mr. Kirkland's injuries until the trauma team is done with their diagnosis," the nurse explained.

"Don't tell me what you can't do, miss," Ron snapped. "Just get me someone who'll give me answers." He glared at her, until the nurse left. The two remaining nurses stared at him.

"Ron? What's happening?" Ashley asked from behind him.

He pasted a smile on his lips and prayed she didn't notice the sweat on his forehead then turned to face her. Tears trembled on her lashes and her lower lip quivered. He wanted to haul her in his arms and take away her pain. Helplessness washed over him and it didn't sit well with him. His gaze swung to Mrs. Kirkland, who was holding onto Ashley's arm. He wished he hadn't. Her hopeful gaze was locked on his, as though he had the answers she sought. The ache in his gut intensified. His mother had worn the exact expression just before the doctors gave her the news.

Ashley touched his sleeve. "Ron?"

He released a ragged breath. "I'm trying to find out your uncle's condition."

"Thank you." Ashley patted Mrs. Kirkland's arm. "This is Sonya Kirkland. Sonya, my friend, Ron Noble."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry we're meeting under such unpleasant circumstances," he said with a brief nod. "I hope your husband will be okay."

"Thank you. My Jerry's too stubborn to let this bring him down," Mrs. Kirkland answered in an unsteady voice, then pressed a handkerchief against her mouth. She threw a glance at the nurses, then back at Ron. "They don't know how he's doing?"

Ron gave the crowded room a sweeping glance. "They've gone to get a doctor. He'll explain what's going on." He escorted Ashley and Mrs. Kirkland to secluded chairs away from the information desk.

While Ashley consoled the older woman, Ron sat opposite them. His chest felt constricted. Breathing was difficult. He wasn't claustrophobic, but the walls began to close in on him. The more he waited, the more agitated he became. He took deep breaths, told himself to relax, breathe and think of something tranquil. Nothing worked. Damned panic attacks. He thought he'd learned to control them years ago, yet here he was, on the verge of passing out.

I can't. Not when Ashley needs me.

It must have been only five minutes, ten tops, but it seemed like forever before he jumped to his feet. He couldn't take it anymore.

"I'll check what's keeping the doctor," he explained when Ashley and Mrs. Kirkland looked at him with wide eyes.

He marched toward the information desk. The nurse he spoke with earlier saw him coming and whispered something to her colleagues. The women took off in two different directions. He approached the remaining nurse, who was typing something on a keyboard.

"Excuse me. I have two very worried ladies," he waved in the direction he came from, "who would like to know the condition of their loved one. One of the nurses went to get the doctor," he checked his watch, "ten minutes ago. Is there a problem here?"

An older nurse walked up to him. "No, sir. There's no problem. I'm Mrs. Kimball, the ER nurse manager. I promise you the doctor in charge of Mr. Kirkland will be here any minute now. Because of the severity of Mr. Kirkland's injuries, we had to make sure he was comfortable first." Then she frowned. "Are you feeling okay, sir?"

"I'm fine," was his terse response, although he was anything but fine. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the nurses who'd left return.

"The doctor's on his way," she said.

"Thank you, Josephine." Then Mrs. Kimball smiled at Ron. "Do you need anything else, sir?"

"No, thank you." He didn't move away from the counter. Mrs. Kimball disappeared, and the other nurses continued with their work but occasionally threw glances his way. He was sure they dealt with disgruntled relatives all the time; but one who looked and acted a little deranged, as he was sure he did, couldn't be that common. He took a deep breath, then another and another. His heart was still pounding hard, but at least he could breathe freely.

"Ron." Ashley appeared beside him. "Are you okay? We could hear you from across the room."

"I hate hospitals," he said before he could stop himself.

Her eyes rounded. "Oh."

There was no time to explain. "Where the hell is that doctor?"

"He's with Sonya. It's bad, Ron. Uncle Jerry had severe blows to the head. There's internal bleeding and swelling, and they don't know the extent of the injuries. A neurosurgeon is on his way. They have to operate on him right now."

Ron glanced above her head to where Mrs. Kirkland stood talking to a tall, redheaded man. "How is Mrs. Kirkland taking it?"

"Very hard. They are very close." She touched his arm. "I, uh," she swallowed and pressed a hand to her mouth, "I'm going to stay here with her until their son gets here from San Diego. Sonya already called him." Her voice broke.

He studied her upturned face, the tears in her eyes ready to fall. He wanted to touch her, pull her in his arms and comfort her, but she would feel the tremors coursing through him and ask for an explanation. He wasn't in the mood to explain anything.

"What else did the doctor say?" Instead of answering him, Ashley looked away. He nudged her face toward him with his forefinger and lifted her chin. "Tell me."

"The doctor said he slips in and out of consciousness," she whispered. "He also has broken ribs, fractured limbs. The person who attacked him meant to kill him."

"Come here." He pulled her into his arms and tried to absorb the tremors surging through her body. So what if she knew about his weakness? They shared so much already.

It was a while before he leaned back and wiped a wayward tear on her cheek. Funny enough, having her in his arms, concentrating on easing her discomfort, calmed him down. "Okay, sweetheart. Let's keep Mrs. Kirkland company until her son gets here."

"No." She stepped out of his arms. "Go on home and rest. You need it." When he shook his head, she added, "Ron, Aunt Sonya is a very private person, and despite your help today, you're a stranger to her."

He understood what she was saying but knew it wasn't right. He needed to be here for her. He knew he was grasping for straws when he said, "What about the police? They'll want to talk to you."

She shrugged. "I can handle them on my own, Ron, and you know it. Quit coming up with excuses. Go home and get some sleep. Besides," she leaned closer to him to whisper, "Your grouchiness scares the nurses."

Ron caught the nurses' stares, shrugged and turned to Ashley. "Will you call me when the operation is over? You'll need a ride home."

She tilted her head and gave him a sweet smile. "Sure."

He studied her face and scowled. "You're not going to call, are you?"

"No. You need sleep, Ron, and I don't know how long Sonya is going to need me. But thanks for being here. We probably wouldn't have talked to the doctors this soon if it weren't for you." She reached up and kissed his cheek, then put more space between them. "At least Uncle Jerry gave me the doctor the description of the biker. That's the first thing I'll tell the cops when they get here."

It took him a full five seconds for what Ashley said to register. "Kirkland was being followed by a guy on a bike?"

"Yes." A frown chased across her brow. "Didn't I mention it before we left the house?"

"No, you didn't." Could he be the same man who'd followed him? "What did he say about the biker?"

"He said the man wore large aviator glasses and had a beard."

Sounded like the same person. But why would someone who'd been tailing him go after Kirkland? He must call Kenny's office and find out what they've learned. Kenny's people were supposed to be investigating the biker while the P.I. was out of town.

Ron took Ashley's hands in his and peered into her eyes. "Listen to me, babe. I want you to call me before you leave the hospital, okay?"

"I already told you, Ron, that's not necessary. I can get a ride."

His grip tightened. "This is important. I need to see Kenny's people about something, then you and I must talk." He was going on a hunch here, but he needed verification before discussing anything with her. "Promise me you won't leave the hospital without me." The urgency in his voice must have gotten through to her because she nodded.

"Good. I'll see you later." Ron pivoted on his heels then started for the door. After a few steps, he stopped and walked back to her. He tucked the wayward strands behind her ears, cupped her cheeks and gave her a brief, possessive kiss. "Later."

This time, he made it to the door without a backward glance. As soon as he reached the outside, he took a deep cleansing breath, then speed-dialed a number. "Kenny, Ron here."

"Hey, when are you getting back?" his friend answered grimly. "I have some news for you."

He could always count on ol' Kenny, but his tone indicated his news wasn't good. "I'm back, my friend, as of five o'clock this morning. Where are you?"

"My office. Got back a few hours ago."

"What do you have for me?"

"I didn't get a chance to talk to your mother's former lawyer. He's missing. The wife went to visit their daughter in Sandpoint, Idaho, a week ago. He was to drive there a few days later but didn't show. He's been gone a little over forty-eight hours. There's a search going on, and the local police have him listed as missing."

Ron shook his head. "You don't think he's merely lost, do you?"

"No. He grew up in northern Idaho, no reason for him to miss a turn and not find his way out."

"Let's hope nothing serious happened to him."

Kenny let out a snicker. "Yeah. Also, one of my men followed the biker to the underground parking garage of Valley Towers."

That was Kirkland's office building. A thought occurred to Ron. If he'd known about this before today, Kirkland would not be in the hospital fighting for his life. Just thinking about it left an acrid taste in his mouth.

"He appeared to be casing the place," Kenny added, cutting into Ron's thoughts.

"He was." He quickly explained about the attack on the lawyer.

"Damn. I hope he'll be okay." There was a pause, then, "After the biker left the Towers, my guy followed him to Sunset Marquis Hotel."

Ron scowled. His uncle always stayed at Sunset Marquis whenever he was in Los Angeles, and his last visit hadn't been different. Could his uncle have lied about the guy on the bike not working for him or sabotaging his investigation? His uncle was a cantankerous hard-ass, but could he hire a thug to physically harm people? Ron shook his head. After their last meeting, he was convinced the old man was capable of doing anything to prevent him from knowing the truth about his father.

"Did your man see the person the biker met at the hotel?" he asked the detective as a valet pulled up with his truck.

"No, but I'm about to leave my office to meet the person who might know that answer, a custodian at the hotel."

"Good." Ron tipped the guy and entered his truck. He wanted that information too, just in case the person the biker met turned out to be his uncle. "Do you mind if I tag along, man?"

"Not at all. As long as you understand that this is my show."

"Deal. I'll be in your office in ten minutes." Ron glanced at the hospital entrance one last time, then took off.
CHAPTER 10

"You're sure you don't need a ride?" Matt Kirkland asked Ashley one last time. They were standing in the hospital emergency room's parking lot, a few feet from his rented car.

Ashley nodded. "A friend of mine will be here shortly to pick me up." The way she saw it, poor Matt had his plate full—his father's unstable condition and his mother's emotional state—without acting as her chauffer too.

She jerked her chin toward the car, where his mother sat with her eyes closed. "Take her home, Matt. She needs to rest. But if you need help with anything, don't hesitate to call me, okay? I'd be glad to help."

A grateful smile touched Matt's mouth. "I don't know how to thank you, Ash. If you hadn't been there for her," he glanced at his mother with eyes full of pain, "or called the police when you did, the bastard would have killed him." He squinted, fighting tears. "He'll pull through this, you know," he blurted out. "Dad is a fighter."

Her throat closed as she too fought tears. Matt wasn't yet ready to face the reality of his father's condition. Despite their success in draining the blood on the surface of the brain, removing the clots and repairing the vessels, the surgeon was brutally honest about Uncle Jerry's prognosis. His other injuries were too extensive, and there was the age factor. The chances of a full recovery were slim.

"I'm sure he'll pull through this," Ashley murmured, not sure what else to say to ease his pain. She had known Matt most of her life and had even introduced him to his wife, Lorraine. At six-feet-two and three-hundred pounds, he was a bear of a man, but inside he was a softie, a real sweetheart. Losing his dad would devastate him.

Ashley tugged his sleeve to draw his attention. "Remember what I said, Matt. Call me if you need anything."

Matt rubbed his thick nape and nodded. "I have to fly back to San Diego on Monday, but Lorraine is coming tomorrow. She'll be able to keep an eye on Mother."

"That's wonderful." His wife was a registered nurse. "Tell her to call me when she gets in."

"I will." He glanced at his mother one last time. "I'd better take her home."

They hugged briefly, then Ashley watched the younger man lumber around the car to the driver's seat. She waved at them, waited until the car disappeared out of sight before she dialed Ron's number.

"Hey, it's me. Can you pick me up now?"

"Babe, I can't," Ron said jerkily. "Can you wait for, uh, thirty minutes...an hour tops?"

An hour? He was out of his mind. Why was he breathing heavily? "Ron, I've been up since five this morning. It's now," she glanced at her watch, "four o'clock in the afternoon. I'm tired and just want to go home."

"Sorry about this...can't be avoided. We are...," there was muted grunts and curses. "Can I call you back?"

Ashley scowled. "Where are you? What's going on?"

"Chasing a scumbag who refuses to talk to us—" The rest of his words were cut off by the loud barking of a dog.

"Ron, if you're too busy—"

This time, she was interrupted by what sounded like a shriek, followed by thuds and muffled curses. "Ron?" There was silence. "Are you there, Ron?" Silence again.

Her stomach dropped as panic slammed into her like a de-roofing windstorm. It was the telephone conversation with Kirkland all over. "Ron? Answer me, damn it!"

All she heard was the wild beating of her heart. Her knees threatened to cave under her, and her body shook with the force of her fear.

"Ron." Let him be okay. "Ron?"

"I'm here, babe," he said, breathing heavily. "We got him," he added with a triumphant chuckle.

"Good," Ashley said with relief even though she had no idea what was going on. Thank goodness, he was okay. "Sounds like you're busy. I can catch a taxi and meet you at my place later."

"No." His voice was firm. "Wait for me inside until I get there, Ashley. There're things we need to discuss."

She had needs too, like thoroughly analyzing what was happening to her. Why the thought of Ron getting hurt almost stopped her heart. "We can discuss them later. Right now I must—"

"Damn it, Ashley. There're things that you must be aware of before you step foot out of that hospital."

"Don't you dare swear at—"

"Yeah, yeah, fine," he cut in. "Just don't leave the hospital without me."

"Ronald Noble, if you interrupt me one more time," she warned, eyes narrowed. Of all the arrogant, impossible men she'd ever known, he took the cake. Her eyes widened as the realization hit her. Good Lord, she was falling in love with Ronald Noble. That was the scariest and dumbest thing she could ever possibly do. Ashley scowled. The heart, unfortunately, had no sense whatsoever.

"Sweetheart? Are you still there?" Concern laced his words.

A sigh escaped Ashley. He was also the only one who ever called her sweetheart and sounded like he meant it.

"I want to go home, Ron." She knew she was being unreasonable and childish, but it wasn't everyday she learned that she was falling for a man who had no chance in hell of ever returning it. "If you're not here in thirty minutes, I'm leaving."

"Of all the stubborn, misguided, hot-tempered—"

She closed her cell phone right in the middle of his tirade and threw it in her oversized bag. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip. How had she let this happen? She thumped her forehead with the heel of her hand and called herself every dumb name she could think of. Then a sound made her to look up.

A stretch limo rolled toward her, then pulled up at exactly the same spot Matt's car had occupied a few minutes earlier. She recognized the number plate right away. Vaughn "Ricks" Doyle was the last person she wanted to see right now. As if on cue, her cell phone rang.

Ashley fished the cell phone from her bag, saw that it was Ron's number, then pressed the button to switch off the ringer. She would call him back later. Her gaze shifted to Vaughn's driver as he stepped out of the limo. This one was older, taller and thinner than the one with Vaughn a few days ago, she noted. In his ears were diamond studs. A memory teased her mind and quickly disappeared. Then he looked up and their gaze connected.

_I know those eyes. Piercing. Gray. Lifeless._ The thought crossed her mind as air rushed from Ashley's lungs. Something cold settled in her gut, and her heartbeat took on an odd rhythm. She couldn't remember where she'd met the man before or explain the sudden urge to flee.

The driver smiled, and Ashley blinked in confusion. Something was wrong with his face. Maybe it was the artist in her, but the shadows and planes on either sides of his face were at odds with each other. A brief and uncertain smile crossed her lips. When the man walked stiffly to the back of the limo to open the door, she sighed with relief. A short-lived one because Vaughn stepped out, balloons and flowers in his hand.

"Ashley Fitzgerald," Vaughn said, flashing a grin. "What a surprise meeting you here."

"Yes, it is," she answered politely, then gave his balloons and flowers a fleeting glance. She could feel his driver's gaze on her, giving her the willies. The urge to flee intensified.

"Is someone ill?" The question was perfunctory. She didn't really care.

"A family friend." He passed the balloons and the flowers he was carrying to his driver then took her hand in his. His gaze ran over her casual attire then settled on her face. "What about you?"

"My uncle was in an accident." The intensity of his gaze made her uneasy. When he skimmed the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, she barely stopped herself from snatching her hand away.

"Oh, I've got the hankie you loaned me." She tugged her hand, forcing him to release it. Her cell phone vibrated as she reached inside her bag for the handkerchief. She didn't have to look at it to know it was Ron. She ignored it, unzipped a pouch and pulled out the washed and pressed handkerchief. She offered it to Vaughn. "Thanks for letting me borrow it."

Vaughn's gaze volleyed between the piece of cloth and her face. "You're angry with me."

_No, I just don't trust you._ A shiver ran down her spine as he moved closer and invaded her space. His cologne, strong and musky, clawed at her senses. For a brief moment, she could hardly breathe. If only she could blink and make him and his driver disappear. She took a step back and gave a brief laugh to cover her reaction.

"Why should I be? You were kind enough to stop and offer me help when you thought I needed it." When he accepted the piece of cloth, she smiled. "It was nice to see you again, Vaughn. Take care."

Ashley pivoted on her heels and started toward a bunch of trees to the left of the parking lot. She could feel Vaughn's eyes digging holes into her back. It wasn't easy to ignore his presence or his driver's. There was an aura of danger emanating from the two men, she just wasn't sure she could trust being in their company without showing her fear. It was funny how she hadn't felt threatened during their first meeting. Maybe the alarming hungry look in his eyes now had something to do with it, or maybe it was the driver's presence.

"Ashley, wait up."

_Run._ Would she look ridiculous if she did? Would it matter? Pride made her hesitate and stop.

"May I walk you to your car?" Vaughn asked when he reached her. "It'll give me a chance to explain this misunderstanding between us. I think you already know that my last name is Doyle."

_I don't care,_ she wanted to say. "Yes, I do."

He took her hand in his, again, looked over his shoulder as though making sure his driver was still there. The old man watched them with narrowed eyes. Vaughn turned his attention to Ashley.

"I wasn't trying to mislead you by using the name Ricks," he explained, his voice low. "Ricks is the name I used most of my life until my father decided to recognize me as his son and asked me to change it." He shrugged. "I'm not saying this so you can feel sorry for me. I just need to make you understand that I didn't set out to deceive you." He flashed a smile, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin under her wrist. "I still tend to think of myself as Vaughn Ricks, not Vaughn Doyle."

Smooth, but was that why he lied? Somehow, she couldn't see this over-confident and pampered young man as an unwanted son. And why couldn't he stop pawing her? She tried to ease her hand from his, but his hold firmed. Panic sliced through her.

_Quit acting like a ninny, Ashley. What could Vaughn possibly do to you in broad daylight?_ She glanced around from the corners of her eyes. His driver might be only a few feet away from them, but there were enough people around the parking lot to hear her if she yelled for help. Besides, she had taken enough self-defense classes to scratch and kick her way out of any situation.

Heart thundering despite her silent pep talk, her chin shot up. "Thanks for the explanation, Vaughn, but it wasn't necessary. I really must go."

His fingers briefly tightened around hers.

She tugged.

"I always insist on walking a lady to her car," he countered, his grip shifting to her elbow.

Annoyance coursed through her. She pulled her arm away from his hand and took a step back. "Then you're in luck today, Vaughn. I'm no lady."

For a brief moment, he appeared unsure of himself, looking very much like a child playing grownup. Ashley took the opportunity to add, "Besides, I didn't drive here. A friend dropped me off and he's coming to pick me up in a few minutes."

His lips tightened. "I won't be long in the hospital. I could give you a ride if you like, maybe stop somewhere for a cup of coffee."

Did she have to spell it out that she wasn't interested in going anywhere with him? She wanted him gone. "My friend and I are going somewhere special." She gave him an intimate smile as though divulging a secret, but unease filled her. "Thanks for the offer, though. See you around."

"How about dinner? You do eat."

Ashley sighed. She must say something to get rid of him. "That would be nice, just not tonight."

"Good." Then he totally caught her off guard when he leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "I'll be seeing you soon, Ashley. Take care."

Ashley nodded, pivoted on her heel and hurried away. She itched to reach up and wipe the feel of his lips off her cheek, but she knew Vaughn and his driver were watching her. When her phone vibrated, she opened it with the eagerness of a puppy wanting a treat.

"Ron, when did you say you'd get here?" she asked.

"You hung up on me," he said in an annoyed voice.

"Sorry about that. Didn't mean to. Just tell me when to expect you."

"That's why I was calling. I'm helping out Kenny and won't be able to make it for a while, but I promise to explain everything when we meet. Did Matt make it from San Diego?"

"Yes. Why?" She peeked over her shoulder, saw that the limo was still there. Vaughn was gone, but the creepy driver had his gaze on her. She hurried around the building.

"Can he drop you home?"

"Uh-hmm, sure." She noticed that she was at another entrance. "I'll see you later, then?"

"Definitely. Sorry I couldn't make it."

"That's okay." As soon as she hung up, she vigorously wiped her cheek where Vaughn had kissed her. She'd probably have to scour her face to get rid of his touch. Grimacing, she called for a taxi, gave her location then settled under a nearby tree to wait.

It was a good thing she always carried a drawing pad and pencils in her bag. Within minutes, she pulled out the pad and was busy sketching. From the inner recess of her mind, an image emerged. Her hand flew all over the paper, translating it. An outline of man's face became apparent. She added details. She didn't have to close her eyes to recall the cold, glassy eyes, the thick eyebrows, the jagged scar that ran from the left eyebrow to the left earlobe. Ashley stopped and leaned back to study her handiwork. A shiver raked her body.

"Who are you?" she whispered. How could she recall every detail of the face and yet not remember where she'd seen it?

Scowling, she flipped over the page, secured it with her fingers then started another sketch. In less than a minute, she had a rough drawing of Vaughn's driver. She compared the two pictures and gasped. Either her brain had a loose connection or Vaughn's driver was from her forgotten past. She reached for the cell phone and dialed Dr. Vogel's number. The psychologist would want to see this.

"Ma'am?"

Ashley gave a loud screech and jerked up. Her gaze connected with those of the man looming over her.

***

Ron didn't arrive at Ashley's until seven-thirty in the evening. He was parking his car when he noticed the squad cars at the entrance to her building. Nothing to be concerned about, was his first thought. But then he saw two officers talking to the security guard and ice crept down his spine.

"What's going on, Jeffrey?" he asked when he was a few feet away from them.

The guard looked up and said, "Ah, Mr. Noble," with obvious relief. "These officers just left Ms. Fitzgerald's apartment."

His heart stopped, then picked up an uneven tempo. "Why?" His gaze bounced between the two officers and Jeffrey. "What happened? Is she okay?"

Jeffrey nodded. "Yes, but she called 911 because a man wanted by the police had followed her home."

Ron felt the ground shift under him. "What man? Where is she?"

"Upstairs, but these officers—"

Ron didn't wait for Jeffrey to finish explaining. He ran toward the stairs, his thoughts racing from one scenario to another. Was it the biker? Had he tried to hurt her? How could he have been so stupid and careless? The need to know the identity of the person the biker met at Sunset Marquis Hotel had been foremost in his mind, but he still shouldn't have left Ashley at the hospital alone.

By the time Ron reached the sixth floor, he was sweating and hyperventilating, and it wasn't from climbing the stairs. Fear turned his stomach into ice, locked his chest tight until it was hard to breath. He gave himself a moment to calm himself, control his breathing and wipe his brow before pressing Ashley's doorbell.

When the door opened, it was by a tall man with the hard look of a cop. Ron ignored him, his gaze hungrily seeking Ashley, who was hovering in the background until she saw him. She had traded her sweatpants and T-shirt for a simple fuchsia dress, which brought out the richness of her hair, he noted as she hurried to the door. But her eyes looked tired, her smile strained. Still, the sight of her, her sweet smile, sent relief surging through him.

"Hey," he managed in a calm voice that belied the wild beating of his heart. The cop shifted and blocked his line of vision, causing Ron to turn his gaze to him. They were about the same height and size.

"Who're you?" the man asked in a hard voice.

"Ron...a friend," Ashley answered before he could, then her eyes rounded when she saw Ron's jaw. "What happened to you? Let him through, Eddie."

Eddie didn't move. "Does Ron come with a last name?" The question was directed at no one, though his cold gaze stayed locked on Ron.

"Noble," Ron answered this time. On a different day, he would have been insulted by the officer's vigilance, now he appreciated it. "And you are?"

"Eddie Fitzgerald, L.A.P.D."

"My cousin," Ashley clarified. She nudged her cousin until he stepped forward. "He's a friend, Eddie, so stop trying to intimidate him. I'll call if anything else comes up, just like I promised."

"You do that." Eddie's gaze finally shifted to Ashley. "Be careful, Ash."

"Scout's honor."

Eddie smiled, then nodded briefly at Ron and disappeared down the hallway. Ashley closed the door and leaned against it with a deep sigh.

Ron pressed the heel of his hand somewhere above her head and studied her face. "What happened?"

She flashed a self-conscious grin. "I thought the biker who hurt Uncle Jerry had followed me home. Weird, huh?"

Only the slight tightened of his hand indicated he didn't like what he heard. "No, it isn't. What did he do?"

"Just followed me to and from Dr. Reuben's office, parked across the street when I left the cab, then disappeared by the time I reached security desk. I called the police anyway." She reached up and gently touched his jaw. "What happened to you?" she asked gently.

"I ran into a steel-plated door." The feel of her cool fingers against his heated skin was heavenly, caused him to briefly forget why he'd raced up six flights of stairs like a man possessed. He took her hand in his, kissed her palm and closed the kiss in. He didn't let her hand go though. Silly as it might sound, he felt much better now that they were alone. "You went to see the shrink? Why?"

"I needed to discuss something with her." She tugged at his hand. "Come with me. You must put something on that bruise." She led him into the room.

"My face will be fine." But he still allowed her to lead him to a chair by the table, where she had put her cameras earlier. He rather liked the way she was fussing over his minor bruises, even the feel of her smaller hand curled around his, to be honest. "What did the police say?"

She gave him a wry smile. "They didn't take me seriously until I called my cousin. Although I must admit, I might have sounded a little deranged yelling at them the way I did. I was pretty spooked." Ashley looked down at their joined hands and tried to wiggle hers free. "Easy on the fingers, please. They've had their share of abuse today."

"What?" Ron realized that he was holding onto her too tightly. "Oh, sorry."

"Sit," she ordered. Then she studied his face. "Must have been a very big door you crashed into."

"Yeah, weighed nearly three-hundred pounds," he added, knowing he hadn't fooled her.

"Bet he had two legs and arms too," she said teasingly, then went to get an ice pack from the freezer.

"And a mean left hook." His gaze stayed on her as she wrapped the ice pack with a dishcloth, then walked back to him to press it against his jaw. He moved his arms from the table top and palmed her waist.

How had they moved from talking about her to him? Not that he minded. In fact, there were many things about Ashley Fitzgerald that pleased him immensely. Her breasts were directly in front of his face. Her scent, feminine and bewitching, assaulted his senses. He wanted to bury his face in her chest and feast on her, pull her onto his lap and make her forget the last couple of hours.

As though aware of his amorous thoughts, Ashley cut him a glance from the cover of her lashes, a slow smile settling on her lips. She transferred his hand from her waist to the ice pack "Hold it in place. I'll get the first-aid kit."

Ron watched her as she glided to the downstairs bathroom. He took a deep breath, then smiled. The little witch knew exactly what she was doing to him.

"What did the cops say?" he asked loud enough to reach her.

"They wanted to know if I had enemies, maybe an ex-boyfriend who'd want to hurt me," she answered from the bathroom, then left the room with a red and white first-aid box. "I don't. Even after I told them I didn't know the biker, they kept hinting at a possible connection between the biker, Uncle Jerry and me. I told them about Uncle Jerry's cell phone. Officer Rudolf told me when we spoke at the hospital that they couldn't find it. Chances are the biker took it when he saw that Uncle Jerry was using it at the time of the attack. I told them that might explain why he came after me." She pressed ointment on her finger, then spread it on his cut before adding a bandage. "He probably thought I heard something that could finger him. The officers didn't buy it."

Ashley leaned against the table and nodded approvingly at her handiwork. "Much better. Anyway, they thoroughly ticked me off, so I told them to get out of my home. Then I called Eddie. Eddie tends to make things happen. I didn't imagine that man, Ron," she added. "He had a beard and wore aviator goggles, just as Uncle Jerry had described."

Ron nodded. "I believe you."

"Thank you."

"Any time. Now, I want you to listen to me." He held her hands, and locked her gaze with his. "The same biker trailed me, too."

Her eyes widened. "When?"

"Two days ago. At first, I thought he was one of my uncle's men." She blinked in confusion. "I got in a few tight spots during my rebellious years and needed my uncle to bail me out. He had me under surveillance after that. When I saw a biker on my tail, I naturally assumed Uncle Gregory was up to his old tricks."

Silence stretched after his words. Her eyes, big and apprehensive, studied him. "You're sure he's not one of your uncle's men?"

"Yeah. I spoke with my uncle and he confirmed it. I also contacted Kenny when I first saw the biker. His man followed the biker to Valley Towers."

"Uncle Jerry's building?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He kissed her knuckles. "I just found out that bit of info from Kenny. He had no idea your uncle's office was there or reason to suspect the biker was casing the place." But that didn't make his guilt any less. If he'd talked to Kenny or his people before today, he would have made the connection and warned her uncle. He pushed the feeling aside, focused on their discussion. "Later, the biker went to Sunset Marquis Hotel. I wanted to know the identity of the person he met there, so I went with Kenny to see a man about it. When you called, we were trying to, uh, convince him to talk to us."

He scowled. What a waste of effort that turned out to be. "When we finally spoke with him, the info he gave us was very sketchy. I don't understand Spanish and Kenny's pretty basic, so maybe something was lost in the translation, but the gist of it is the biker's contact at the hotel was an old man with a limp and evil eyes—whatever that means. He paid for the room in cash and stayed only for three days despite paying for five." He'd been so relieved his uncle wasn't behind the attack on Kirkland. "We're dealing with a meticulous man, one smart enough not to leave a paper trail."

Ashley pursed her lips in thought. "But why come after us and Uncle Jerry?" Then her eyes narrowed. "Could this have anything to do with your investigation?"

Smart woman. "I think so. Kenny found out that Hogan is missing." Her eyes widened as he explained.

"You were right, Ron. Something happened that night and someone wants it buried."

"While another—the sender of those letters—wants it out." Knowing the identity of one of them might give him an edge, and that was where Ashley and what she saw that night came in.

Ashley reached out to stroke the bandage on his jaw, but she had a faraway look in her eyes. "Do you think Ryan Doyle could be doing this, Ron? You know, bringing up the unpleasant past so your mother can sell him Carlyle House instead of me?"

Doyle was ruthless, but was he the type to play games? "I can't see him clipping words from a newspaper to make a list of names, but putting fear of God in people is definitely up his alley. I'll run your theory by Kenny and see what he thinks."

Talking about Ryan reminded Ron of his father and the rumors about the fire at Carlyle House, something he didn't want to think about now. Or share with Ashley, the nagging voice in the back of his head added. He had an agenda, and it didn't include Ashley kicking him out because she didn't like the reason behind his investigation. He planned to explain everything to her in due course, when the time was right, preferably after she knew him better. She should be able to understand his reasoning. It was time to change the subject.

"So? Where was Matt Kirkland while you were visiting the shrink and being tailed by the biker?"

"Taking care of his mother...poor Sonya." She quickly explained Jeremy Kirkland's condition. "I took a taxi home."

"So you lied when you told me Matt would give you a ride."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't start with me, Mr. I-bumped-into-a-door."

He grinned. One thing he loved about her was the way she wasn't afraid to put him in his place. Love? Whoa, where did that come from? What they had was a bond forged by a ten-year-old terrible accident and strong physical attraction.

His gaze dropped to her lips. "Have you eaten, babe?"

"No, I just got home. Didn't have much to eat but vending machine snacks and...." She stopped and grinned, as though she'd read his thoughts. "Are you starved?"

"For weeks now,' he answered.

"What did you have in mind? Chinese? Italian?"

Ron chuckled, lifted her up to set her on the table, then slipped between her legs. He cupped her cheeks, leaned forward to nibble her lips. "Irish," he whispered. Then he moved to her ear and took a tiny, sensual bite. "A side order of an artist." His hands cupped her bottom and pulled her until she was flush against him. She felt good, warm, soft yet firm. "A main course of a delicious mural painter with double scoop of decadent," his gaze dropped to her cleavage, "strawberry dessert."

She giggled, wrapped her arms around his neck, and whispered, "Hmm, I think I'm going to thoroughly enjoy this meal." Then she locked her lips with his.
CHAPTER 11

Ron allowed her be the aggressor for about five seconds. Then he took charge of her mouth, her senses, every breath she took. Vibrant, strong, bending her backward and not hiding his needs, his kiss drew out every yearning buried deep in her heart. Breathing became difficult. But then again, who needed oxygen.

Blood roaring in her ears, warmth unfurling in her belly, Ashley let her palate savor his taste, a mixture of mint and coffee. Her mouth danced and mated with his, her body welcomed the smoldering heat they were generating. It was their first kiss all over again. The falling apart feeling, the helplessness and the need so great she felt like screaming.

When he finally moved from her lips to the side of her face, she took in achy breaths. The sharp clean smell of his musky aftershave slammed into her, further weakening her. She pressed closer, needing his strength.

"Ron? I feel...I'm uh...."

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest, pulsing through her. "I feel it too, baby," he whispered against her sensitized skin.

His hand moved to her hair tumbling down her back. He gripped the strands, tugged her head back and trailed his hot lips along the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. Ashley's arms dropped from his neck to brace herself against the table top, but his arm cradled her, pulled her closer.

His clever hands were gentle yet firm, his body hard and hot. She squirmed, wanting to get closer, to feel his skin against hers. She fisted his T-shirt and yanked it from his pants. She moved lower, found the area where the shirt ended and skin began, skimmed over smooth, velvet skin draped over lean muscles. A groaned escaped him, then he went still.

_Please don't stop now. I don't think I can stand it._ Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, then narrowed with confusion. Did she do something wrong? "Ron?"

"Take it off." His gaze, hot and fierce, drifted to the buttons in front of her dress, then connected with hers again. His fingers continued to stroke her arms, but something devilish danced in the depth of his black eyes. "Slowly, Ashley. One button at a time."

What did he want from her? Total surrender? That was something she'd never contemplate doing with any other man. Ever since their telephone conversation, when she acknowledged her growing feelings for him, she thought of nothing else but making love with him, surrendering to their passion. A hot, no-strings-attached, fun affair was what she intended to have with this man. When it was over, and there was no doubt it would be, she wasn't going to have one iota of regret.

She licked her lips. "Why don't you do it your...?"

He cut off her protest with a marauding kiss until she was clinging to him, gasping and panting. "I want you to offer yourself to me," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "Freely."

His words, something in the timbre of his voice, told her the request was important to him. Her desire to please kicked in. She exhaled through parted lips and gazed at him from under the canopy of her lashes, as she slowly undid a button, then another and another. The buttons went all the way to the middle of her thighs, but she had no intention of going that far. Just to her belly button. She was experienced enough to know how to tantalize a man.

As more skin came into view, his breathing quickened. Good thing she had deliberately not worn a bra. Her fingers skimmed lazily over her exposed neck, chest, followed the lapel of her dress to the swells of her breasts. She paused, then nudged the dress apart so her breasts spilled out. A four-letter word escaped Ron's lips. The savagery in his tone sent excitement pulsing through her body.

"God, you're beautiful." His voice was low and ragged. He cupped the undersides of her breasts and buried his face in her chest.

His hot, seeking mouth and questing hands were everywhere. Her nipples pebbled before he could touch them, begging for attention. When he took them between his thumb and forefinger and gently teased them, her body jerked and shuddered. His mouth replaced his fingers and she buckled, her senses throbbing, liquid heat heading straight between her legs. For a while, she did nothing but hang on to him.

One of his hands followed the curves of her body and landed on her knee. Her thighs trembled with anticipation. He pushed the dress up, stroked her inner thigh and murmured, "Silk, so soft," and inched higher. His eyes, bottomless pools of desire and wickedness, sought hers. "Open up, sweetheart," he ordered roughly. "I want to touch you, feel you."

Ashley released a shaky breath. At this rate, he was going to push her over the edge in no time. Her fingers dug into his flesh. Not to stop him. She wouldn't dare. Her legs spread, willingly accommodating him.

He pushed the soaking lace of the G-string panties out of the way and touched her. Instinctively, Ashley closed her quivering thighs around his hand. Growling an unintelligible command under his breath, he grabbed the back of one knee, pushed her leg up until her heel rested on the table. Before she could protest, he was cupping her, stroking her, sliding a finger inside her.

"Ron?" she gasped.

"Let me please you," he mumbled, then his mouth claimed hers, urgently, possessively.

Her inhibitions dissipated. Ashley writhed and rocked against his hand. Every single muscle and bone in her body was in tune with the movement of his fingers. The exquisite double assault on her senses—his tongue in her mouth, his fingers in her lower lips, stroking, teasing, giving—were too much. Vibrant colors exploded behind her close eyes and a sob rose from deep inside her as her body fell apart.

His mouth swallowed her sob, his tongue stroking her inner cheeks. His fingers eased out of her, gripped her panties and yanked. The flimsy material ripped.

"Ron," she protested weakly.

"Never liked my presents wrapped," was his growled excuse.

Her leg slipped from the table top as she bunched his T-shirt and tried to peel it off his body. "Take it off," she whispered, repeating his earlier words.

He gave a brief laugh and helped her with the shirt then pushed down his pants and underwear and bared himself to her.

Ashley blinked, tried not to stare, but she couldn't pull her gaze away from his magnificent form. He was thick, long, hard...perfect. A strange wildness rose inside of her. She reached out, sheathed him with her hand and squeezed.

"Yes," Ron gasped out with pleasure, tremors raking his powerful frame. "Harder."

She became bolder, stroked him, loving the warm, hard length of him. She wondered what he would taste like. To feel his long, thick length in her mouth. It would be a major accomplishment to make him writhe under her teasing mouth. Maybe later. Not maybe, definitely later.

She scooted her bottom forward, leaned back and rested her heel on the table top, where he'd placed it earlier, and offered herself to him. Openly and freely, just as he'd asked.

For a moment, he stared at her, right there between her legs, and licked his lips. "Ooh, beautiful." He pulled his wallet from the pocket of his pants and yanked out a condom. He ripped it open and sheathed himself. Kissing her deeply and hard, his hands reached around her to grab her buttocks. He locked her gaze with his, then thrust inside of her. She gasped at the exquisite intrusion, grabbing his arms for support. A rough groan escaped his lip.

He filled her so perfectly tears gathered in her eyes. It felt right too. He started to rock inside her, slowly, lazily. Pulling and plunging to the hilt. Her hips rose, found his rhythm and matched it. The more he gave, the more she wanted and gave. She pressed her face on his chest, inhaled his musky scent and savored the salty taste on his skin. Her hands stroked his sweaty back, shoulders. When that wasn't enough, she dug her nails in his muscles, clawed at him and urged him on.

His movements became more urgent, deeper and rougher. The sensation, exquisite and overwhelming, slammed into her, drove her a little crazy. She sunk her teeth on his shoulder. Bore down hard enough that he let out a guttural cry.

He became frantic, bracing her legs against his shoulders and forcing her to lean back and prop her body with her elbows against the table. Almost folding her completely in on herself, he made love to her as if possessed. A man in need of a fix. It was wild, exhilarating. The crest, when it hit, swept her away and elicited another wail from deep inside her. Her nether muscles contracted around him, and his triumphant yell joined hers.

***

Blood ceased to roar in his ears and his trembling body returned to something resembling normal, but Ron still didn't want to move. Couldn't move. His gut ached and his legs were barely holding him up.

He turned his head to study Ashley's face—her eyes closed, lashes black against her rosy skin, lips soft and swollen. Her trembling body, lush, delicate, curved perfectly and naturally against his. A feeling he could only identify as panic sliced through him. He didn't try to dwell on it, but knew it had to do with the way she'd made him lose himself. So soon, so explosive, so exquisite. He'd known sex would be different with her, but this...this couldn't compare to anything he'd ever experienced.

He gave the bite mark on his shoulder a brief glance and grinned. Feisty little thing she was, a perfect match for him. The smile disappeared from his lips. He, on the other hand, was the uncouth maniac. So turned on he hadn't bothered to wait for them to get totally undressed before pounding into her.

Her luscious breasts were still spilling over her partially unbuttoned dress, the nipples tight and rosy. Like tiny strawberries. Her panties were ruined, his pants still trapped around his ankles. He'd behaved like an adolescent at his first sexual encounter. No wonder she didn't want to open her eyes and look at him.

He kissed her closed eyelids, moved along her cheek until he reached her mouth. She opened up and let him in. So giving, just like a few minutes ago. He deepened the kiss, desire pulsating through him, his body needing hers again.

He eased off the kiss. "Sweetheart," he whispered. "You'll eventually have to open your eyes and look at me."

She didn't say anything, just sighed. Ron scowled. He never had to question the way he handled a woman during sex, yet the way she was clamming up on him was disconcerting. Had he been too rough with her? He didn't think so. They'd both craved it, needed it fast and furious. The marks on his back were proof enough.

"Ashley, look at me," he meant to order her, but it came out sounding more like a plea.

A smile touched her lips, then her eyes opened. She reached up and touched his cheek, his lips, moved lower to press against his heart. "Hey," she sighed.

The look in her eyes, the gentle caress darn near did him in. For a brief moment, he was seventeen again, vulnerable, searching for love and acceptance. "Hey to you too. Are you okay? You're awfully quiet."

"Just thinking."

He studied her expression; saw that she was avoiding eye contact. He was never the one to initiate conversation after lovemaking. Never stuck around long enough for it to be an issue, but with Ashley, it bothered him that he couldn't tell what was going on in her head.

"About?" he asked.

She kissed his shoulder. "Hurting you. I didn't mean to."

Something shifted inside him. He studied her face. Her hazel eyes, dilated, gazed back at him, her lower lip swollen from their kisses. There was so much love here, so much tenderness. The thought sent an urgent craving through his heart.

"Don't apologize. I'll wear it with pride." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Want to see more?"

She reached out and stroked his chin, around his mouth, then ran a finger across his mouth. "Quit teasing."

He kissed her finger. "I think every bruise on my body deserves a kiss, but first...." He eased off her, toed off his shoes and socks and stepped out of his pants and underwear. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms went about his shoulders for support, as he scooped his wallet and lifted her off the table. He walked with her to the leather lounge, just like they had earlier, and sat down, her legs straddling his hips. "We'll start with you."

She drew in a great breath of air, her eyes widening. "Me?"

"Oh, yes." He intended to love her slowly, pay more attention to her beautiful breasts, taste every inch of her. He peeled her dress off her body and paused to scowl at the red lace that was once her panties. "I think I was a little rough earlier."

She glanced down then flashed a grin. "That's debatable."

Her quirky humor pleased him. He cupped the undersides of her breasts and flicked his thumbs over the nipples. "Sorry about that. I'll buy you dozens," he shot her a hooded look, "but I can't promise not to rip them off you."

She grinned. "You don't see me complaining, do you?"

He laughed. "I like you, Ashley Fitzgerald." She made him laugh, drove him crazy as hell with her stubbornness, and had somehow stormed past his defenses and touched him like no other woman had. He didn't know if he was falling in love with her, just knew she was special.

He nudged her back until she was lying back on the lounge, his body nestled between her legs. He shifted his weight to one elbow, then studied her lush body. She had the kind of curves a man could feast on for hours, days. He ran a finger down her side. "You have a beautiful body."

"You too." She ran her palm along the tattoo on his upper arm, his shoulder, came down his chest and continued lower.

"Uh-ah, you don't want do that," he warned.

"What am I supposed to do with my hands?"

"Nothing. Or better yet, hold on to my head while I lick your satiny skin, feast on your juices and make you come, over and over." He wanted her to forget her name, wail his.

"Oh," was all she said.

He bent his head and gave her a slow kiss. Then his mouth wandered down to close around a pebbled nipple. She arched her back and hummed under her breath as he suckled it. "You taste so good."

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her body quivered, her hands skimmed over his broad shoulders, then through his hair. She gripped his head, offered him her other nipple. He took his time, poured all his desires, feelings and experience into pleasing her.

When he drifted lower to her quivering belly, her scent, feminine and heady, slammed into him. He savored her lush curves, succulent skin. It was killing him not to claim her again, but he held on, determined to prolong the foreplay. By the time he inched his way up her inner thighs, she was chanting his name.

She gave out a cry of pleasure when his mouth finally locked on the moist center between her thighs. Her body rose off the lounge to meet him. The taste of her, the perfection of her silken flesh nearly drove him out of his mind. When she buckled, writhed and screamed her way to a shuddering climax, he didn't stop licking and lapping, giving her more.

He couldn't control his fervor as he shifted and nudged his rigid flesh in her soft, moist flesh. She pulled him closer, eager to accommodate him. Their lips locked as he rode her waves, faster and faster until agonized pleasure sucked his trembling body into oblivion.

Not wanting to crush her, he shifted his weight until he was laying on the lounge. He tucked her on his chest. Her eyes were closed, and her damp hair lay across her cheek. He brushed it out of the way, then closed his eyes. He had some thinking to do.

It was a little while later when he kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear, "I'm starving, sweetheart."

"Not again," she said with a smothered giggle. Then his stomach chose that moment to growl. "Oh, real food."

He chuckled. "And I thought I was the one with a one track mind."

"You have that effect on me." She lifted her head, propped her chin on his chest and glanced toward the kitchen area. "Second drawer on the left side of the stove has menus of several nearby restaurants. Take your pick. I have them on speed dial on my phone."

He ran his knuckles along her arm. "I take it you live on take-outs."

"Someone has to keep the restaurants in business."

He laughed, pushed the loose strands around her face out of the way and landed a gentle kiss on her lips. "You're priceless."

He eased from under her, got up and walked to the kitchen area. He could feel her gaze on him. "What are you in a mood for?"

"Anything."

He found the menus and decided on an Italian restaurant. He was reading off a list of entrées when he turned his head and glanced toward Ashley. She was lying on her tummy, a pillow on her buttocks and her eyes on him. He winked at her, took both the menu and the phone, and walked back to the lounge.

"You're very comfortable walking around," she jutted a finger his way, "like that."

He pulled the pillow off her. "So should you be, my modest artist." He lifted the pillow away from her stretched hand and handed her the phone instead. "I'll let you order for us while I nibble on my appetizer."

She gave him a baffled look, but still took the phone and the menu. While she ordered, he settled between her legs on the lounge and studied her body. He'd bedded his share of women, but none ever held such fascination to him. He cupped her buttock cheek and squeezed.

She placed the phone down and threw him a glance over her shoulder. "Food's on its way. You want to shower with me?"

"No, I want you to come with me, again. I've wanted to do this ever since I met you." He leaned down and took a bite of her ass, hard enough to get a gasp out of her. Then he licked and soothed the spot he'd just bitten, enjoying the way her buttock muscles clenched. "Hmm, I love padding on a woman." He cupped her hips. "Get on your knees, babe."

She giggled. "Ron, give me a moment to catch my breath."

"Save that for when you're sleeping. I've barely begun." He ran his hand along her inner thigh, felt her muscles tremble with anticipation. Her skin was smooth, her limbs supple. "Open up sweetheart and let me make you feel good."

"You're insatiable."

"And you're a match for me in every way." She lifted her hip off the lounge so that her bare behind was sticking up in the air. He caressed it, studying her, loving the provocative and inviting pose. She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes vulnerable and uncertain.

"You're beautiful. Sexy." His hand ran up her thigh to find her silken heat from behind, slipped a finger tenderly inside her. "You have no idea how I've fantasized about this, driving you crazy from behind."

Another finger joined the first one as his other hand slid across her belly to caress her nipples. She vibrated and rocked against his hand, her back arching just as her muscles pulsated around his finger and a sob of helpless pleasure escaped her lips.

Ron knew he was pushing her hard, but this ravenous appetite for her body was beyond his comprehension. It was new, surprising and a little discerning. "I want more, Ashley."

She nodded and dipped lower, inviting him to indulge himself. Her sweet acceptance made him harder than a rock. He'd wanted her surrender to him, to their passion, yet it was he who was seduced by her giving nature. The more she gave, the more he wanted from her. This woman he'd only known for a short time but was quickly becoming more important than the air he breathed. Watching her fall apart under his hands did something to his insides.

He smoothed on a condom, entered her slick opening slowly, savoring the feel of her. She swayed back to meet him, welcoming his invasion. He fought the sensations surging through his body and took his time, went for slow, rocking thrusts. "How does that feel?"

"Good."

He wasn't satisfied with her answer. "Tell me how you like it, baby."

"Faster...harder," she gasped.

He increased tempo. With each gliding thrust, a groan of pleasure escaped him. She was so snug, fitted him perfectly. Her hand sneaked around to grip his buttock cheek. His control snapped, his thrust becoming faster, harder and deeper. The sensual rhythm drove her over the edge, and he shouted hoarsely as the storm of sensations catapulted him into nothingness.

Ashley flopped on the lounge and he followed, shifting his weight off her and rolling to the side.

***

"Food's here," Ashley called out when the doorbell rang an hour later. She was already dressed. Ron, on the other hand, had stayed behind in the shower to catch his breath.

Ron stepped out of her bathroom, a towel around his waist. "You're a wicked woman, Ashley Fitzgerald."

"You loved every moment of it." So had she. It had been fun to watch him lose control, tear down his barriers and have him helpless and quivering in her arms, just like he did to her every time they made love. "I'll get the food." She ran down the stairs, grabbed her handbag and hurried to the door.

If she had used the peephole before opening the door, she might have been prepared. As it was, she yanked the door open, saw the face of the delivery boy and froze. Was she becoming paranoid after what happened earlier, and were men with beards starting to look alike?

"Ms. Ashley Fitzgerald?" the bearded deliveryman asked, smiling.

Despite the bags with La Trattoria logo, the man looked too old to be a food delivery boy. He had a tan that owed much to the sun and not natural pigmentation. His hair was curly, a shade of brown that was hard to describe, his eyes pale blue and his features not particularly striking. He had a face one could see in a crowd and never remember.

"Ma'am? Did you order food from La Trattoria?" he asked.

"Where's Nguyen?" Ashley blurted at the same time, a little uneasy by the intent way he stared at her.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The young man who usually delivers my food...Nguyen, where's he?"

"Oh. He was out when your order came in. You are Ms. Ashley Fitzgerald, right?"

"That's right." She pulled out her wallet, looked up and caught him peering into her house. She shifted and blocked his gaze. "Ron, the food's here," she yelled over her shoulder, just in case the man thought she was home alone. She gave him a beatific smile. "How much do I owe you?"

"Fifty-two dollars and sixty cents."

"You guys must be busy tonight." She wrote a check that included the tip. "The delivery time from your restaurant is usually thirty minutes."

The man shrugged, his eyes darting toward the elevator as though he was in a hurry to leave. "It's very crowded. There's a conference going on around here, and the place has been packed these past few nights. Thank you," he added when she gave him the check, then he turned and walked away.

On an impulse Ashley asked, "What's your name?" When he paused to glance at her with a frown, she added, "I like to use people's names when I address them."

"Lester Dunn." A strange look she couldn't identify crossed his face, but he ducked his head before she could decipher it. "Excuse me, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, Lester. See you next time."

The man hurried away, not bothering to look back. Ashley stared after him, unease knitting her insides. If only she'd seen the facial features of the biker who'd followed her home earlier. Putting a face to evil was better than staying in the dark. And the deliveryman was a little too skittish and nosey for her liking.

She was closing the door when a shirtless Ron appeared beside her. "There was something really weird about that deliveryman."

"In what way?" Ron took the bags of food from her hands and followed her to the kitchen

"I caught him peering inside my loft, then as soon as I mentioned your name, he couldn't wait to hightail out of here." She lifted the phone and speed-dialed the restaurant's number. "Call me paranoid, but I've got to confirm he's really an employee of La Trattoria. Lester had a full beard like the biker and was a little too old to be a deliver...what is it?" Ron had frozen halfway through her explanation.

"Lester? Did you say Lester?"

"Yes. Lester Dunn." She pressed the off button, terminating the call without speaking. "What? Who's he?"

His expression tight, he studied her. "He didn't do or say anything threatening to you, did he?"

Ron's reaction was beginning to scare her. "Like I said, I caught him peering inside my house. What's going on, Ron? Who's Lester Dunn?"

"A name on a list." He pulled out his cell phone and punched buttons, his jaw set. "Remember the letters on my windscreen; Lester Dunn was on the second list." His attention shifted to the person on the other side of the line. "Kenny, I found Lester Dunn. Yes. He pretended to be a delivery boy from a nearby restaurant. Can you believe that crap? He was so damn cocky he actually gave Ashley his real name." He listened for a few seconds, then said, "How soon as can you get here? You bet I want a clean sweep of the place. No, we didn't order online. Used the phone. Okay, see you." He terminated the call. "I need to have a talk with the guard downstairs."

She blocked his path. "Not so fast. What was that about?"

"Kenny's firm deals with technical surveillance counter measures, debugging places. Whatever Dunn planted in here, a full TSCM sweep will find it."

Surely, she must have misunderstood him. "Debugging? As in removing listening devices? Why would you think—?"

"It's the only way Dunn would have known about our order," he interrupted impatiently. "He had to be listening."

Ashley opened her mouth to protest, but the words got lost in her throat. The thought that someone had snuck inside her home left her reeling with shock. "How? The guards don't let anyone waltz up here without permission."

"Oh yeah? Dunn just delivered our food. The guard didn't stop or question him." His tone was hard, his expression furious.

"Quit yelling at me, Ron."

"Who's to say he hadn't delivered something else before to someone else in the building and slipped in here?" he continued as though she hadn't spoken

"If he did, I'm not the one who let him in. Okay? And enough with that tone."

"I'm not yelling." He lowered his tone but still sounded annoyed. "You approved food deliveries by what's-his-name when no one should come upstairs without your authorization."

"Oh yeah? You did."

"That's different."

"Yeah sure. Different rules for you. Why am I not surprised?" She saw the worry etched on his face and checked the bitch inside her. Yes, things were spiraling out of control, but she shouldn't take out her frustrations on Ron. "Okay, Ron. I understand where you're coming from with this. No one comes upstairs without my say so from now on."

He nodded. "Good. I'm going to talk to the guards downstairs. I'll be back shortly."

As he walked away, he brought his cell phone to his ear and say, "Mom, we need to talk."

Ashley locked the door behind him, checked all her windows to make sure they were secure and put her alarm system to "at home" mode. Then she started to search for listening devices. To be honest, she had no idea what she was looking for. Still she got a screwdriver and opened her phones, checked behind her T.V., every nook and cranny someone could hide something in. There was nothing.

Had that creep really slipped inside her loft and bugged it? The idea gave her the willies. It made her feel exposed and vulnerable, invaded. Had he listened to the conversations she'd had around the house and over the phone in the last several weeks? Listened to their lovemaking earlier? No, she was jumping ahead of herself. There was probably nothing, just Ron being overly cautious. But what if he wasn't?

She shifted gears and starting thinking about someone other than herself, the people who were at Carlyle House the night of the fire. With Kirkland in the hospital and Hogan missing, that left Ron's mother. Ron's mother could be in danger and must be warned. She hoped Ron talked to her and...oh, Lord, she was forgetting Nguyen. If Dunn was really that no-good scumbag biker, the deliveryman might be lying somewhere injured and needing help.

Ashley fished out her cell phone from her bag and dialed the restaurant.

"Your friend called us a few minutes ago, Ms. Fitzgerald," the manager told her. "Mr. Ron Noble. We told him Nguyen left with your order almost an hour ago."

That was bad. "Have you called the police?"

"Yes. I know they'll want to talk to you, too. Your friend said you'll both be home."

"Yes, we will." Nguyen had been delivering food in her area for almost six months now and the two of them often chatted whenever he dropped off her order. She'd like to think they had some kind of a relationship. "I hope Nguyen is okay."

"So do we," the woman said, then hung up.

Ashley put the phone down, crossed her arms and hugged herself, a chill skidding under her skin. She wished she could call Eddie, again, but that wouldn't be fair to him. It had been okay to call him when she needed validation, but a full-fledged investigation must be handled by the local precinct. Why didn't the thought fill her with comfort?
CHAPTER 12

Ashley sat on a counter stool, her fingers rapping a tune on the granite counter, a sketching book opened a few inches away. For once, she couldn't use her art to rid herself of nerve-racking tension. The waiting was getting to her.

The officer who interrogated her had been very courteous. Lieutenant Sanchez listened, asked questions when appropriate and even put up with Ron's overbearing attitude. Ron meant well, she knew that, and she understood where he was coming from. If the police had taken him seriously when he first approached them with the letters and reopened the investigation into the Carlyle House fire, Dunn and whomever he worked for wouldn't be running around hurting people.

By the time Sanchez left her loft, the officer was more than willing to cooperate with them. Ashley wasn't surprised to receive a call later about Nguyen. They found the delivery boy bruised and battered, and left in the trunk of his car, barely alive. Unfortunately, Sanchez was on her way back to discuss something she refused to divulge over the phone. Ashley had no idea what that was about, which only added to her frustration. Ron volunteered to go downstairs to waylay the officer and keep her out of the way until his friend Kenny Lambert was done debugging her place.

Ashley turned her head so she could openly study the private detective as he moved about the room, checking under and around one object after another. What had he called it? A visual and physical search. He'd already completed an electronic one—radio frequency, wire and conductor searches.

The way Ron talked about Kenny Lambert, she'd expected the man to be an easy-going, average man with easily forgotten features—your typical P.I. But everything about Kenny was striking—piercing green eyes, hard, chiseled face and body. His slanted eyes and black hair hinted at Asiatic heritage, and the way he glided when he walked, one didn't hear him move until he was right beside you. In all-black attire, he reminded her of a panther—great physical form, hard, edgy, deadly.

As though he was aware of her scrutiny, he glanced her way and smiled. The smile softened the hard planes of his face and dimples winked at her from his cheeks.

"Almost done," he said and then walked to the bookshelves at the corner of the main floor of her loft.

Too worked up to be appeased by his composed expression and reassuring smile, she kept tabs on him. There was no place in her home he hadn't checked, including her bedroom drawers and closets. Her face had heated with embarrassment. Heck, her neck was warming up just thinking about it.

She jumped up and skirted the kitchen counter, her hand reaching for the coffee pot. She'd been drowning in the dark brew in the last couple of hours. Too bad it didn't pack its usual punch, but it was all she'd promised to touch until she talked with Officer Sanchez.

Ashley was busy sipping the drink and trying hard not to think of her present predicament when Kenny appeared by her side. The smile she gave him was uncertain. "Done?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He placed the smaller suitcase on the counter and left the larger one n the floor by his feet.

"Want some coffee?" He'd declined the offer when he first arrived.

"If it's not too much trouble," he said with a solemn expression. "I take it black."

Pouring him the drink gave her something to do while she mentally steeled herself against the answers he had for her. She knew he found a few bugs, some right under where she looked earlier. Ashley placed the mug in front of him before speaking. "How many did you find?"

He hesitated and glanced at the door. Ashley rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm and took a deep breath. With the Dunn situation, her uncle in ICU and Officer Sanchez's request to have a chat with her, she was in no mood to be strung along by anyone.

"Please. Whatever it is, however damaging, I can handle it, Kenny. Believe me. I don't need Ron to hold my hand."

A grin crossed his face. "I didn't think you did. I found five RF transmitters—the phone upstairs, your dresser, the downstairs phone, the paint cabinet and the base of the Nefertiti bust." He pointed at the bookshelf at the corner of the room. "There was a spyware on your computer to monitor and record internet activities. They used some pretty jazzed-up system, but it wasn't hard to detect." He flipped open the briefcase on the counter and pulled out a plastic bag from it. In it were six gadgets of different shapes and a disk, which he picked up. "I copied whatever I could. I'll try to find out more about it once I get back to my office."

Ashley closed her eyes and shuddered. She was an artist, not a techno wiz. Spyware, radio frequency transmitters, she was so out of her element it wasn't funny.

"You okay?"

Ashley opened her eyes and attempted a casual smile. She knew she failed when Kenny paused in the process of drinking his coffee and his eyes narrowed.

"All this is just a little overwhelming, but I'll be fine. Thanks for asking. Will you call me once you know more about it?" She pointed at the disk in his hand.

"Sure." He dropped the disk back in the case. "But I'll need to borrow your computer."

She stared at the machine and fought revulsion.

He misunderstood her hesitation. "I'll try and return it as soon as—"

"Take it and anything else you might need. And once you're done with it, just...just get rid of it." She couldn't stand looking at it now, let alone using it. Besides, there wasn't anything in it she hadn't backed up. Next time she'd buy a laptop. No more leaving her system around for some psycho to bug. "Is it, uh, possible to know how long these bugs have been in my home?"

Kenny drained his coffee, then set the mug down. "Only the spyware. About three weeks."

"What? I just bought it."

"When?"

"Two months ago." Her heart dropped to the bottom of her feet at the implication. Ron came to see her about a week and a half ago. If Dunn bugged her home, it happened way before Ron came to see her, right after her agent contacted Nina's about Carlyle House, which only meant one thing. The scum-bag biker was after her, not Ron. "How do you know...I mean, how can you tell?"

"The program stores up all the keys you strike every time you use your keyboard and all your web activities in a text file, which is sent to an FTP site. Whoever planted it accesses that site from a remote location. I checked the dates the data was transmitted."

She fought to stop conjuring ugly images of a stranger sneaking into her apartment. "Thanks, Kenny." Her voice came out a little wobbly and she had to swallow before continuing. "How much do I owe—?"

He dismissed her question with a wave and scowl. "Don't worry about it, Ashley. I'm happy I could help."

"Thanks." She walked him to the door, thanked him, again, and locked up. She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced furtively around her home, feeling unsafe even with the alarm on. Someone was out to get her. How the hell was she supposed to deal with that?

***

When the doorbell rang later, Ashley jerked nervously. Lord, she knew she was a mess, emotionally and mentally. She needed to get a grip quick and come up with a plan. She hurried to check the peek hole, confirming it was Ron and Lieutenant Sanchez.

She flung the door open and stepped back, her gaze locking on Ron. Having him around made her feel a whole lot safer, but in the back of her mind she knew she must let him go. Whoever was after her might hurt him to get to her. The thought of anything happening to him, like Kirkland or Hogan, left her lightheaded with fear.

He reached for her hand, cutting off her thoughts and making her wonder if her feelings were written on her face. She glanced at Sanchez. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Let's sit down first," Ron said, shutting the door with his foot and guiding them toward the counter. He had them seated around the counter in a matter of seconds.

"I talked to my captain about your situation, Ms. Fitzgerald," the officer started.

"My situation?"

"Dunn is after you, Ms. Fitzgerald. That's a fact. After seriously hurting that delivery man and your uncle and being the main suspect in the death of Mr. Hogan in Idaho, we're taking that threat seriously."

Ashley's eyes widened, then her gaze shifted to Ron.

"Hogan's dead?" Her voice came out in a screech.

Ron nodded, gripping her hand. "Officer Sanchez just got the news through her precinct."

"They found his car in a lake," the officer added. "The cops up there believe he lost control of his car, crashed through an embankment and into the lake, but after I talked with Mr. Noble, I believe this was no accident. Mr. Noble's theory about the fire at Carlyle House is worth looking into. It's the only incident connecting you, Hogan and Kirkland. We plan to reopen the case as soon as we nab Dunn."

"Why after you catch him?" Ron asked just as Ashley said, "Why wait?"

"My captain needs more evidence," Sanchez said. "Right now, everything appears circumstantial. Besides, we're really backed up case-wise."

Ron cursed under his breath, his eyes filling with rage. "Will another dead body be enough evidence?" He let go of Ashley's hand and got to his feet. He paced the floor, scrubbing his face and occasionally stopping to glare at the officer. "This is bullshit, you hear?" he snarled.

The officer gave him a sympathetic look. "I understand how you feel, Mr. Noble. I promise you, we won't let anything happen to Ms. Fitzgerald. We plan to keep her under surveillance."

Ashley sat up. "Excuse me?"

"At least that's something," Ron said as though she hadn't spoken. "When will you start?"

"Tonight. We have a stakeout team outside even as we speak."

Ashley couldn't believe what she was hearing, or that they were planning things without consulting her. "Hey." The two turned to look at her. She ignored Ron and locked her gaze on Sanchez. "Surveillance? Me?"

"This is what I meant to discuss with you, Ms. Fitzgerald. As a possible target, we must do whatever it takes to keep you safe. First thing tomorrow, I plan to have our tech people install motion-activated visual and audio transmitters outside your door, the main floor of your loft, your windows...what is it?"

"No. No gismos or gadgets anywhere near me or my home." Her voice rose toward the end of the sentence. Ashley shook her head so hard she felt a ringing in her ears. No way was she letting her privacy be invaded, again. "No unmarked cars tailing me, no—"

Ron reached for her arm. "Ashley."

She cringed and got to her feet, moving away from him. She was hanging by a thread, barely functioning because of what Kenny had found. And now they want her to consent to more hidden cameras and whatnots?

"No, Ron. I can't do it."

"Damn it, Ashley."

"Ms. Fitzgerald—"

"No." She crossed her arms and stared defiantly at them. Obviously Ron had discussed this surveillance thing with Sanchez without consulting her. Such arrogance. Her anger shot up.

"I can't allow it." Her tone implied 'won't' but she didn't care. She wouldn't be pushed into doing something while she felt so helpless and vulnerable. She needed time to think things through, strategize. Right now it hurt too much to breathe, let alone come up with a coherent thought.

As though she understood her misgivings, Officer Sanchez said, "At least allow an officer to stay with you. I promise she won't be intrusive. You'll hardly know she's there."

Yeah right. She'd stick out like a sore thumb. She could feel Ron's heated gaze on her, but she ignored him. Sanchez's frustration was apparent, too. She probably thought Ashley was an idiot. Better a fool with some control of her life, than a nervous wreck jumping at every shadow.

"I need time to think about it," Ashley said.

The policewoman sighed. "We can't predict when he'll strike again so—"

"I said I'll think about it." She felt bad for snapping at the officer who was only doing her job. "I'll let you know in the morning. Not now." Please, she begged with her eyes.

Again, the intuitive officer caught on fast. She nodded. "You do that, Ms. Fitzgerald. For now, I have a team outside should you need anything."

"Thank you." Ashley watched Ron escort the officer to the door, then bristled when he pushed the door shut softly and stayed there, his hard eyes on her. She wanted to say "what?", but something in his eyes made her keep her mouth shut. He started toward her in measured steps.

"Are you okay?" His tone was mild, but he reminded her of a volcano about to erupt.

She shrugged and tried to match his tone. "I'll live."

"Not you won't," he snapped, causing her to flinch. Then as if he regretted it, he took a deep, calming breath. When he reached her side, his arms slipped around her waist and he hugged her tight. She leaned against him, drawing on his warmth, his steady and solid presence.

"Tell me why?" Ron turned her around and peered into her face. He rubbed her arms, his expression grim.

She wanted to physically retreat but was so tired. Truth be told, she wanted to crawl in bed and forget today ever happened. Not the lovemaking part. That she'd treasure. But the rest of it, she wanted to bury.

"I said I'll think about it, Ron."

"There's no time for that," he said dismissively. "Not when that bastard knows where you live." He searched her face. "If you're uneasy about having police protection, then you should consider staying with me."

And put him in harm's way? She shook her head.

"No." She really didn't want to think about police and protection, or why Dunn and the people he worked for had her home bugged. Right now she wanted to crawl under the blankets and just howl.

"Babe, please come to my place until this is over."

She shook off the self-pity.

"I won't let that man drive me from my home." Or put Ron in harm's way by moving in with him. She didn't know how it happened, didn't really care, to be honest, but she was in love with Ron. And she was not about to let Dunn anywhere near him. She lost way too many people she loved to add him to the list. "I'm not running away, not anymore."

His eyes narrowed with confusion. "Who said anything about running away?"

"You came to see me a week and a half ago, the spy stuff was planted before that. Dunn is after me because of," she tapped her head, "whatever I saw ten years ago. That's why he had my home bugged. Sure, someone out there wants to expose what happened. But Dunn and whoever he works for want to bury it." A horrified sound escaped her. Kirkland. What if her first conversation with Kirkland led Dunn to him? She was responsible for what happened to him.

"Let's not jump to conclusions. I received the first letter about three weeks ago, too. Maybe the fact that I went around and talked to my father's old fire buddies brought Dunn to your door." Ron gripped her arms.

His assertion gave her a pause. How she wanted to believe him, but no, she couldn't delude herself.

"Thanks, but I can't rule anything out. If Dr. Reuben weren't flying back east for a conference, I'd ask her to hypnotize me first thing tomorrow morning. I want to know everything now. Wednesday seems so far away."

"If you insist on staying here, I'll stay too. We can find a way to keep busy until the good doctor returns." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and started leading her toward the stairs.

"No." Ashley dug in her heels and gently nudged his arm off her shoulder. "I have a mural to finish and—"

"What? You aren't thinking of going to work with this hanging over our heads?" He crossed his arms and fixed his unflinching gaze on her.

"I'm not going to stop living—"

"Fine. I'll take you wherever you need to go."

_A man gives you multiple orgasms and he thinks he owns you._ Couldn't he get it through his thick head that she was trying to protect his hide? If she was the target, she wanted him as far away from her as possible. In fact, she planned to call Officer Sanchez as soon as Ron left.

"You know what, Mr. Hotshot Firefighter? I don't recall asking you to be my bodyguard. I can take care of myself," she finished with a bite.

"Would you like a recap of what Dunn did to your delivery boy?" he asked in a deceptively soft voice. "A boy, I might add, who's taller, bigger and stronger than you."

Goosebumps spread across her skin. No, she didn't need a review of Dunn's latest deed. To locate Nguyen's Ford Escort, the car he used to make deliveries, didn't taken the cops long. They discovered it in an alley not far from Ashley's apartment building, with the bleeding and duck-taped man in the trunk. Just thinking about how frightened the poor man had been made her light-headed.

"I'm not going to stop living because of that man, Ron." She brushed past him and headed toward the kitchen, but he dodged her footsteps. "And I'm not moving in with you."

"If the idea of staying at my place is so unappealing and you don't want me here, then go to your cousins' for awhile."

Cold fingers crept up her spine at his words. The thought of anything happening to one of her cousins because she couldn't take care of herself was downright frightening. For ten years, she had let fear of the unknown dictate how she dealt with the events in her past. Heck, she never once wanted to look into it, until the day Ron walked into her life. Even after she called Dr. Reuben and discussed hypnosis, she still had reservations. Now she knew that to beat Dunn at this cat-and-mouse game, she would have to unlock the gates and let out whatever dark demons were lurking in her subconscious. Her lost memories were the key to this whole nightmare. Bringing her cousins into it would be just plain stupid.

"I can't, Ron," Ashley whispered and stopped by the counter.

"Why not?" Ron turned her around so she faced him, his eyes glittering with frustration.

Anger slowly swelled inside Ashley. He was becoming annoyingly pushy. She had to make him leave right now or she would say something they'd both regret.

"Because I can't paint anywhere but here. I plan to start as soon as I finish developing the films I took today or...," her voice broke. Ashley took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "Or there won't be a show. In fact, I won't need you to sit for me for awhile."

Ron muttered a curse under his breath and shoved his hands in his pockets, as if to stop himself from grabbing her and shaking some sense into her.

"Ashley, there won't be a show if you're lying in the hospital with a broken body."

The images his words created were gruesome. To stop him from seeing how rattled she was, she turned, yanked the freezer door and removed a box of her favorite ice cream. She skirted around him, her face averted, opened a drawer and retrieved a spoon.

"Damn it, Ashley." He pulled her arm and swung her around to face him. "Why are you acting like this?"

If only she could tell him the truth. The thought of Dunn hurting him turned her insides cold. "I know you think I'm being pig-headed but—"

"Pig-headed doesn't begin cover it. You're taking chances with your life, and I won't allow it."

"You?" She leaned back with rounded eyes. "When did this become about you?" Her tone was scathing.

"When you became my lover, babe, that's when." His words were deliberate, as though he were explaining himself to the village idiot. Eyes flaming, he leaned toward her. "It changed the dynamics of our relationship."

On a different day, his words would have thrilled her. Right now she couldn't afford to be swayed by them. She tugged her arm free from his hand and put some distance between them.

"Don't be so sure about that," she mumbled.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The smile she gave him was supposed to be casual, but it cracked when she saw his expression. He was intimidating when pissed, but she'd put up with his wrath to protect him. She was going out on a limb here with this. If he bought it, he would leave and she wouldn't have to worry about him on top of everything else.

"My cousins told me about your reputation, Ron. That's why I slept with you. I, uh, I just wanted to see if it was true." She almost choked on the lie. Disbelief flashed in his eyes and pain at her deceit twisted her insides. _Why do we always have to hurt the ones we love?_

Her heart thumping hard, Ashley forced herself to hold his gaze when all she wanted to do was run in his arms, take back her words and love him madly. She swallowed and continued.

"You actually lived up to your reputation. Tonight may be just another notch on your bedpost, but it was the best sex I'd had in a long time. You're very good, except...," she paused, coward that she was, her gaze shifting to the pulse beating erratically at the base of his neck, "you forgot one thing. You were supposed to be gone before the sheets cooled down."

She waited for him to curse her, grab his jacket and storm out of her loft. That was what she would do if the positions were reversed. No one liked to be used, then kicked out.

She blinked in confusion when she saw the corners of his mouth turn up. Her gaze dashed upward and connected with his amused one. Surprise followed by annoyance sliced through her when he started to laugh. Hard.

Ashley wanted to deck him, or throw the box of ice cream at him. Why couldn't the man act normal? Why did he have to be so unpredictable? She was so annoyed she couldn't even ask him what was so funny. Instead, she slammed the ice cream on the counter and glared at him.

"Sweetheart," Ron said between laughter, "you are about the most amazing woman I've ever met. And you should have definitely stayed with acting. If we'd done it once, I would have bought your little act. Four times, babe, and that doesn't include the bathroom—"

"Oh, put a lid on it, you impossible man." She grabbed the ice cream and clenched it to her chest, not even feeling its iciness. "I'm trying to politely tell you this was a one-night stand and it's time you scurried home."

Laughter disappeared from his face. His eyes grew serious, hard.

"This, baby, was no one nighter. We're just beginning."

"No...we...are...not. And there's no 'we' here, Ron." He continued to glare at her, his eyes smoldering, his stance unyielding. She turned toward the living room. "Goodbye, Ro—mmph!"

The swift, possessive kiss was unexpected, the rapid response of her body inevitable. He didn't give her a chance to come to her senses and protest his high-handedness. He stormed her senses, strummed her like a damn instrument. She was just starting to gather her wits when his head lifted. Ashley blinked at him, completely dazed. Both of them were breathing hard, their bodies vibrating in perfect unison.

"What was that?" she blurted stupidly.

"A sure way to shut you up. I didn't like what you were saying."

He didn't like....

Anger drained from her, and Ashley started to laugh. His hand moved from the back of her head, swept down her back and stopped on her waist. When he grinned down at her, she pushed at his chest. Surprisingly, his hand dropped from her waist and he stepped back.

"Go home, Ron. It's been a long day and I'm exhausted. I want to go to bed." When he opened his mouth, she added quickly, "alone." Something flashed in his eyes. Pain? She couldn't be sure. "I'm sorry. I just really need to be alone tonight."

"Okay. I understand your need for privacy, so I'll leave. But," he paused until she was back looking at him, "I'll be here first thing tomorrow morning."

"Don't. Please. I don't need the complication of a relationship right now."

"Too late, babe, because we're having one." He picked up his jacket, shrugged it on, then turned and flashed a grin at her. His hot gaze raked her body.

Ashley closed her eyes, as if that simple act could stop her body from greedily responding to the promise in his gaze. She must be jinxed or something. When she opened her eyes, Ron was staring at her with a triumphant grin on his face.

"Don't come back, Ron. I don't want you to."

"You can't get rid of me that easily, babe. I will not go away just because you order me to, so don't." He closed the gap between them, the grin disappearing from his face. When he stopped before her, he was so close his breath ruffled the strands of hair on her forehead. He lifted her chin until their gaze locked. A searing buzz of sexual heat flickered, then warmed the air.

"Don't push me, Ron." Her voice came out shaky. She hated that.

"I will until you accept the inevitable." His voice was soft, but relentless. "You can say you don't want me, but we both know it's a lie. Your body knows what it wants, what it craves. Don't fight me, Ashley, because when it comes to this," he lowered his head and landed a possessive kiss on her lips, "I always win."

Ashley couldn't speak. Since her reasoning had long disappeared, she watched him walk to the door without uttering a single word.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He paused one last time and glanced her way. The door closed softly behind him.

She staggered to the couch, opened the already melting ice cream and dug in. For what seemed like forever, she forced the cold treat down her throat without actually tasting it. She had eaten half the box when she calmed down enough to have rational thoughts.

She needed to reevaluate her options fast. Ron was like a derailed train. No matter what she said or did, he was determined to be by her side through this ordeal. Every person she'd ever loved had been taken from her—first her parents, then her uncle, Jade's father, and now Jerry Kirkland, who was hanging on to life by a thread. She'd rather have Ron hate her than see him hurt. She got up, picked up her cell phone and dialed the number Detective Sanchez left with her.

"I accept your offer of protection, Detective Sanchez, but under one condition. Ronald Noble must not come anywhere near me or my home until Dunn is behind bars."

***

Sleep came hard for Ashley. The day's events kept running through her head, and in the background was the worry about how Ron would react when he learned about what she'd done. She did the right thing, damn it. It was for his own good. Why then couldn't she stop feeling guilty about it?

When she finally succumbed to sleep, the harsh whispers of male voices arguing woke her up. Ashley tried to locate their whereabouts, but it was pitch black. Not even her hands were visible. She was cold and her body ached. Her jaws clenched, her body shuddering.

She reached for a blanket, but all she encountered was a cold, cement floor. Why was she lying on the floor in a fetal position?

Carefully, she patted the floor around her, her head swerving left then right. The whispers got louder, competed with the pounding, staccato rhythm of her heart. Breathing out jerkily, she sat up. When she got on her knees, she extended her hand in front of her like a blind person until her fingers encountered something solid. She felt around, realized it was a wall and murmured a quick prayer of gratitude. Where there was a wall, there was likely to be a door or a window.

Bracing herself, Ashley got up then shuffled forward until her face was flush against the wall. The voices sounded louder, but the words were still unintelligible. A shiver raked her body. Had Dunn kidnapped her? Was he now plotting her demise?

_Snap out of it, Ashley._ This was no time for self-pity. She had to find a way to escape. Putting one foot forward, she slowly scooted away from the voices. It was a slow process, with total darkness and fear nipping at her heel.

Her foot touched something. From the hollow, tinny sound, she realized that it was a metal bucket. She lurched down to grab it before it could tip over. For a few seconds, Ashley held her breath, waited for someone to pounce on her. When nothing happened, she let out a shaky breath, then went back to following the wall. She reached a corner, where the wall turned, and saw a dim light. She shuffled toward the light, for once hope dominating fear.

It was a glass panel on a door, with burgundy curtains covering it. She could see a small part of the room through an opening. A couple sat on a leather couch, but all she could see was the back of their heads—the woman's curly chestnut hair and the man's short-cropped raven mop. The way their heads kept moving, and the occasional appearance of the woman's hand as she gestured, indicated they were conversing, yet Ashley couldn't hear a sound. She groped for the door handle that wasn't there.

"Hey," Ashley yelled, raised a fist and banged on the door. "Over here." The couple acted as though they couldn't hear her.

"Please, help me." She kept banging and yelling. What was wrong with them? Why couldn't they hear her?

Just then, two men appeared from the left side of the room and blocked her view. From their dark clothing and height, they could be identical twins. Ashley scooted out of sight. When she peeked through the opening again, the two men were approaching the couple on the couch. Each man held a white washcloth in his hand. Not exactly waiter-like. A warning went off in her head. These men were not here for cocktails. Just then, one of the men turned his head to signal the other and Ashley gasped.

She recognized those dead eyes, the face, the gold studs on each ear. It was the man in her drawing, Vaughn's driver.

"Look behind you," she yelled at the couple on the couch and banged on the door with both fists. Her frustration mounted. "Turn around, damn it."

A few seconds before the men reached them, the woman turned and Ashley saw her face. Shock rocked her body.

"Mother," she whispered.

Then the man from her sketch grabbed her mother from behind and slapped the white washcloth on her face. The other man struggled with her father.

"No," Ashley screamed.

She staggered backward, started to fall as her mother reach for her attacker's face, the jagged edge of a broken champagne flute clenched in her hand. As her mother's body twitched, the glass slid down her attacker's face, leaving behind a bloody, gaping wound.

Ashley was still screaming when she hit the floor with a thud. Pain jarred through her, and for a moment, she lay there, disoriented, trapped between the dream and the present. A wailing sound echoed eerily around her. She didn't realize she was the one moaning.

"They killed them...they killed them...,"

Reality slowly settled in. She was no longer on a hard floor but the plush rug of her bedroom floor. Could she have witnessed the murder of her parents ten years ago? Was that why she blocked the memories of that night? She sat up and wrapped her arms about her knees, a shudder shaking her frame.
CHAPTER 13

Ron lay on his neatly made bed and scowled at the vaulted ceiling. His room, decorated in hues of blue with a massive fireplace and a panoramic view of Los Angeles, usually brought him peace. Today, he might as well be buried neck-down in the Sahara Desert with a swarm of scorpions gunning for his eyeballs.

He'd driven around aimlessly after leaving Ashley's home, stopped at a diner for coffee and pie, then driven some more, thinking about what the heck he was doing. Not that it did him any good. By the time he'd arrived at his place, he'd been wide awake, restless. Jumping on the treadmill hadn't helped. Catching up on paperwork in his home office had only made him edgier. Even swimming lap after lap in his pool hadn't exhausted his demons.

The last week and a half he'd been acting the fool, pretending to be an average horny Joe lusting after an average woman. The problem was there was nothing average about Ashley or his needs, which unfortunately had never before gone beyond a good romp in bed. But from their first meeting, he'd felt a connection between him and the delectable artist that went beyond sexual attraction. Perhaps it was their shared past. All he knew was the physical attraction between them was quickly mushrooming into something more, which scared the hell out of him.

_We're just beginning._ The words he'd uttered last night came back to haunt him.

He still couldn't understand what had happened last night. One moment, he and Ashley were working together, helping the police piece together that bastard Dunn's movements. The next, she was claiming she'd slept with him because of his reputation. Ron grimaced then grinned. How in the world had she flipped scripts on him? Usually it was the other way round, he explaining his position on relationships, namely nothing long-term, and the women storming off in a huff.

He was very good at pleasing a woman in and out of bed, and yes, being charming and generous had gotten him a lot of trim. But being blunt about his apathy toward anything serious often killed most of his liaisons before they even begun, which meant he went through women fast. But Ashley wasn't just another notch to add on his bedpost.

What was she if not another conquest? A picture of her floated in his head. Sweet and sensual, vulnerable yet strong. Along with the image came a gnawing hunger that had nothing to do with sexual conquests. He tried to imagine her during the photo shoot—the bold seductress in her element, instructing him on what to do, driving him crazy with her touch. But the images kept morphing into the breathless, trembling woman who'd made him burn with a touch. Confusion pounded at him, and on its heels was anxiety. What did he really want?

He sat up and scowled. Forget it. If he knew the answers, he wouldn't be asking himself the damn questions. It bugged him that the first woman to ever make him want a monogamous relationship hadn't wanted him around and was denying their strong physical attraction. Just as he'd told her, he wasn't going to slink away and leave her alone. And it had nothing to do with the fact that she was the first woman to ever play him. The two of them were great together.

Ron scratched his bare chest and scowled. All that would mean zilch if the rumors about his father were true. Ashley would demand his head on a platter, kick him out of her life for good. The thought made him break out in sweat. God, he hoped she'd understand once he explained. Women were hard to fathom that way.

Once he'd thought he'd known one woman very well, convinced himself he was in love. Sharon, one of his mother's protégées, showed him just how limited his knowledge about women was. But Ashley wasn't after a prominent role in his mother's play or using him in any way. This time, he was the one with a hidden agenda, the one refusing to be completely honest. Maybe he should come clean and tell her the truth.

The resounding ding-dong of his doorbell deepened his frown. He pulled on a robe, his gaze going to the clock by his bedside as he left the room. It was too early for his mother to invade his privacy. That left Kenny.

Ron entered the kitchen and squinted against the light pouring into the room through the skylights. He yanked the back door, ignored the private investigator's cheerful grin and retreated inside his house, but left the door open for Kenny to enter.

"How was your evening with the lovely artist?" his friend asked, following him.

Ron poured a cup of hot coffee straight from the coffeemaker pot and took a long sip. "Wonderful," Ron offered calmly. "But I'm sure she's not the reason you were leaning on my doorbell at such an ungodly hour."

Kenny looked at his watch. "It's after nine. When did you get in?"

"Sometime this morning."

"Uh, still loving them and leaving them before dawn."

Ron scowled. Did he really have a reputation for not sticking around?

"Or maybe you didn't get any action."

He gave Kenny a screw-you look then started around the kitchen counter. "I'm hitting the shower. If you're still around when I get out, I'll assume you're here to discuss business and not drink my coffee." They both preferred coffee made the old way, with an electric drip filter machine. Ashley had one of those state-of-the-art espresso/cappuccino makers. He grinned, relishing the thought of making her a cup of his Ethiopian Arabica special blend. The smile died on his lips as images from last night rushed back to taunt him.

Ron paused in the archway leading to his bedroom and glanced at Kenny, who was already pouring himself a cup of the dark brew. "I don't love and leave women before dawn. I remember a few occasions when I stayed for breakfast."

"College days don't mean jack," Kenny retorted and sipped his coffee.

"Coming from a man who hasn't gotten laid in what? This decade? Is your sister _and_ mother still running your love life? No, I forgot, Grandma's still trying to get you a nice girl from the old country."

Kenny flipped him off.

Ron grinned and drained his drink. "I'll be out in a sec. Make yourself comfortable."

"Always do," Kenny answered. He had already retrieved a bowl and was opening the fridge.

Yeah, they'd studied hard and played even harder, a game Kenny had outgrown. Kenny claimed he was in a monogamous relationship now, with his work. Maybe it was time Ron outgrew playing fast and loose with women too. He didn't want to end up alone like his uncle. Even his grandmother and mother had no one special in their lives.

Ron disappeared in the bedroom, shrugged off his robe and stripped off his sweatpants. As he lathered his body, he recalled the shower he and Ashley had taken together last night. The way she'd loved him with that pretty mouth of hers, branding him. The evening didn't deserve a one-night stand label as she'd claimed. Something else was going on in that mind of hers, and he intended to find out what.

The smell of eggs and bacon drifted into the bathroom, interrupting his musing. A smile crossed his lips. The one important thing Mrs. Nichols had taught her only son was how to take care of himself. Kenny raided his kitchen every time he stopped by, and Ron didn't mind one little bit. Cooking wasn't his thing. The two of them went way back to when they had met in college as freshman. He and Kenny stayed in touch even after his friend headed to Quantico and he back east to graduate school. Before he started receiving anonymous letters, they met twice a month for a game of basketball. Now they saw each other a few times a week.

Ron's phone rang just as he stepped out of the showers. Ashley, the name escaped his lips as he rushed to get it. Yeah, as if she would be calling him after last night.

"Yes?" he barked into the phone, pulling on underwear.

"Mr. Noble? It's Jeffrey Stone, sir."

Jeffrey Stone? Who the hell...ah, the morning security guard at Ashley's apartment building. He'd given him a list of instructions at six this morning when his shift started.

"What's going on, Jeffrey?"

"Officer Sanchez is here with a team of her people. They're putting up surveillance cameras around the lobby, the stairs, and inside the elevator and Ms. Fitzgerald's home."

Relief sliced through Ron. Thank goodness Ashley came to her senses about police protection. The woman might be pig-headed, but stupid she was not. "Good. Have you met the officers who'll be working with her?"

"Yes, sir. There are two outside the building in a van, and two more, including a woman, who'll stay here in the lobby."

At least now he wouldn't have the security guards and Kenny's people guarding her on the sly. "Thanks for letting me know, Jeffrey."

He hung up and tried Ashley's number. Both her house line and cell phone were busy. He left a voicemail, finished getting dressed and left the bedroom. Kenny was on the living room sofa, eating breakfast while watching ESPN. Ron served himself a plate of eggs and bacon his friend had left for him, poured another cup of coffee and settled in an armchair. For a moment, they ate and watched sports.

Ron waited until Kenny was done before he said, "So? What's the latest?"

The investigator put aside his empty plate and rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze penetrating as he studied Ron. "Why don't you tell me?"

Ron slanted him a puzzled look. "What are you talking about?"

"After last night, I think we should revise our thinking. The facts are; whoever is behind this mess is willing to eliminate Hogan, Kirkland and Ashley. He or she is deliberately ignoring your involvement. And no one's gone after your mother either."

Ron grimaced. He'd wondered when his friend would go back to back to their original assumption. Before he and Kenny went to Sunset Marquis Hotel, they'd discussed the possibility of his uncle derailing their investigation. They eliminated him when the description the busboy gave them didn't fit Gregory.

Ron leaned back against the chair and scrubbed his face. It was hard to imagine his uncle doing anything criminal or hurting people. Gregory was ruthless when it came to business, but to actually off someone? It just didn't fit with the man Ron knew and loved. The very thought that his uncle could be the mastermind behind what was happening around him left a nasty taste in Ron's mouth.

"I'll have another talk with Uncle Gregory."

Kenny didn't respond, his gaze unwavering. "Man, this is jacked up."

"Let's not reach any conclusions yet," Ron said in a firm voice. He refused to believe his uncle was guilty.

Kenny shrugged. "Whatever you want. Remember, I have your back. About the bugs, thanks for giving us access to your company's inventory of purchased orders. You've had a quite a bit of sales of the technical surveillance equipment like the ones we found at Ashley's. I've a tech kid who can break in and out of any system without a trace. He's checking the inventory of the other dealers on the west coast, cross-checking with local P.I. firms who've recently purchased anything. So far, there's no P.I. firm owned or run by a Dunn. Hopefully, searching employee database for anyone fitting Dunn's description will give us some lead."

Unless his uncle was behind this whole thing and just helped himself to the TS gizmos. There would be no IPOs or paper trail. Ron pushed his suspicions aside, but a hollow feeling settled in his stomach. He had to stop thinking that his uncle was guilty. "Dunn probably used a fake name."

Kenny's eyes narrowed in thought then he nodded. "That's a possibility. I've more bad news. Jackson, McKinney and Borough are missing."

His father's former fire buddies? He propped his elbows on his knees and pinned Kenny down with a glare. "What do you mean missing? I spoke with them two weeks ago."

"I stopped by their boat charter business for a private chat and was informed they'd gone fishing. Something they did every year an employee told me. I went to their homes and got the same story from their wives. I wasn't buying it, so I paid their offices another visit after hours."

"And?"

"I checked their data log. A boat is missing at the marina."

Ron rubbed his nape, frustration knitting his gut. "Maybe we should stop the investigation."

"It won't make a difference, man. Whoever is doing this has something to hide, and from my experience, they won't stop until they've tied all the loose ends, which I'm afraid, includes your artist friend."

That was what Ron was afraid of. He needed to talk to his family, starting with his mother. Yesterday, he'd warned her about Dunn, but she hadn't taken him seriously. Ron jumped to his feet, walked to the kitchen phone and speed dialed her home number.

As he waited for the phone to be picked up, he said, "Ashley had a very interesting theory about all this. She thinks Ryan Doyle could be trying to scare her off."

"He could accomplish that without offing Hogan and beating up Kirkland. Then there are the letters, not exactly Doyle's style. Still, it's an interesting theory. Do you know if Doyle tried to buy the house before? You know, about the time of the fire?"

"No, but I can ask my mother."

A pensive expression settled on Kenny's face. "You do that. Meanwhile, I'm going to dig into the man's background, see if there's a connection between him and the firefighters. I have my computer wiz kid on speed dial. He should be able to sniff out a money trail no matter how old it is. The three men retired immediately after the fire and opened the charter business at the marina together. I don't know what the retirement package for firefighters was in those days, but I doubt it was enough to buy several boats."

"They could have gotten a loan from a bank."

"Then we'll find it. If not, your woman might be into something."

_His woman._ He liked that. Ron nodded. "Yeah, she's very sharp. Just a sec." Someone had picked up the phone on the other side. "Mom?"

"Do you know what time it is?" Nina griped.

She sounded sleepy which wasn't surprising. She never got up on Sundays until well after midday. He looked at his watch. "Ten o'clock. I want you to listen very carefully to me, mother." He quickly explained about the missing firefighters and stressed what happened to Hogan and Kirkland. "Stay inside and have at least two guards with you at all times."

"Poor Hogan," she muttered.

"Mom? Did you get everything I said?"

"Of course, Ronald. I won't go anywhere. Who could be behind this?"

"Anyone." He cleared his throat. "Was Ryan Doyle after Carlyle House ten years ago?"

"How did you know? I turned him down. He even offered to pay more than the Fitzgeralds. I'd never have that man living in a house my grandfather built with his sweat and blood. I told him then what my realtor told him weeks ago, no. Why are you asking about him? Do you think he's the one behind this mess?" Her voice became stringent. "If he is, then you must stop this investigation, Ronald. That man is capable of anything."

"I'm not sure if he is the one, Mom. I'm just trying to weed out possible suspects." Something Ashley had said flitted in his thoughts. "Was there a secret room in Carlyle House ten years ago? A filthy room?"

There was silence.

"Mom?"

"What do you mean a secret room?" Her voice was hesitant.

"Ashley was filthy the night of the fire. I wondered how she got that way."

"Don't believe anything that silly girl tells you."

Disdain dripped in every word, but something in her voice set off warning bells in his head. "Mother? What aren't you telling me?"

A longer silence followed, then a sigh. "Come to the house and we'll talk."

His family and more secrets, he should have known. Ron pressed the off button and dialed Ashley's cell number first. He glanced at Kenny. His friend was back on the couch, surfing the channels. "Doyle offered to buy the house ten years ago, just like he's doing now."

Kenny grinned. "That's good to know."

"Watch your back, my friend. I'd hate to have you disappear on me, too."

"Discretion is my middle name," Kenny bragged. "How's your mother taking all this?"

"Seriously now. Yesterday she refused to accept that Hogan's death and the attack on Kirkland was connected to our investigation." Now she wanted to reveal a few family skeletons. Ron sighed. His head pounded in earnest and tension knotted his insides. When would this madness end? He put the phone back down with barely suppressed frustration. Ashley's line was busy, again. He'd have to stop at her place on his way to his mother's.

"I need to get the hell out of here," Ron muttered.

Kenny jumped to his feet. "Same here."

Ron picked up his jacket, patted the pocket to make sure his keys were in there and led the way to the door. "I hope those three men went fishing like their wives said."

"I feel you, my friend," Kenny said as they stepped out of the house.

"Could you check on someone else for me? A Dr. Vogel. Ashley called her when her home was bugged, which means whoever was listening on the other end knows she made an appointment to undergo hypnosis. Dunn also followed her to the doc's place. With people vanishing left and right, I don't want to add another woman to the list."

Kenny nodded. "I'll take care of it. And if you need some manpower to keep an eye on her or your mom, just say the word. I can spare a few people."

"Then make it happen."

They clasped their right hands, bumped shoulders in a masculine hug, then separated and headed to their respective cars.

***

Ashley paused at the top of the stairs and grimaced. She had to accept the inevitable, her privacy was gone. She'd kissed it bye-bye when she agreed to work with the police. According to Officer Marissa Kilpatrick, five-foot-four bundle of rules and regulations, the light and motion activated cameras would kick in as soon as Ashley stepped on the stairs.

Every move she made would be displayed on the screens in the lobby. She was tempted to run back to the bathroom and hide for a while. The bathrooms were the only places without their little gizmos.

I can do this. I volunteered to do it, so I'd better get with the program.

Taking a deep breath, Ashley took that first step, then another. At the bottom of the stairs, she glanced at the corners of the room, where they'd planted their cameras, and gave a smile and a wave.

Could they tell she was self-conscious? She tried to pretend she was alone as she went about pouring a cup of coffee. She sat on a stool and took a long sip. The brew tasted like cough syrup. She needed to get out of here. The clock said it was half past ten, time to head to the cemetery for a chat with her parents. She'd already spoken to Officer Kilpatrick about it. From the cop's expression when she'd told her about wanting to visit her parents' graves, the woman probably thought Ashley was nuts to visit the cemetery when a killer was after her.

Thoughts of her parents brought images of last night's nightmare to the forefront. A shudder shook Ashley. The dream had seemed so real. Could she have witnessed the murder of her parents ten years ago? Was that why she blocked the memories of that night?

The possibility that the dream was a recap of her lost memory, that those two men had something to do with the murder of her parents was frightening. Unless she was going insane, Vaughn's driver and the man who killed her parents in her dream was the same person in the unfocused photograph Ron had showed her. Yet she couldn't remember taking his picture.

Ashley shook her head. There was no point in stressing over what might have happened. She'd get her answers soon enough under hypnosis. Picking up the phone, Ashley dialed the lobby. Kilpatrick told her to wait for an escort. Accommodating, Sanchez had said. Someone forgot to add the word in Kilpatrick's vocabulary.

Five minutes later, her doorbell rang.

Ashley opened the door and smiled at Officer Kilpatrick. No way would anyone who saw them together think they were friends. Despite her black pants and casual jacket, the brunette had Police Academy discipline written all over her unsmiling, vigilant face. Ashley's friendly overtures were met with monosyllable answers. Sighing, Ashley followed her along the hallway.

"Let's take the stairs. I, uh, don't like elevators," Ashley said when the officer pressed the button for the elevator.

This time, the cop kept her expression neutral, just nodded and started down the stairs. They were seven floors up. Kilpatrick with her toned body could probably jog downstairs and back up without breaking a sweat. Before they got to the last set of stairs, voices from the lobby reached Ashley and she froze, causing Officer Kilpatrick to stop, too.

"Are you saying I can't go upstairs?" Ron was asking, and he sounded pissed. From the direction of his voice, he was somewhere near the elevator.

Ashley imagined what would have happened if she had used it and not the stairs. Facing Ron after he learned she didn't want to see him anymore would have been darn near impossible.

"I'm sorry, sir, just following orders." The security guard's tone indicated he hated being the bearer of bad news. "I'll let the cop explain, sir."

"We're under strict orders not to allow Ms. Fitzgerald any visitors, Mr. Noble," Officer Kilpatrick's partner said in a firm voice.

"Whose orders?" Ron snapped.

"My superiors, sir."

"Do you want me to handle this, ma'am?" Officer Kilpatrick whispered from beside Ashley.

Ashley shook her head. "He'll, uh, leave soon." She hoped so.

A frown crossed the woman's serious face. "He's the one Sanchez said wasn't to come near you, right?"

Put that way, it made Ron sound like some undesirable member of society. "Yes. I don't want him, you know, involved in this mess." She waved toward the lobby. "Your partner knows he's not to tell him about the deal I made with Officer Sanchez, right?"

Officer Kilpatrick opened her mouth to respond but Ron's angry words cut her off.

"Listen, I was with Ms. Fitzgerald when Dunn paid her a visit last night. I know Officer Sanchez. Check with her. She'll tell you I've clearance to go upstairs."

There was few mumbled exchange Ashley didn't catch, then a smothered curse and the sound of footsteps heading away and toward the exit. Relief surged through her and she leaned against the wall to support her weak knees. Maybe she should go after him and explain. No, that was a bad idea. She wouldn't bear the look on his face. As seconds ticked, Ashley wondered what the officer had told Ron.

Officer Kilpatrick hurried down the stairs, glanced briefly toward the exit, then looked up at where Ashley stood waiting at the top of the stairs. "All's clear."

When she got to the bottom of the stairs, Ashley's gaze automatically went to the exit, too. Ron was nowhere to be seen. The two officers were in a heated conversation when she approached them.

"What did he tell Mr. Noble?" Ashley asked.

Officer Kilpatrick took her arm and attempted to lead her toward the entrance, but Ashley dug in her heels.

"He's a rookie, Ms. Fitzgerald. I'll make sure he's replaced as soon as possible."

Her heart dropped. "What did he say?"

There was a slight hesitation. "That it was you who stipulated that Mr. Noble shouldn't be allowed to see you, ma'am."

Ashley gripped her purse, her heart squeezing with self-loathing. How could she have done this? How Ron must have been humiliated. Their time together flashed in her head, haunting her and reminding her that she'd chosen the coward's way. She should have talked to him and explained her fears, instead of letting the guard and the cops do her dirty work. _I'm sorry, baby. I promise to make it up to you._

"Ms. Fitzgerald?"

"I don't think I'll visit the cemetery after all. I'm going back upstairs. Excuse me." She turned and hurried back toward the stairs.

Once inside her loft, Ashley settled on the couch with a drawing pad and started sketching—flashes from her nightmare, faces of her parents' assailants, her parents, the room, things she'd felt and touched. When she finished, she felt much calmer.
CHAPTER 14

"That's it," Ashley muttered _and_ threw the pencil on the table. She'd been working on the damn painting the entire evening. Afternoon and evening. The results were still pitiful. Being stuck inside the loft was messing with her creative juices, or something was missing.

Her gaze shifted to the finished canvas to her right. Detailed and vibrant, she'd caught Ron's quirky grin and smoldering eyes. Muscular arms curved behind his head, golden skin draped over rippling chest muscles and abs begged for a lover's caress. The low-hanging jeans were guaranteed to whet any woman's appetite. Hers included. How she missed him. She hadn't heard a peep from him for three, long, self-imposed torturous days.

It was her fault. She could easily have picked up the phone and called him to apologize, to beg him to come back to her. But she hadn't. Instead, she'd hidden inside her loft, not seeing anyone, including her family. The idea of her being used as bait for Dunn didn't sit well with her aunt and cousins. They kept calling. Even her uncle and cousins with the L.A.P.D. had tried to convince her to let a female cop take her place. Claiming she had a deadline had come to her rescue.

Ashley reached for her cell phone, speed-dialed a number and brought the instrument to her ear.

"Hey," her cousin's deep voice answered. "How are you holding up?"

"Okay." There was something so comforting about having Eddie work with her. He might be the most hotheaded of her cousins but when it came to police work, he was the best.

"I know I'm becoming a pest, but—"

"You're not. You want these bastards off your back as much as I do. Noble is onto something here. I just wish you weren't involved."

No point beating that dead horse. "Did you find anything?"

"I'm still running facial recognition but so far neither the drawing nor Vaughn's driver match any known criminal in our database. But I know the man's name is Francis 'Frankie' Higgins. He's worked for the Doyles for years, including the time of the fire. His background is nonexistent. He doesn't pay taxes and has no bank account in this country. It's like he appeared out of nowhere, which raised a red flag in my head. So I dug deeper. I hit pay dirt earlier today when his name popped up at the immigration checkpoint in Tijuana. He entered the country three weeks ago using a Honduran passport, but according to the _Federales_ , he resides in a small fishing village near Guadalajara."

"Wow, Eddie. That's amazing."

"Just doing my job. I plan to pay Noble's P.I. buddy a visit to see what he's unearthed too."

Her heart shifted. Maybe Ron would be with Kenny. Eddie could tell him how he looked. "Can you call me after you talk to him?"

"Sure, Ashley. Hang tight. We'll get Dunn and whoever is behind this."

His confidence was reassuring. Feeling a little better, Ashley put the phone down and sighed. Her cell started to sing again.

Ron. "Please let it be him," she whispered under her breath. The caller I.D. said it was her colleague from the children's museum project. Ashley sighed with disappointment.

"Hey, guys?" she said louder, trying not to sound disappointed.

"Do we have news for you," Micah said with excitement.

"First ask how she's feeling, bonehead," Josh added in the background. "Hey, boss. How're you feeling?"

Ashley closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. The two of them were talking to her on a speakerphone at a party, judging from the noise in the background, and that was too much to take now. She'd called them on Sunday night and told them she'd be gone most of the week because she wasn't feeling well—a good enough excuse at the time. Now she could swear she was coming down with something. Yes, a major case of self-pity. Psycho Dunn was no show, Ron had given up on seeing her without a fight and cabin fever was kicking in. She didn't know whether she needed a rest or a kick in the rear end. Cutting Ron loose was the dumbest thing she'd done this year.

"Hanging in there," she lied smoothly, got up from her chair and headed to the kitchen. A glass of wine would have to do for now.

"Then we have something that's sure to speed up your recovery," Micah said, interrupting her thoughts.

"The museum found a new benefactor," Josh added.

"They now want us to do the rest of the building," they finished in unison.

"Whoa. When did this happen?" Ashley asked, her spirits lifting already. Six months ago, the museum officials had given her a smaller contract and cited limited funding.

"Some dude stopped by this morning," Micah explained. "I didn't really know why at the time and just answered his questions. Turned out he came to check out our work."

"He came back this evening with the president of the museum and...," Josh paused for effect.

"An offer we can't refuse," Micah finished. "Free reins on the inside and outside walls, Ashley. Imagine the possibilities."

Ashley was loving it. She pulled out a bottle of Merlot from the fridge, nudged the door closed with her elbow and reached for a glass. Maybe they could now incorporate more of the local children's artwork in some of the murals. The president of the museum had liked the idea when Ashley first presented it to her, but hadn't endorsed it because of lack of funds. The small contest she was running now was coordinated with local art teachers.

"That's great news, guys." She poured a generous amount of the wine in the glass, took a sip and propped her elbows against the counter. "So, what's the catch?"

"Why should there be one?" Josh said. "We're good."

"Freakin' awesome," Micah chimed.

"They want us to meet and sign the contract this week," Josh continued. "The only thing the guy mentioned was that he would like to see more local artists involved. Anyway, the meeting is set for Thursday. Do you think you'll make it?"

Ashley sipped more wine and scowled. No one ever signed anything until the customer approved the designs. Why the haste?

"I don't know guys. I'll have to discuss it with...," she almost said Officer Kilpatrick, "my cousin." I'm supposed to have a show in his gallery in six months."

"You can't let this opportunity pass, Ashley," Micah urged. "It's a no-go without you. The dude even mentioned using us to do a club his company is opening in Culver City."

That was where Carlyle House was. Could Ron be behind this? She wouldn't put it past him. "What's the name of this generous benefactor?"

"Doyle. He's the son of that billionaire real estate dude, Ryan Doyle." Then she heard Micah ask Josh, "What was his first name...Vince?"

Ashley's stomach had dropped at the mention of Doyle. Was Vaughn Doyle planning to turn Carlyle House into a club?

"Guys," she said, trying to get their attention, but Josh and Micah were still arguing about Vaughn's name. "Hey. His first name is Vaughn."

"Yeah, Vaughn Doyle," Micah said. "So, are you going to make it on Thursday? The meeting is upstairs on the third floor."

It would be great to work with more local artists and highlight children's works, but signing a deal that included Vaughn Doyle was out of the question. She didn't trust him. What was he hoping to achieve with this art endowment? "Let me think about it."

"Come on, Ash," Josh urged. "The man's throwing money our way. We'd be fools to turn it down."

"Have you any idea how hard it is for starting artists like us to find a steady, paying job?" Micah added.

"Or our work on display for all to see," Josh added the nail in the coffin.

Ashley groaned. They were doing a darn good job of making her feel guilty, the little demons. Although they had loads of talent, they were too inexperienced as businessmen.

"There's lots of thing you have to discuss and agree on before you commit to anything." She raised her glass to her lips, her anger steaming. Was Vaughn trying to buy her off? Ron sold him Carlyle House behind her back? No, Ron couldn't do that, no matter how pissed at her he was. On the other hand, she'd told him she didn't want the house anymore.

"Listen, guys, I don't think I'll—"

She gasped at the looming figure outside her kitchen window. Dunn! How had he gotten up here? The glass slipped from her hand, hit the granite counter and shuttered. Ashley took a step back and raised her arms to protect her face as wine and pieces of broken glass went flying everywhere.

He tapped on her window just as Ashley opened her mouth to scream. She froze, noting the firefighter's helmet and the yellow and silver reflective stripes on the intruder's jacket. Then the figure pulled off the helmet, leaned closer to the window and mouthed, "Open the window."

Ron? The crazy man didn't just climb up to her window. A burst of excitement surged through her. He was here. Ashley placed the phone back on her ear. "Guys—"

"What's going on?" Josh and Micah spoke at the same time.

Of course, she couldn't tell them the truth, but she wanted them off the phone. "Something crawled up my window." Something delicious. "Let's talk tomorrow, guys, okay? I've got to go. Bye."

She put the phone down, did her best to avoid shards of broken glass as she unlocked the glass window and slid it open. The light pouring through the window bathed his handsome face and gleaming eyes. It looked like he hadn't shaved in days and the stubble on his jaw made him look like a marauding pirate. Instead of feeling intimidated, a steaming sensation spread under her skin.

"What are you doing out there, Ron?" she asked, trying to sound irritated but failing. "You scared the living daylights out of me."

"Good." He pointed at the meshed window cover. "Pull it off the frame because I'm coming in."

The cops were probably on their way upstairs, but she didn't care. She started tugging at the tabs at the edge of the frame. "Why didn't you just call?"

"So you'd screen my calls? I don't think so." His voice was low and intense.

Why wasn't the damned frame coming off? "I don't think this is a good idea," Ashley said with each tug.

"Step back." From the determined look in his blue eyes, he'd bring the whole window down and not care.

"I don't think so." The frame popped off just as she heard a scuffle outside her door. _Oh crap, the cops._ "I'm coming," she yelled and turned to race toward the door. A loud thud reverberated around the loft as one of the officers kicked it open. The alarm went off. Officer Kilpatrick and her new male partner charged into the room, their weapons drawn.

"Step back, Ms. Fitzgerald," the officers ordered.

"No. It's not Dunn," Ashley yelled, her hands raised, her body between the officers and the window. "He's my friend...Ron Noble." She looked over her shoulder to find Ron still outside her window, his gaze on the cops. "Remember him from the lobby on Sunday, Officer Kilpatrick?"

"Oh, you." The woman looked at Ashley, her gun still drawn. "Do you want us to escort him downstairs, ma'am?"

Not if she could help it. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you." Ashley hurried to disarm her security system. The silence that followed was deafening. She flashed the officers an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry you thought he was Dunn."

Kilpatrick lowered her weapon and shoved it in the holster. "If you want to change the arrangement you made with Officer Sanchez, please clear it with me first. We don't want to hurt an innocent man."

Ashley's ears grew hot with embarrassment. She felt like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar, which was ridiculous. This was _her_ home.

"Of course, you're right." She indicated the door and added a smile to gentle her next words. "If you'll excuse us...."

"Do you want us to fix the door?" Kilpatrick asked.

"I can take care of it." She didn't know how, but she wanted them gone.

The two officers nodded and left. Ashley sighed when she closed the door behind them and it swung open. She grabbed the stool she used when she worked and propped the door with it. The entire time, she was aware of Ron's eyes on her. When she finally looked up, it was to find him inside her loft, removing his firemen paraphernalia. He had on everything black underneath—pants, shirt and boots. And he was still pissed, judging by the way he crossed his arms and leveled her a frosty glare.

A sliver of apprehension shot up her spine. Not that she feared him. Ron would never harm her. She just didn't know if she could bullshit her way out of what she'd done. Ashley gave him a tentative smile, which quickly died when his eyes narrowed. "You're angry."

"You think?"

Boy, he was in a nasty mood. "I had to do it, Ron."

His arched eyebrows shot up. "Had to? Interesting choice of words."

He was too calm, reminding her of a looming dark cloud before the thunder and lightning kicked in. "You want to know why I told them not to let you through."

"Damn right I do."

He was glowering at her so hard she knew only the truth would work now, which meant leaving herself open and vulnerable. Dub her a coward, but it was easier to lie on the tracks and await the train than tell a guy you cared about him. Once said, there was no going back.

When Ron's brows jerked up, she blurted, "I was trying to protect you."

He blinked as though she'd yanked the carpet from underneath him. "Pass that by me, again."

"I thought that if you stayed around me, Dunn might hurt you. I couldn't bear it." When he continued to stare at her, she shifted her weight to one foot and yelped, "Ouch."

Pain shot up her leg. She lifted her foot and saw the blood on her sock. Dang, she must have stepped on a piece of a broken glass. While she pulled off the sock to see the extent of the damage, she heard Ron curse and looked up.

"You're hurt." He hurried toward her.

"I should've remembered there was broken glass on the floor." Her face scrunched up when she saw blood ooze out of the wound. She hated blood. The sight of her own made her a little woozy.

"Don't put your weight on it," Ron cautioned when she let go of her foot. He didn't give her a warning before he scooped her up. "There might be broken glass imbedded in it."

Ashley searched his scowling face. "Let me explain."

"Forget it. It doesn't matter now."

"But it does."

He stopped outside the door of the downstairs bathroom. "Ashley, let it go."

"I can't."

Sighing, he entered the bathroom, set her down on the toilet seat and propped her leg on the edge of the tub. When he shifted to straighten his body, she reached out and touched his cheek. He froze but didn't pull away. Instead, he turned his head to look at her, his expression unreadable.

Where should she begin? Ignoring her stinging foot, she studied his face—the arched eyebrows and the chiseled cheekbones, the strong jaw line and the sculptured lips. She caressed with her fingers where her gaze had been, ran her knuckles over his stubble. She realized her hand was trembling and let it fall on her lap.

"I want to apologize and explain. At least, allow me to do that."

He sat on the edge of the tub, right beside her feet. "Okay."

Ashley swallowed. _Here goes nothing or everything._ "For years, I'd refused to face what happened ten years ago. When Dunn hurt Kirkland and then came after me, I knew there was a possibility that someone else I cared about might be next. I had to make some tough decisions." She searched his face but couldn't tell how he was taking her confession. "When I refused to stay at your place or let you stay with me, it was because I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. I'm sorry I took a coward's way out and told the cops not to let you through. I just couldn't take the chance."

She waited for him to say something, anything, but he didn't speak.

His gaze grew so intense her face heated with embarrassment. "Say something. Please."

He cleared his throat then pointed to her foot. "I need to take care of that." His voice was gruff.

She sighed and dropped her injured leg inside the tub. She should have kept her mouth shut. Men heard the words 'I care' and they just assumed a woman wanted commitment, the sure way to send them running. Her heart squeezed at the thought of Ron leaving her. The three days without him had felt like eternity. "The first-aid kit is in the cabinet behind the mirror."

Ron pulled out the red and white box and set it on top of the toilet tank. Neither of them spoke as he sat down again, turned on the tub faucet and ran it over her bleeding foot. She winced at the stinging sensation, but her gaze followed the outline of his face, his muscular arms and down to his long fingers. He held her foot in his large hand, his touch gentle and soothing. She must have really hurt him. Ron was never one to clam up.

He set her cleaned foot on his lap then reached inside the first-aid kit for peroxide and a cotton swab. He poured the disinfectant on the swab and cleaned her cut. She winced, her leg jerking.

Ron threw her an apologetic look. "This will be over soon. It's not bleeding anymore, and I don't think you'll need stitches. Have you had a tetanus shot recently?"

She shook her head. "Do you want me to speak with Sanchez?"

His nod was curt. "Yes. Because I'm not going anywhere. I intend to take you to the hypnotist tomorrow just like I promised." He spread a generous amount of first-aid ointment on the cut, then wrapped her foot with a clean gauze. "How's that?"

"Good, thanks."

He watched her face. "Does it hurt? The wound wasn't deep, but you never know."

"I'm fine, really. Thank you." She added, "I'm really sorry for everything, Ron." When he still didn't say anything, anger crept in. But she lacked the strength to hold on to it, and it quickly flickered out. Truth be told, she'd rather love him than fight with him. "You may not think so now, but I thought I was doing what was best." Her voice shook and she stumbled over the words, but she didn't care. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Ron looked as though he was about to say something, then appeared to change his mind. Instead, he put her foot down, lifted her up and traded places with her on the toilet seat. Then he pulled her on his lap. For a moment, he didn't speak, just held her tight, her head on the curve of his neck. She could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. The heat from his body spread, warming her until her shivering subsided. She let him cuddle her, offering her comfort when she was the one who'd hurt him. How could she have been such a fool? This man was priceless.

She turned her head and dropped butterfly kisses on the hot skin of his neck, gripped his face and tilted it so she could kiss along his jaw, the corners of his mouth. She knew exactly when he relaxed.

"Do you forgive me?" she whispered.

"Only if you promise me one thing."

She leaned back to look into his eyes. They were watchful, unreadable bottomless cobalt blue pools. "Anything."

"Don't ever stand between me and a cocked gun again."

She blinked. Was that why he'd been so quiet since the cops left? "I couldn't let them hurt you."

He blew out air and shook his head. "I know. Just don't ever do it again. Also never ask someone else to deliver a message to me."

"Okay. I'm really so—"

"Don't. No more apologies. Just plain old-fashioned honesty. No matter how bad or ugly, give it to me. I hate to be taken for a fool."

She nodded. "I understand."

He scowled. "Good. Now how long is this meek attitude of yours going to last?"

Despite the bite in his voice, his eyes twinkled. Ashley laughed. Slow to anger and quick to laugh, she loved that about him. "Will you ever act normal, Ron Noble?"

"Does normal turn you on?" he shot back.

"No."

"Then never." He planted a brief kiss on her lips. "C'mon. Up you go. I have to clean up the mess you made in the kitchen."

"Don't you mean the mess you caused when you scared me half to death? And there's nothing wrong with normal now and then."

"I can do normal quite easily. Unfortunately, you bring out something primal in me." He angled his head and kissed her again, deeply, possessively. "Put your arms around my neck," he ordered when he finally eased off. "I have to carry you out of here."

Like hell he was. It had been three long days since he touched her. The kitchen could wait. She couldn't. "Not so fast, Hotshot." She pulled his head and poured all her hunger and need in a single kiss. Within seconds, the atmosphere in the room changed.

His heart slamming in his chest, body heating, Ron sat back and pulled Ashley to him. Hearing her admit that she cared about him was headier than the best brandy he'd ever tasted. But when she'd planted herself between him and those cocked guns, his heart nearly stopped. He hadn't known what to think or say. But right now wasn't the time to analyze it. It would keep until later.

He palmed her cheeks to hold her head in place and took possession of her mouth. For three days, he had dreamt about this. Ron had pushed himself mentally at work and physically at the gym to the point of exhaustion, only to have her invade his dreams. If he'd thought that all he needed to get her out of his system was a good lay, he would have found release somewhere else. Right from the beginning, he'd known it was more than sex with Ashley. Known and fought it because he'd taken his mother and uncle's way of life as the norm, never letting anyone get close. It was liberating to let go.

He gripped her head and plundered her mouth as he intended to do her body. Their heavy breathing, sighs and groans filled the room as their needs spiraled out of control. The desire to cherish and please clashed with the wild urge to conquer and claim. The former won hands down and he slowed to a languid pace. Nibbling, teasing and savoring. He intended to make up for the last three days.

Finally, he lifted his head, and whispered, "Are there surveillance cameras in this room?"

"Are you kidding?" she breathed out. "No audio either. Here or the one upstairs."

He leaned back and glanced around. It was big by bathroom standards, but not in the same class as the one upstairs. He didn't want her freaking out because of her claustrophobia. "I want to make love to you right here, right now."

"Me too."

"Later we can move to the one upstairs." A sweet, radiant smile curved her lips as she ran a finger down his nose, then across his lips. He pulled her finger into his mouth and rested a hand on her soft thigh. Her muscles trembled under his palms. He moved up under her dress, caressing her lace-covered hip, her stomach, the small of her back. Her responses, the tiny moans, the arching of her back, were fascinating.

"Your skin is so soft. Like nothing I've ever felt."

"You say the nicest things." She stilled his hand, stood up and straddled him then tugged at his black tee shirt and pulled it off. His breath grew rugged when she ran her palms along his arms, past her shoulders and down his bare back to his belted pants. "You're beautifully built. Hot. Everything about you is hot."

His erection pulsed and throbbed, needing her so much it was a physical pain. The silkiness of her skin begged for his touch. He slid a hand under her dress, again, stroking, creeping higher. Relieving her of dress and bra gave him exactly what he wanted, her naked.

The perfection of her body held him spellbound but just for a moment. He continued stroking her skin, teasing her nipples while she gasped and trembled. He could never get tired of watching her respond to his touch.

He leaned forward to nuzzle the gentle swell of her stomach, which was right in front of his face. She smelled good. He took a deep breath, savoring the heady scent of her arousal. His hands lowered and gripped her lacy thong bikini. This time, he slid it down, past her long, supple legs. He lifted her leg and rested it on the rim of the tub while kissing her soft inner thigh. He slid on his knees and rested her raised leg on his shoulder. Then he grabbed her bare ass and found her, drawing her swollen knob of pleasure into his mouth.

Ashley moaned, or maybe she protested, he wasn't sure. But the way her fingers forked through his hair, gripped his head and pressed his face against her mound, he highly doubted it. Her nails dug into his scalp, her hips writhing as he licked and lapped, pushed and coaxed until her body convulsed. He absorbed her pleasure, not relenting, loving her hitching breath, the tremors that shook her body. Finally, he lifted his head and looked up, but her eyes were closed in ecstasy. Keeping a steady arm around her waist, he stood and kissed her, long and hard, making her taste her juices on his lips.

He eased off to fumble with his pants, but his trembling eagerness made the task difficult. "I need to stop this habit of making love to you partially clothed," he growled.

"Don't you dare. I love your style. Slow or fast, you always know what I need." She nudged his hand aside and undid the belt. Then she shoved everything, jeans and underwear, all the way to his ankle and yanked them off, his shoes, too. Still bent, her hand closed around him, her thumb delicately rubbing the tip of his shaft. "So delicate yet firm and powerful."

He closed his large hand over hers as she pumped him, gripped tightly for a brief moment before easing her hand off him and pulled her up. "Not now. I need to be inside you, babe. Right now."

He got protection from his pants but she took it from his hand, ripped the package open and rolled it on him. Then she budged him gently and he flopped back on the toilet lid. Once again, she took his throbbing shaft in her hand. Slowly, she lowered herself and guided him inside her hot, wet and yielding folds. A hiss escaped his mouth as her tight sheath hugged him.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

"Oh yes, babe. You feel good. Perfect."

"No. You're the perfect one." She placed her hands on his shoulders and started riding him, her movements slow and deep. He cupped her breasts, dragged his tongue over her nipples one at a time, suckling them tenderly. Then her movements changed, becoming rapid as she rocked, rose and fell on him. He almost lost it when she arched her back, leaned back to grab his thighs behind her and danced circles on his shaft, her half-closed eyes locked with his.

For the first time in his life Ron felt exposed, vulnerable. He didn't know this crazy power she had over his mind and body, but he wasn't going to fight it. Actually, it was kind of liberating to be at her mercy—seduced by the sexy sounds coming from her mouth and her jerking hips, completely unmanned by the little muscles inside her massaging him. She had him bad, had him bucking and writhing, sweating and groaning her name as they raced to the finish.

She stiffened and jerked violently, almost unsheathing him. He pulled her to him and cried out in a voice he hardly recognized as his own. Intense pleasure shot through his body in quick succession, rendering him helpless.

He held her tight, for how long he didn't know. He didn't want to let her go. Or stop loving her. Or share her with anyone. He now knew what he wanted, and it was much more than an occasional sex. He had to have exclusive rights to her.

Even as the thoughts formed, Ron knew it wasn't fair to Ashley. He still hadn't come clean about the rumors about his father and the fire. He'd meant to three days ago, but had ditched the idea after talking to his mother and doing some thorough soul-searching. If Ashley knew the truth, she might end their association. He wasn't taking that chance. The truth must wait until later. He must have time to show her that what they had was special.

His heart thundered in his chest, except it wasn't with excitement this time. It was pure, unadulterated dread. Relationships beyond the bedroom were a mystery to him. He'd never had one nor met a woman who inspired him to ask for one. Yet with this woman, he wanted much more. Somehow, she had stormed past his defenses and imbedded herself in his very essence. All he had to do was accept it, deal with it.

He smoothed damp hair away from her face and took a deep breath, not sure how to broach the subject. "I love make-up sex."

Crap, that wasn't what he'd meant to say. But Ashley rescued him from coming up with a better opening when she laughed and her nether muscles tightened around him. He wasn't surprised when blood rushed to his groin, again. He hoped it would always be like that with them.

She kissed his chest and leaned back to look into his face, her eyes luminous. "I wouldn't know about that, but since you like it so much, we should fight more often. And I should be on top every time we make up."

"On top huh? Love to control the pace, don't you?"

She giggled. "It gives me more freedom."

"And leaves my hands free for these babies." He cupped her breasts and paid tribute to her taut, responsive nipples with his teeth and tongue and grinned when she caught her breath. "On the other hand, you haven't seen all of my tricks yet."

"Hmm, sounds promising. Want to show me more?" She wiggled her eyebrows when he looked up. "I've been told I'm a quick study."

He loved the way she wasn't afraid to show him that she wanted him. Ron laughed and pulled her closer to nuzzle the side of her face.

***

An hour later, they left the bathroom. Ashley's eyes darted to the areas in the room with surveillance cameras. Thank goodness their system had no audio component. They never curbed their enthusiasm when they made love.

"If that punk comes anywhere near you again, let me know," Ron said from behind her. "Where are the sketches?"

Ron was ticked that she hadn't told him about the incident with Vaughn outside the hospital. The way he was going on, she wished she hadn't mentioned it. She hobbled to the table where she'd kept the sketches and slapped them in his hand. "You're overreacting. Vaughn wouldn't physically hurt me. That's not his style."

"What would you know about his style? You only met him twice."

Okay, she brought that on herself. "Never mind. Anyway, I'm only guessing that the man in my dreams and Vaughn's driver are the same person. I could be mistaken."

His attention shifted to the sketches. Slowly, he studied each page. "But you recalled his scarred face, and in your dream, your mother was responsible for scarring him. I'd like to hear what Dr. Vogel has to say about that. May I borrow this one?" He indicated the sketch with the unscarred profile of Vaughn's driver.

"Why? Eddie's already checking into the man's background."

Ron's brow rose. "Your cousin?"

Ashley nodded and told him what Eddie had uncovered.

"Do you think he'll agree to share his information with Kenny?"

"I don't know. Eddie is a law unto himself, so I can't promise anything. When we spoke, he was planning on paying Kenny a visit."

"That's even better. Kenny prefers to work with the local law enforcement rather than his former colleagues at the bureau. He might also want to show this sketch to the man who works at the Sunset Marquis Hotel to see if Frankie Higgins was the man he saw talking to Dunn. Then we'll have something tangible to link the Doyles to this mess." He explained what his mother told him about Doyle's attempt to buy the house ten years ago.

Ashley shook her head. "That would make what Vaughn did so weird."

"What? Offering you a ride?"

"No, hon. Vaughn has decided to support local art. He's the new benefactor of The César Chavez Children's Museum." His eyes progressively darkened as she explained what Josh and Micah had told her.

"How much is he pledging?" he asked when she finished.

"I don't know. Why?"

"Nothing." He walked to where he'd left his firefighter clothes and slipped the sketch in the pocket of his jacket.

Not liking his attitude, her gaze stayed on him. "You aren't thinking of confronting Vaughn, are you? We don't have any proof yet that he and his father are the bad guys here."

He shot her a sharp look. "We'll see." Then he turned to survey the broken pieces of glass. "Where's the broom and dustpan?"

Ashley got up. "I'll get it."

"No, stay put. In fact, you shouldn't put your weight on that foot. Where're your cleaning things?"

She settled back on the stool. "In the closet next to the bathroom door." She watched him walk away, admiring the confidence he exuded. Would she ever get tired of looking at him? He was such a beautiful man.

An idea started to form in her head, brought a grin on her lips. Yeah, why not. She hobbled to the table where her cameras were and picked up one. She lifted it and aimed at Ron as he walked back to the kitchen area, broom and dustpan in hand.

Ron cocked a brow at her. "What are you doing?"

"Capturing the moment." Her finger twitched and the shutter opened and closed. "Don't you know a man tinkering about in the kitchen is considered very sexy?"

He stopped, wriggled his eyebrows. "Want me to take my shirt off?"

She grinned and clicked. "Would you?"

"Hell no."

"Please." She moved until she had a clear view of him sweeping the debris off the counter and into the pan. Click, click, went her camera. The photos would go into her personal collection. She didn't know how long their relationship would last, but it wouldn't hurt to have a few mementos along the way. Something to hold on to once he was gone. "Women will die to own you."

"Too bad. I'm a one woman man, and I'm already taken." He leaned against the broom, his expression becoming serious. "Do you remember what you told me about being filthy the night of the fire?"

Ashley noted the change in his voice and put the camera down. "Yes. It didn't make sense."

"It should once you hear this. My great-grandfather ran a speakeasy under Carlyle House during prohibition."

Her eyes widened. "No way. I researched the house, and _that_ wasn't in the archived newspaper articles."

"It's a family secret, which explains why my family fought selling the house all these years and where my grandmother got the money to start Neumann Security. I mean, my great-grandfather was a doctor, but in those days, doctors didn't make that much money." He swept the broken piece of glass onto the dustpan and dumped them in the garbage as he talked. "After my mother confessed, Kenny and I went snooping. It took us a while to find the door hidden in the basement. It's impossible to tell it's there. Just a second." He went to return the broom and the dustpan in the storage closet.

Ashley tried to recall anything about the house and came up blank. How had she made it to that room ten years ago? "Are there other doors leading to it?"

"Probably. I'm amazed you didn't hurt yourself in that dingy room. It's huge and full of crates and storage boxes, broken down tables and chairs. Someone in my family built a wall to hide the secret underground entrance that connects it to the storm drainage system, but moisture has seeped into the concrete and it's crumbling. I wish I knew about the whole speakeasy thing when I was younger."

From his excited expression, he would have enjoyed exploring those underground rooms. Maybe visiting the place might jog her memory. Before she could ask Ron, the doorbell rang.

Ron held up a hand to stop her from answering it and walked to the door. When he removed the stool and opened it, Officer Kilpatrick said, "I'm sorry to intrude, but I need to talk to Ms. Fitzgerald right away."

Something in Kilpatrick's voice had Ashley hurrying to the door. She slipped her hand through Ron's. Touching him gave her a modicum of comfort as she braced for whatever news the officer brought.

"What is it?" Ashley asked.

"We just got a call from Sanchez with some good, or bad, news. Depending on how you look at it."

"What news?" Ron said.

"A body of a man matching Dunn's description washed up on Corona del Mar State Beach earlier today. They fed the fingerprints into IAFIS database and the name that came up was Evan Ironside, a local private investigator. A couple of our people paid his office a visit and discovered that he uses several aliases, including Dunn."

"Was his death...?" Ashley didn't finish the sentence, but Officer Kilpatrick understood what she was asking.

"Natural? They don't have anything conclusive yet, but they're not ruling out foul play. However, we've been ordered to end the stakeout. With Dunn dead, the captain said we have no reason to be here, Ms. Fitzgerald. I'm sorry."

Ashley couldn't believe what she was hearing. Ron had gone tense beside her, too. "What if whoever hired him is still out there?" he snapped.

"I understand how you feel, but I don't make the decisions, Mr. Noble. I just follow orders."

"Can we talk to Officer Sanchez?" Ashley asked.

Kilpatrick shook her head. "I don't know. You could try calling her. But I do know she's busy at the moment. She'll be here tomorrow to talk to both of you."

"We'll be here," Ashley said.

"Until four, then we have an appointment downtown." Ron pulled out a card from his wallet and passed it to the woman. "She can reach us by my cell phone."

"Or mine," Ashley added.

"A team from our precinct will be here in the morning to dismantle the surveillance system. I'm sorry we didn't get to Dunn first." She nodded and left.

Ron propped the door shut and turned to peer at Ashley's face. Worried and confused, she wondered if her eyes had given her away.

"Hey." He rubbed her upper arms.

The soothing warmth from his hands steadied her. "This is all so strange."

"What is?"

"Remember I mentioned a detective my aunt hired ten years ago to investigate the fire?"

"Yes. You said he found nothing."

"That's what he told her. But he must have. His name was Evan Ironside."
CHAPTER 15

Ashley was still thinking about Evan 'Dunn' Ironside the next day as she and Ron climbed the stairs to Dr. Reuben's office. Obviously, Dunn's claim that he'd found nothing during his investigation of the fire was false. Someone must have convinced him to lie. More than ever, Ashley wanted to know what happened that night.

"This way, please." Dr. Reuben's assistant, a stylish forty-something brunette with a beaming smile, opened a door and indicated to Ashley and Ron to enter. "The doctor will be with you shortly. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me. The phone is on the side table." With another flash of a smile, she was gone.

Ashley hugged her arms and turned to survey Dr. Reuben's psychotherapy room. The few times she'd consulted with the doctor, they'd used a different office. This room was surprisingly homey. A sofa, a loveseat and a coffee table sat in the middle of the room with two leather chairs and a chaise lounge near a window. Gilded lamps sat on the side tables, and next to them, a vase of flowers. A few collectibles shared space with psychology books on shelves. With the ceiling fan turning at a low speed, the room was cool without being uncomfortable.

Despite the relaxing atmosphere, Ashley's stomach knitted with tension. She walked to the window and stared blindly at the people walking down the street.

"Babe, why don't you sit down and try to relax," Ron said from behind her, his hands resting in her waist.

Relax? How could she when she was about to revisit the most traumatic moment in her life? She turned and gave him a tiny smile then walked to the loveseat and sat. He joined her, reached behind her to rub her back.

"It might help if you talked about your fears," he added.

"I want my memories back, but I have this fear that there must be a reason why I chose to block them." She paused to clear her throat. "Maybe the dream I had the other night is really what happened ten years ago and not something my subconscious created to fill the void in my memory. I keep asking myself whether I'm ready to deal with the truth." She threw him a glance from the corner of her eye. "But, I'm happy you're here with me."

"So am I. However," he cupped her cheek, turned her head until their gazes connected, "if you don't think you're ready, then don't go through with this."

Ashley shook her head. Considering how much he wanted to know what happened that night, it was quite noble of him to suggest giving up. She didn't really have a choice. They'd already decided to work with Dr. Reuben first before attempting to jog her memory by walking through Carlyle House.

"I'll be fine." When Ron continued to frown, she pressed a soft kiss on his lips.

"Only if you're sure," he added.

Ashley smiled, thinking it cute the way he worried about her. "I am."

The reality of what she was about to do had hit about an hour ago. Who knew she would be falling apart like this at the last minute? Ron had kept her too busy last night for her to worry about anything else—fixing her door, discussing their case, making love. This morning, dealing with cops—not that the conversation with Officer Sanchez had shed any new light into the cause of Dunn's death—then later dropping off the sketch of Frankie Higgins at Kenny's offices had kept the thoughts of the pending hypnosis at bay. Now her knees knocked and ice spread under her skin. The waiting was driving her nuts.

She shot an impatient glance at the door just as it opened and a petite woman of about fifty walked in. It was Dr. Reuben. Her graying dreadlocked hair was pinned back and glasses perched at the tip of her freckled nose. She smiled and nodded at Ron, then turned her attention to Ashley.

"My dear." She walked to her side, sat down and took her hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Nervous. Scared." She'd learned a long time ago never to lie to Dr. Reuben. Her chin lifted, determination cutting through her fear. "But I still want to do this."

The therapist shook her head and sighed. Not exactly the reaction Ashley had expected. Before she could ask if everything was okay, the woman looked up at Ron and offered him her hand. "We haven't met. Irene Reuben."

"Ron Noble."

Her eyes sharpened as though she recognized his name, but she didn't say anything. Instead of inviting Ron to sit, she turned to face Ashley. "I'm so sorry, my dear. But I won't be performing the hypnosis today—or any other day. Let me finish, please," she added when Ashley opened her mouth to respond. "I'm taking an extended leave of absence from my practice and will be referring all my patients to several of my colleagues. We tried to call you earlier today to cancel the appointment but your phone went unanswered."

_No. Please no._ It took her this long to muster enough courage to agree to hypnosis. Ashley shook her head. "I don't want another therapist, Dr. Reuben. I only agreed to do it because I knew I'd work with you. It will take me forever to trust another therapist."

"I understand that, dear. But I'm in a situation that can't be helped." Dr. Reuben's grip tightened on Ashley's hand. "You see, someone bugged my offices. As a therapist, my patients rely on me to keep our sessions private, so anything they tell me is confidential. Someone out there has had access to my office for I don't know how long. I've no idea who that person is or how many of my sessions have been compromised. I can't treat anyone until I know the extent of the damage."

Ashley didn't know what to think, how to feel. The hollow feeling in her stomach intensified. This was the last straw in a string of many strange coincidences. Maybe recovering her lost memory wasn't meant to be. She looked at Ron, knowing how much this latest development must be devastating to him.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

His hand closed on her shoulder and squeezed. "It's not your fault. I hope you catch the person responsible for this," he added, looking at the therapist.

"I hope so, too," she added.

Ashley studied the woman. The lines on her face appeared more pronounced and her hazel eyes were shadowed. "I don't know if I want to go through this with another doctor, Dr. Reuben."

"Ashley—"

"I know, I know. I need to face my fear and see this through." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Okay. If you recommend someone, I promise to think about it."

"That's the spirit." She patted Ashley's hand then she got up, went to her desk and retrieved a manila envelope. "This has a list of colleagues who are exceptional therapists. I've already explained my situation, and they're willing to absorb my patients."

"Thank you." On impulse, Ashley hugged Dr. Reuben after accepting the envelope. The doctor returned the hug, then stepped back and broke the contact. An awkward silence and hasty goodbyes followed.

Ashley and Ron left the office and headed down the stairs. It was after five and people hurried through the lobby of the office building, mostly heading outside, but a few walked toward the elevators. Ashley glanced at Ron from the corner of her eye. His expression was calm, which was exactly what she needed right now. Any signs of frustration at the turn of events and she'd only feel worse. This wasn't how she'd planned this day to end.

The drive to her place was accomplished in silence. Inside her loft, Ashley threw the envelope Dr. Reuben had given to her on the counter and started the coffeemaker.

Ron watched her like a hawk. "Sweetheart, why don't you open the envelope?"

"No. It took me years to trust her, Ron. I'm not about to start all over with another shrink." She leaned against the counter, pinched the bridge of her eyes and sighed. "We'll go with plan B—walk through Carlyle House until something jogs my memory. You have the keys, right?"

He moved around the counter toward her, nodding.

She took a deep breath and released it. "It's time. My memory's coming back in bits and pieces, but more rapidly than before. You can even show me the secret room."

Ron stopped in front of her and peered into her eyes. "That's a wonderful idea, but I still need you to open the envelope. Please."

His expression was solemn, his behavior beyond weird. If he wanted her to study the names of shrinks she had no intention of seeing, she'd humor him. Ashley plucked the manila envelope from the counter, grabbed a letter opener from a tray by her disconnected phone and slid it open.

A single sheet of paper with Dr. Reuben's slanted handwriting nestled inside. She read the single sentence, shook her head and read it again. She looked up at Ron and frowned. "What does she mean she'll meet me at _your_ place at seven to perform the hypnosis? What's going on?"

Ron crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, a grim expression settling on his face. "On Sunday before I learned that you slapped me with a restraining order, I asked Kenny to check on your shrink."

"What? Why would you do that?"

"Hear me out, please. Okay? I assumed that whoever bugged your place must know you'd made an appointment to see Reuben. And since we've concluded they're after what you remember from ten years ago, I knew they'd also bug her place. Kenny contacted Dr. Reuben last night when she got back into town, explained to her what was going on and she let him search her offices. When we stopped at his place earlier, he told me he found transmitters in every room and on the phones, and a video feed in the fan's socket in the room we were in."

Ashley's hand crept to her chest, her heart pounding like tom-toms. It never crossed her mind that Dr. Reuben could be in danger. But Ron had thought about her and taken care of things. She reached up and touched his cheek. "Thank you. How did you get her to agree to a search? Reuben is so fastidious about her personal space."

"I wasn't there, but Kenny can be charming when a situation demands it. I tend not to ask for details. He has someone shadowing the therapist and will coordinate things with her and her husband to sneak her inside my house tonight in case she's being followed."

Ashley reached for two mugs, filled them with coffee and handed Ron his black. She added hazelnut creamer to hers, her mind going in circles. After she took a long sip, she set her mug on the counter and studied her man. She loved him and would do just about anything for him, but she hated when people kept things from her.

"Why didn't you tell me what was going on our way to her place? Why am I hearing about it now?" Her voice came out even and non-confrontational.

"The plan was for you to act naturally in the doc's office when she cancelled the hypnosis. You passed with flying colors."

Her eyes widened as realization sunk in. "You mean the bugs are still in her office?"

Ron nodded. "This way, whoever is listening will believe Reuben won't hypnotize you and hopefully leave you and her alone. Remember what Kilpatrick said, Dunn's office was swept clean. Someone is still listening."

Ashley frowned as the conversation with the therapist replayed in her head. "Does that mean she's really not closing her practice?"

"I don't know. You can ask her tonight. Kenny filled me in on the basics and kept the details to himself. One thing he did say was that the good doc has a soft spot for you. Once Kenny explained what's been happening, she wanted to help, hence the appointment at my place. Why are we whispering?"

"This whole investigation seems so surreal, like we should be wearing disguises and skulking in the dark. So what's the plan?"

Ron put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple. "We grab some food, head over to my place and wait."

***

Hours later, they'd picked up Chinese food somewhere in West Hollywood and were on their way to Ron's. Ashley hadn't given much thought to where he lived, but looked around with interest as they pulled up the driveway of a gorgeous Mediterranean hilltop villa in Beachwood Canyon. He parked his car and led her along a cobbled courtyard to an arched, iron-studded oak door. The ancient-looking door, plain white exterior with high and tiny oval windows, didn't prepare her for the splendor inside. Ashley's jaw dropped when he unlocked the door and turned off his state-of-the art security system.

She'd died and gone to heaven. The loft-style living, dining and kitchen open floor plan was her ideal design of a dream home. The oak floor and wood-accented walls, plants in niches and brown furniture created an outdoorsy aura. Stars twinkled through the skylights and clear glass French windows dominated the length of the house, displaying the panoramic view of downtown L.A. Security lights gave her a glimpse of mature trees and an ivy-choked wooden fence. She spied a den through an arched doorway to her right as Ron carried the bag with their food to a brown granite kitchen table.

"You have a beautiful home," she said.

"Thank you."

She took in the wood, lantern pendant lights dangling from the ceiling and sconces on walls. "How old is it?"

"About eighty, but I fixed it some." He pulled out plates from a cupboard and utensils, and reached for the Styrofoam containers.

She caught his wrist. "Show me around first."

"Not much to see really."

She tugged his arm. "Then it shouldn't take long, should it?"

He grinned at her overt curiosity, wound his arm around her shoulder and hugged her closer. "If a tour is what you want, babe...."

He didn't hurry her as they walked through arched doorways from room to room—a den, a media room, home gym and a guest room. Two French doors on either sides of the fireplace in the master bedroom opened to a balcony. For a moment, they stood out there, arms around each other, and enjoyed the view of downtown L.A. at dusk. The pristine waters of his swimming pool reflected the sky's myriad of colors. By the time they made it back to the kitchen, Ashley wanted to trade homes.

Ron regaled her with stories of the crap he'd gone through renovating the house as they settled on cushioned chairs at the dining room table that seated six. He produced a bottle of Chardonnay to go with their chicken dishes and heaped their plates with food. They dug in, keeping the conversation easy.

When a knock came at the door, it was quarter to seven. So absorbed in Ron, Ashley had completely forgotten the reason she was in his home. Reality shifted and a shiver racked her body. It was the therapist's office all over again.

Dressed in an overcoat and scarf tied around her head, Dr. Reuben's petite form was dwarfed by Kenny and another military-type guy with cropped brown hair. Everything happened fast after that. Pleasantries were exchanged, curtains drawn and lights turned on. Kenny and his man disappeared somewhere. Ashley sat on a dining room chair, arms hugging her body. The verbal exchange between Ron and the therapist finally penetrated her foggy mind.

"Ron...may I call you Ron?" When he nodded, the therapist smiled. "Please, move that chair to the other side of the lounge. You can sit there, but you mustn't interfere."

Ron nodded. "I understand. Thanks for allowing me to stay."

"I can bend my own rules once in a while." She walked to Ashley's side, touched her arm. "Come with me, my dear."

She led Ashley to the lounge next to a table with a single candle then sat on a chair facing her. Ashley took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Ron's presence behind her felt very reassuring.

"I need to know if you've had any recollection since we spoke," the therapist asked.

Ashley gave her a sheepish grin. "I'm not sure if a dream counts. Remember the sketch I showed you last week?" The hypnotist nodded. "I saw the same man in my dreams." She removed the sketches from her bag and handed them over to the therapist then quickly explained what she saw. "Do you think this was part of my memory or something I cooked up?"

Dr. Reuben was quiet for a moment as she studied each drawing, her forehead creased. She handed the sketches to Ron and turned to face Ashley. "There are many different theories as to what causes dreams. The basic belief is that a little bit of our memory and imagination combines to form dream imagery—a mesh of our subconscious thoughts and our desires." She leaned forward. "In your dream, it could be that it was easier for you to put a face on the villain hurting your mother and the one in your sketch was handy. Or it could be exactly what happened ten years ago." She studied Ashley's expression, her smile gentle. "But that's where hypnosis comes in. Since it provides access to the subconscious mind, it can help you to relive those particular events."

Ashley nodded. Maybe it was all her imagination. Maybe no one killed her parents. She could hope despite what Ron had told her, couldn't she?

"I want you to remember what we talked about last week, Ashley. You'll be able to hear me during the entire time you're under. You'll tell us everything you see, feel, touch and smell. If you become scared or need a break, I'll press your right knee. Immediately, you'll go back to a happier time or a safe place where nothing can hurt you. When you're ready to go back and deal with the situation, I'll touch your left knee, okay?"

"Okay." Right knee meant happy times. Left knee meant going back in the mix of things. Ashley took another deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Good. Now, lie down on the lounge. Be comfortable. Remember, you have nothing to fear. No one is going to harm you." The doctor glanced at Ron. "You have people who care about you here. Everything you'll see has already happened."

Ashley looked at Ron, smiled, then nodded at the doctor. "I think I'm ready now."

"Good. Let me get everything set."

Dr. Reuben lit the candle on the side table. As though on cue, Ron pressed a button on a remote control and the lights in the room went off. The glow from the candle cast eerie shadows around the room. With the silence that now filled the house, they could have been conducting a séance.

The therapist quickly explained the basic method of guiding someone into hypnosis for Ron's sake, but her soft voice soothed Ashley's nerves. The decision to be a participant and not an observer during the process had been hers. She wanted to relive every last moment of that night so she didn't miss anything.

"I'm going to help you relax, Ashley," Dr. Reuben finally told her. "Concentrate on my voice and follow my directions. No matter what other sounds you may hear, just concentrate on my voice. Every time you hear it, know that you're safe."

Ashley nodded.

"I want you to take a long, deep breath through your nose and hold it. Count to eight, then exhale slowly and completely through your mouth. That's very good. Now tense all your muscles from your toes to your jaw. Make them very tight. Count backward from ten to one and relax them."

Ashley smiled as a surprisingly warm feeling surged through her body.

"I want you to look at the candle," Dr. Reuben instructed. "Keep your eyes on it and breathe slowly and freely. With every breath and passing moment, you're becoming more peaceful, more relaxed. That's good." After a few seconds of silence, she added, "Now I'm going to count down from one hundred. When I reach eighty, you will find your eyes becoming more and more tired. When I get to sixty, your eyes will close."

Ashley concentrated on both the flickering flame and Dr. Reuben's voice. Her eyes grew heavier until they closed. A tingling sensation started from her toes, moved up her feet, her legs. It made her limbs warm, heavy and relaxed. It moved up to her chest, shoulder and arms, and finally, her neck, jaws and facial muscles. She felt as though she were floating. It was blissful.

"You're in a boat, floating down a gentle river," the doctor's monotonous voice reached her, loud and clear. "The sky is blue. The aroma of flowers and birdsong fill the air. Everything is beautiful, peaceful. The boat stops and you step out of it. There's a building in front of you. Walk to the door and open it. It's your fifteenth birthday. You just finished celebrating with your cousins and had a wonderful time. You're now saying your goodbyes, following your parents into the car...."

Ashley was completely aware of the therapist's presence as the scenes and sounds from her past slowly unfolded.

Ashley leaned forward from the backseat of the car, her hands gripping the edges of her mother's seat. She was too excited to sit still or mind the seat belt. "Are we there yet, Dad?"

Her dad laughed. "Almost, pumpkin."

" _You're going to love it, babe," her mother added, her voice ringing with excitement._

Her dad signaled and left the street. He drove down a narrow road lined with trees to a gated entrance. Ashley craned her neck to see the house, but the trees blocked her view. Her dad rolled down the window to speak to the guard, then they drove through.

She pressed her face against the window for a better look as the house came into view. It had three floors, large windows of different shapes and levels of roofs. Lights were on downstairs, spilling through the windows to the lawn and the parking lot. A jazz tune filtered outside through the open windows and filled the night air. The car stopped in the parking lot and her Dad stepped out and opened Ashley's door.

" _It's beautiful." Ashley gripped her new camera tight, jumped out of the car and hurried to her mother's side. "Are we going to live here?"_

Her father exchanged a look with her mother. "Well, sweetheart, we're buying the house for something very special. Your mother and I thought we should turn it into a school for all those gifted children who don't have a place to go. We'll have singers, dancers and artists of all ages learning in different rooms, and also performing locally at events. You could even help out if you like."

" _Why can't we live here too? It's a big house. We could live upstairs and make downstairs the school." She didn't wait for their response. Instead, she ran up the stairs to take a better look through the windows. Cascading crystal chandeliers dangled from the high ceiling and beautiful paintings adorned the walls. To her right, she saw what appeared to be the bottom of a majestic staircase. Her parents reached her side._

" _Stay right here. I want pictures for my collection." Ashley went to the bottom of the stairs, turned and lifted the camera. "Smile and wave."_

Her dad put his arm around her mother's waist. They grinned and waved. Ashley pressed the button and the flash lit up their faces. She was about to take a second picture when the door opened behind her parents. The jazz tune grew louder.

A pretty mocha-complexioned woman with a fancy hairstyle spoke briefly to her parents, then her mother beckoned Ashley forward. "This is Sherry McKinney, the manager. She says you can watch T.V. in her office while Daddy and I sign the papers downstairs."

Ashley hardly paid any attention to them. Her gaze was on the foyer with its gleaming tiled floor. A huge mirror dominated the wall opposite a grand wooden staircase winding to the second floor. No way was she sitting in some old office to watch T.V. when she could explore. Where was the music coming from?

Mrs. McKinney disappeared downstairs with her parents and left Ashley in a tiny office with the television set on some teen show, but the music kept calling to her. Besides, it was hard to hear anything above the pulsing beat. Someone had replaced the jazz with a hip-hop song, and it appeared to come from a room on the other side of the foyer. She could sneak out, check the place out and be back before her parents came for her.

Just as Ashley got up to investigate, the headlights of a car swept the windows and drew her attention. She peered outside just as a woman stepped from behind the wheels of a dark car and glided toward the entrance of the house. She wore a grey fur coat and a fancy scarf draped her head and crisscrossed under her chin. Ashley's jaw dropped when the light fell on her face.

Nina Noble? Here? Chase and Baron would not believe she saw Nina tonight. She was their favorite actress. Unless....

Ashley fumbled with her camera and lifted it as the actress hurried toward the entrance. Her grey coat whipped open to reveal a shimmering golden dress. Before she could take the picture, another car pulled up and a tall man jumped from the driver's seat. He hurried toward Nina, his mouth opening and closing. Ashley couldn't hear what he was saying until he caught up with Nina at the bottom of the stairs.

" _Don't do this. I understand you're angry at mother, but selling the house is going too far. You'll break her heart."_

" _Heart?" Nina snapped. "Our mother is the Tin man in Wizard of Oz, Gregory. She's cold and spiteful, totally incapable of loving anyone or anything. No, I take that back. She has a soft spot for one person...you. Grandpa left me the house. Me. Not her. Not you. And I can do whatever I want with it. Now, excuse me, big brother. I have papers to sign." She started up the stairs, her heels tapping on the cement steps._

Gregory ran after her and grabbed her arm. "Our grandfather built this house with his bare hands. Doesn't that mean anything to you? I can lend you the money."

" _I don't want your money, Gregory."_

" _Then what is it you want? Mother's attention? She'll not be blackmailed into doing something she doesn't want to do. The two of you need to work out your differences without resorting to selling our legacy."_

Nina's laughter rang through the night. "Legacy? Why should I want to keep a house filled with terrible memories and pain? She made father's life miserable in this house, and if he hadn't died young, he would've sold it to spite her. Go back and tell her you failed, Gregory. That will be a first but the hag will forgive you. She always does." Nina's voice was shaking by the time she finished speaking.

" _You'll regret this, Nina," Gregory growled. "You push everyone away with your tantrums and selfishness. Even Noble is getting tired of your foolishness. One day, you'll wake up and find yourself alone."_

" _I'm an actress, Gregory. I'm never alone." The front door opened and slammed shut. Ashley blew out the air she didn't know she was holding. Her eyes followed Nina through the glass window between the office and the foyer, until the actress disappeared through the doors leading to the basement._

A sound drew her attention back to Gregory, who'd turned on his heels and now hurried toward his car. A man stepped out of the shadows, forcing him to stop. Ashley couldn't see his face, just his back. He was dressed in all black.

Ashley lost interest in them. She turned to sneak across the foyer and downstairs, but a stretch limo pulled up beside Gregory and Nina's car. The back window rolled down and a hand waved at the two men, a ring on one of the fingers catching the yellow light of the parking lot. Gregory and the man in black moved to the limo, but the conversation that followed couldn't have been pleasant. The man in black lurched forward as if to punch the occupant of the limo. Gregory pulled him away and pushed him toward the house. Ashley ducked to avoid being seen, but a few seconds later, the front door opened and closed. When she looked outside again, the limo was pulling away. Gregory stayed near his car, his head bowed, then he left too.

Tiptoeing, Ashley went to the door of the office and peered around the foyer. The man in black was gone, and Mrs. McKinney wasn't around to stop her from leaving. Her camera clutched against her chest, Ashley hurried across the room, pushed open the door and closed it before the pounding music could alert the people downstairs of her presence. Just one picture of Nina was all she wanted.

Voices drifted upstairs from below as she tiptoed along a short hallway with a set of stairs in the middle and a door at the end. She looked around with interest. Pictures of legendary singers and movies stars, even a few of Nina, covered the walls. She was careful not to make loud sounds on the hardwood steps as she crept downstairs.

Halfway down the stairs, Ashley stopped and peered into the room. The floor was lighter than the wall panels, but the burgundy velvet chairs matched the drapes. Her parents and Uncle Kirkland, two other men and Nina stood near a bar, talking. Nina had removed her fur coat to reveal the beautiful golden sequined-covered dress. Laughing, a glass in her hand, she was the center of attention. One of the men with them was the man wearing all black.

Ashley positioned her camera and clicked. She clicked again, and again.

A hand landed on her shoulder and clutched. "What are you doing down here?"

Heart pounding, Ashley looked up into a stranger's face. Her finger twitched and the camera clicked, capturing the man's image.

" _Did you just take a picture of me?"_

" _No," she squeaked and tried to wrestle her arm from the man's painful grip._

" _Upstairs...now," he snarled, pointing toward the door and neatly blocking her path so she couldn't run to her parents._

Ashley scrambled to her feet and hurried upstairs. When she went through the door, she collided with Sherry McKinney, took a step back and hit her elbow on the wall. Pain shot up her arm and her eyes watered.

" _What's going on, Frankie?" Sherry asked, her gaze moving from Ashley to the man._

" _She was taking pictures of the people downstairs, just like she did outside when they arrived," the man said._

" _Oh, leave the kid alone," Sherry said, turned and started toward the office. "Come along, Ashley."_

" _She took one of me," the man snarled from behind them._

Sherry stopped walking. When she turned, Ashley took a step back. The older woman didn't look nice anymore. Her eyes were narrowed. "Give me the camera, kid."

" _No."_

" _Give it to me," Sherry ordered._

Panic hit Ashley hard. They were not taking her camera. She turned and shuffled backward. Her parents and freedom were behind the basement door. Unfortunately, Frankie stood in front of it. That left her with two options; give them her new camera or scream for help.

Ashley opened her mouth.

" _No," a man's voice cut through the pounding music._

Ashley glanced around, trying to find its owner. She followed Sherry's horrified expression to the front entrance. A short, stout man stood in the open doorway, a fedora hat slung low on his head. Ashley couldn't see half of his face, yet he exuded an aura that made her skin crawl. He carried a walking stick, and a flash of something drew her eyes to his hand. The ring she'd seen earlier gleamed under the brilliant chandeliers. It was the man from the back of the limo. He took a step into the room and lifted his chin to point his walking stick at Ashley. The light fell on his face.

" _Give her the camera," he said, his voice booming around the foyer and mingling with the music._

Dread surged through Ashley. She was boxed in, with no escape route except....

She let out a scream as she ducked across the foyer and up the stairs. She didn't look back to see who was behind her until she got to the top floor. Frankie sauntered up the stairs with a smirk on his face, as though he knew he had her cornered.

Ashley entered the dark hallway. She squinted and tried to get her bearing. Her hand fluttered along the wall, as she scurried forward. She found a door and turned the knob. It was locked. She raced along the hallway, her heart hammering in her ears, her breath hitching. Her eyes finally adjusted to the dimness. But all she found were more locked doors.

At last she saw an opening of some sort near the end of the hallway. It was too small for a door or a window. It was probably a laundry chute. She ran toward it. There was no knob, so she pushed at the edge until it was wide enough for her to slide in. Intent on escaping her pursuer, she crawled in, legs first, and let out another scream as she slid down to nowhere.

Ashley felt pressure on her right knee, then the hypnotist's voice reached her as though from afar. "You're safe. You're back on the river bank." She kept talking until Ashley calmed down. "The boat is slowly moving upstream. See the beautiful flowers, trees and bushes, hear the birds singing. You're becoming more awake, more alive. When you wake up," Dr. Reuben continued, "you'll be mentally and physically alert. You will remember everything, but also feel invigorated."

Ashley opened her eyes, touched her cheeks and felt wetness. Despite what she'd just remembered, she felt euphoric. She grinned at Dr. Reuben, who patted her knee. But the expression on Ron's face shocked her. He was furious. "Ron?"

He jerked as though prodded and tried to smile. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay. The man in the doorway was Ryan Doyle. And the other man, the one whose picture I took, was Frankie Higgins." Instead of responding, the scowl on his face deepened. Ashley snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Hey? Did you hear what I just said?"

He nodded. "Frankie and Doyle were there. My mother said Doyle wasn't there that night."

"Maybe she didn't see him." When he got to his feet, Ashley turned her attention to the therapist. "Can you take me back? I must know what happened next."

Dr. Reuben glanced at Ron, who was now pacing. "Not tonight, my dear. Tomorrow morning. You did great, told us everything you saw, heard and felt with such clarity. I wish all my subjects were as cooperative as you."

Then why was Ron acting weird? Had she said something that bothered him? "Then why did you bring me out? I wasn't that scared."

Instead of answering, Dr. Reuben said to Ron, "Why don't you tell her. I'll find the young men who brought me here and tell them I'm ready to go home." She turned on the lights and blew out the candle. She squeezed Ashley's arm. "Until tomorrow, dear."

Ashley nodded and waited for the doctor to leave the room. She got to her feet and approached Ron. He was still pacing like a caged animal dying to run free. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He stopped and scrubbed his face, his blue eyes shadowed.

"You don't look it. Did I recall anything you didn't already know?"

"A few things here and there. My mother forgot to mention she and my uncle fought that night." Ron squinted at her and appeared to ponder something. "Do you think you can come with me to Vegas tomorrow?"

Ashley shook her head. "Tomorrow? What about Dr. Reuben? I want to know _everything_ that happened that night, Ron."

"So do I. We can leave after she is done. I must talk to my uncle. I want to know what he and my father discussed with Ryan that night."

"Your father?"

"The man dressed in black. Remember the pictures I showed you?"

It seemed like ages ago when Ron showed her those pictures. "Why was Frankie there that night?"

"Probably to start the fire. And from what you recalled, he knew Sherry Wilkins quite well. Maybe her death wasn't an accident after all."

Ashley shivered. They were so close to putting the pieces together and ending this investigation. Would her relationship with Ron end too? She glanced at him to find him staring at her with an expectant expression, probably waiting for her answer. Was she ready to meet the rest of his family? Even in the present circumstances?

"I don't know if this is the right time to come to Vegas with you, hon."

"Believe me, it is." He cupped her face, his eyes serious. "I don't want to leave you here in L.A., not with everything that's happening. I must know what other secrets my family has kept from me. I need you with me, babe."

How could she refuse him? "Okay. Now can you tell me what Dr. Reuben meant by 'tell her'? Tell me what?"

He rubbed her arms as though trying to console her. "Your phone kept vibrating while you were under. I picked it up after the third time. It was the hospital. Your uncle regained consciousness and is asking for you."

Ashley's heart lifted. "Let's go." She raced to the door, Ron close behind her.
CHAPTER 16

They made it to Good Samaritan Hospital in record time. For once, Ashley fought her fear of confined places. Instead of the stairs, they took the elevator to the ICU on the fourth floor. Matt and his wife Lorraine were on a corner couch in the waiting room, conversing in quiet tones.

Lorraine saw them first, squeezed her husband's hand and whispered, "She's here."

Ashley met her across the room and they hugged. "You didn't call me," she whispered, then leaned back to study her long-time friend. "How're you holding up?"

"Much better now." Lorraine stepped back and reached for her husband's hand. "We know he's going to make it."

Ashley turned her attention to Matt. The whites of his eyes had red streaks, like he hadn't slept in days. His clothes hung loose on his heavy body and only the Lord knew when he had last shaved.

"Where's your mom?" she asked him after a quick hug.

Matt nodded toward the hallway. "With Dad." His gaze moved to Ron. "Who's he?"

Ashley quickly performed the introductions and explained that Ron was a friend. Still, Matt shot Ron a suspicious look. "The cops told us the man who hurt Dad was dead, but not before he tried to get you too. Why would he come after the two of you, Ash?"

Ashley hoped her expression didn't show she was about to lie. "He must have thought I overheard him when he attacked your father. Remember? I told you he and I were talking at the time."

"What exactly were the two of you discussing?"

"My inheritance. I received it on my birthday this year." Guilt twisted her insides. The lies were beginning to eat at her, but she couldn't tell Matt about the chain of events that led to his father's attack, or that a very powerful man might be behind them. Matt was too impetuous and might take it upon himself to go after the Doyles. "Can you take us in to see him now?"

"Only you. He stays here."

"I'll see you in a bit," Ashley whispered to Ron, then followed Matt and Lorraine. There were no more police officers outside Uncle Jerry's room. Sonya was seated beside the bed when they walked in, one hand on her husband's arm and the other on an open Bible. She greeted Ashley with a tepid smile.

"Hi, Aunt Sonya," Ashley whispered, then walked to her side. Her gaze moved to Uncle Jerry as she stooped low to hug Sonya. He looked a lot better than he did the last time she saw him. The swellings on his face had gone down, leaving behind dark patches. One eye was swollen shut, the other one barely opened. He was still hooked to every machine imaginable, and his head was bandaged. "How's he doing?"

"Much better now, praise be to God. He can't speak yet, but he can move his fingers and scribble a little." She indicated the piece of paper and pen by the phone. "That's how he asked for you."

"Mom, why don't you go with Lorraine to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee? I'll get you when Dad's done with Ashley."

"No, no, son, I need to be here. Your father needs me." She wriggled her hands, her gaze darting to the machines monitoring her husband's vitals.

"I know, Mom." Matt moved to stand next to his mother and rubbed her shoulders. "But right now, Dad needs to tell Ashley something."

His mother reached for one of her husband's hands and gripped it. "What if something goes wrong while I'm gone? I'd hate for Jerry to think I was—"

"He'll be okay," Matt interrupted gently. He threw Ashley a glance. "Ashley will be here with him and I'll be right outside the door. Nothing is going to happen."

Sonya stared at her husband for a beat, then leaned forward and touched his bandaged cheek. "I'll be right back, dear."

Tears filled Ashley's eyes. The wealth of love in Sonya's eyes was so beautiful to watch. As soon as she left with Lorraine, Ashley sent Matt a weak smile. This time, Matt didn't return her smile. His gaze was probing.

"Ashley, if you knew something about this Dunn guy or why he was after Dad, you'd tell me, right?"

He knew she'd lied. Her guilt skyrocketed. She was tired of lying to people she loved. But like a robot, her mouth opened and she kept at it. "Of course, Matt. Like I'd told you, Dunn must have thought that I overheard the conversation between him and your father."

He searched her face. "Did you?"

"No."

His expression said he didn't believe her. "And the guy out there? Was he with you at the time?"

"His name is Ron." She was getting tired of his attitude. "And yes, he was."

Matt shook his head. "I'll be waiting outside." He glanced at his father, then pivoted on his heels, but not before Ashley saw pain cross his eyes and the determined gleam that followed. Stats on Ryan Doyle ran through her head. The man was ruthless. If he hired Dunn then got rid of him, there was no telling what he'd do to anyone getting close to the truth.

"Matt," she called out. He stopped, but didn't turn toward her. "Dunn is dead. Let this go."

"Not before I know why he went after my father," Matt said, opening the door.

A soft sound from the bed drew her gaze to Uncle Jerry. A sigh escaped her when the door closed behind Matt. She took the seat Sonya had previously occupied and reached for her uncle's hand.

"Sorry about that, Uncle Jerry." He appeared to be trying to communicate something with his eye. "I just don't want to see Matt hurt."

He closed then opened his eye.

Was that a yes? Ashley watched his functional eye and said, "If you agree with me, blink once." He closed then opened his eye. Ashley smiled. "If it's no, blink twice." He blinked twice. Elated, she grinned. They could communicate.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Uncle Jerry?" His fingers twitched in hers. "Do you want a pen?" He blinked once.

Ashley retrieved the writing pad and the pencil from beside the telephone. For the next few minutes, she worked with him. The pencil kept slipping from his fingers and he needed a break every now and then, but he managed to write the letters D and O.

"Do.... Do what?"

He tried to write the next letter but couldn't grip the pencil very well. Either fatigue was pulling him under or the sedatives were starting to kick in.

"You need a break, Uncle Jerry."

He blinked twice, but with great deal of difficulty. Anger gripped her heart at seeing him, such a brilliant man, reduced to communicating with his eyes, and even that was proving to be hard. Fighting tears, Ashley placed his fingers around the pen and steadied his hand as he wrote the next two letters, Y and L. When his hand suddenly sagged against hers, she knew she couldn't allow him to continue anymore. She removed the pen from his fingers.

"It's okay, Uncle Jerry. I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay here until you're ready to try again." When he closed his eye, Ashley sat back and swiped at her tears with the heel of her hand. When she was in control of her emotions, she turned her attention to the scribbled letters.

Most of them were crooked and disjointed, but going by the order he wrote them.... Could he be trying to write Doyle? Her glance moved to Kirkland's face. Should she ask him? She gnawed on her lower lip as she debated with herself.

Feeling terribly guilty at what she was about to do, Ashley tentatively leaned closer to him. "Uncle Jerry?" she whispered. "Can you hear me?" There was no response. Her gaze glued on his face, she took his hand in hers and squeezed gently. "Uncle Jerry?"

His fingers moved, then his eye opened. She leaned closer. "Uncle Jerry, were you trying to write the name Doyle?"

He blinked once.

"Ryan Doyle?"

His body started to twitch and the peeping sounds of the machines filled the room. Panic washing over her, she reached for the nurse's button and pushed.

"Somebody help me," she yelled, repeatedly pumping the call button until two nurses rushed into the room with Matt on their heels.

"What happened?" one of the nurses asked Ashley as she and her colleague worked on Uncle Jerry. Matt's angry gaze was on his father, too.

Ashley stepped out of their way and leaned against the wall for support, her knees rubbery. "I don't know. One minute, his eye was open, the next it closed and he started to convulse." Too late, she recalled the partially written name on the pad. A fresh bout of panic pitched through her. She moved her hands behind her and scrunched up the page, ripped it from the book and slipped it in the back pocket of her pants.

Taking a shaky breath, Ashley leaned forward to check on Uncle Jerry. He was still and the machines had stopped peeping. "Is he going to be okay?"

One of the nurses looked at her. "He's fallen back into a coma."

Her throat closed, trapping air in her lungs. It was her fault. She shouldn't have pushed him for an answer. When she turned her horrified gaze on Matt, he jerked his head toward the door and left the room. Ashley hurried after him.

"I swear, Matt. I didn't do anything." Her hand went to her chest. "I just needed to—"

"Come with me." He gripped her arm and led her away from the doorway. When they were a fair distance away, he said, "Of course you didn't cause him to go into a coma. You were here because he wanted to tell you something." He searched her face. "What was it?"

Ashley sighed, relieved that he didn't blame her. "Matt—"

"Don't blow me off, Ashley. I know he wrote something down because the paper and pen weren't where I left them earlier. If he gave you a clue to what Dunn was after, then I need to know what it is."

Ashley shook her head. The last thing she wanted was for Matt to get involved in this mess. One injured member of his family was enough. "He didn't write anything, Matt. He tried, but the pen kept slipping from his fingers."

Matt took a step toward her, and from a man of his girth, the movement could be downright scary. But she knew he would never harm her.

He scowled at her. "The same thing happened when he wrote your name, but it didn't stop him. He was determined to see you for a reason, Ashley. Why?" When Ashley just shook her head, Matt pressed his hands against the wall on either side of her, neatly blocking her exit. "Are you forgetting who I am? I'm his son, damn it. I have a right to know what's going on."

Ashley released a shaky breath. This could get ugly. To make matters worse, the nurses chose that moment to leave Uncle Jerry's room. One went to the nurses' station, while the other walked toward them.

"I can't, Matt. Your father would not want you to—"

" _You_ don't know what _my_ father would want from me," he snapped.

"Is there a problem here?" the nurse asked when she reached them.

Matt glared at Ashley then dropped his arms. "No, ma'am. My cousin and I are having a little chat."

"Then keep it low or take it outside. This is the ICU, you know."

As soon as the nurse disappeared, Matt glared at Ashley. She winced at the anger burning in his eyes. She felt like a traitor. "I'm sorry."

"You should be. I cannot believe you'd hide something from me, Ashley. You're like a sister to me, a member of my family." He jabbed the air in front of her face with his forefinger and ground through his teeth, "Whatever information he gave you, you'd better put it to good use or as God is my witness, I'll hold you accountable for this mess. All of it."

Silence followed. Ashley's heart threatened to leap from her throat. She sighed with relief when Ron appeared around a corner. Matt saw him too and dropped his arm.

"Are you guys done already?" Ron asked.

Ashley nodded.

Matt stepped away from her. He ignored Ron and snarled between his teeth, "Remember what I said."

"What's going on?" Ron's gaze bounced between Ashley and Matt.

She didn't answer him. Her eyes stayed on Matt, who threw Ron a mean smile.

"Ashley and I were merely discussing her options. From now on, she's not to come anywhere near my father. And she shouldn't call the hospital anymore either. I'll tell the nurses she's not a member of my family and therefore shouldn't be given an update on my father's condition."

Ashley couldn't believe her ears. How could Matt be so cruel? As he lumbered away, regret coursed through her.

"Sweetheart? What's going on?"

The urgency in Ron's voice reached her as though from afar and reason returned. It wasn't Matt's fault. He was acting out his frustrations because he couldn't punish the person who'd hurt his father. And there was no way she would give him the name on the piece of paper.

Ron gripped her arms. "What just happened?"

Ashley blinked at him. She took a deep breath and tried a nonchalant smile. From the scowl on Ron's face, she knew she hadn't pulled it off. She started to explain, but her breath hitched.

He pulled her in his arms and held her tight. "Shh. It's okay. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it."

She closed her eyes and squeezed him hard. The warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart gave her the support she craved.

"Let's go home," she whispered when she had her emotions under control. "We need to discuss Ryan Doyle."

***

"What happened with Hogan?" Doyle asked in a neutral tone. The only indicator of his anger was the twitch in his right hand.

Frankie shifted his body. "Ironside got careless."

"No," Doyle's voice whipped out like lightning. " _You_ got careless, Frankie. How could you use an amateur? No one was supposed to get hurt."

"That's where you are wrong," Frankie retorted. "In our line of business, people do get hurt. Just because _you_ choose not to deal with some of our business associates doesn't make them choir boys."

Doyle glowered, hating to admit that Frankie was right. After his stint in prison, he vowed to never to deal directly with criminals. The deaths at Carlyle House ten years ago should never have happened, but he'd accepted the incident for what it was, an accident, and moved on.

"Hogan's death was a mistake," Frankie continued. "He swerved too sharply and went over the embankment. As for Kirkland, things got a bit out of hand."

Doyle studied the man. A master at reading body language, he knew that a person's true feelings could be determined from subtle gestures. Was Frankie being deliberately careless? Could he be behind the letters Ron Noble received or was Doyle becoming paranoid?

"Did Ironside get anything from Kirkland?" Doyle asked.

Frankie shook his had. "Like Hogan, he had nothing to do with the letters. That leaves Nina and the Fitzgerald girl."

Doyle tried to contain his annoyance. Frankie had never liked Nina Noble because of the way the actress had treated Doyle over the years. If it were left to him, he would have gotten rid of her years ago. Despite their shared history, Doyle would destroy Frankie if he ever hurt Nina. No one touched what belonged to him.

"Why would the girl send Ron Nobles letters and put her name on it?" he asked.

"Because women do crazy things." Frankie's eyes flashed with hatred. "With the bugs removed from her loft, I can't monitor the girl. The problem is Nina's son. He keeps getting in the way and making my job difficult."

Doyle stroked his chin, his gaze not shifting from Frankie's face. "Are you sure the ex-firefighters are innocent?"

Frankie sighed. "I questioned them myself."

"Where are they now?"

"On a fishing trip, but they won't be talking to anyone when they come back. I made sure of that."

Doyle's eyes narrowed. "How?"

"I explained to them how they will lose everything if they didn't cooperate with me. If we want to finish this now, we must get rid of the Fitzgerald girl and Nina's boy," Frankie insisted, leaning forward. "They're sleeping together, so if we get rid of one, the other might continue with the investigation. The only solution is to get rid of them both."

Doyle hated the thought of hurting Nina's boy, but he believed in self-preservation. Someone was using the boy to destroy him. If one of them had to go, he'd rather it wasn't him. Besides, Ron was already messing with his plans by financing Nina's play, and killing him might just push Nina into his arms.

Doyle cleared his throat. "Okay. Take care of them." His gaze went to the four panels on one of the security computer screens on his walls. His chest swelled with pride as Vaughn stepped out of the limo, a briefcase in his hand, and started for the house. "My son is home," he added.

"Did you ask him about the incident with the Fitzgerald girl outside the hospital?" Frankie asked, his gaze also on the screen.

"It was a chance meeting, Frankie. Nothing else." The first time Doyle heard about Vaughn talking to the girl outside his home, he'd become suspicious and asked Frankie to take over as his son's driver. But after questioning the previous driver, Doyle realized there was no reason to suspect his son was involved with the Fitzgerald girl. He didn't understand why Frankie mistrusted Vaughn. Perhaps it was jealousy. Frankie used to be his confidant, but not anymore. Soon, Nina would have that privilege.

Doyle got up and walked to the window. He ignored the secluded mansions and street lights dotting the road between his home and Nina's. The clear view of her place from his den was why he'd bought this home. She often stood on her balcony, not knowing he was watching. At times, like tonight, light blazed inside her bedroom, giving him an occasional glimpse of her silhouette as she prepared for bed. He must start courting her again.

"I'd better be going," Frankie said from behind him.

Doyle turned. "Of course. How are things in Mexico?"

Frankie shifted. "Under control."

Something in his expression had Doyle narrowing his eyes. "But?"

"There was an episode, but she's stable now."

"An episode?"

"A heart attack. They resuscitated her."

He pinned Frankie down with a hard gaze, watching for any telltale signs of deceit. When Frankie's gaze didn't waver, relief surged through him. Even that made him angry. He was becoming paranoid. Frankie would never betray him.

As for the bitch, let her rot in the hell of her own creation. After two failed marriages and two daughters, Doyle had been thrilled to learn he had a son, a strapping young man whose brilliance was only matched by his good looks. The mother's excuse for keeping them apart, that Doyle was a crime boss and unfit to raise his son, landed her in that sanitarium in Mexico. She got what she deserved. No one denied him what was rightfully his. She never even tried to get money from him for child support, yet he knew she wasn't making much as an accountant. Pride had made her keep his only son from him. He hoped the same pride had kept her company these past five years while they pumped her full of drugs.

Doyle tightened the sash of his robe and walked away from the window. "When you get back, make sure she signs a DNR form, so if she gets another heart attack, I want them to let her die. It's time to wipe the slate clean."

"What about Nina and Carlyle House?"

"I have one last card to play." Doyle smiled with anticipation.
CHAPTER 17

_Ryan Doyle._ The name kept repeating in Ashley's head as she tossed in bed. Why was Uncle Jerry trying to write Doyle's name? It only made sense if Dunn had mentioned the name while he was attacking Uncle Jerry. Unfortunately, there was no way to verify that. Matt was stubborn, and once he'd said she wasn't to go anywhere near his father, there was no changing his mind. But at least they now knew the Doyles were involved in this mess. But which one?

A sigh escaped her. When Ron tightened his arm around her waist, she whispered, "Ron?"

"Hmm-mm," he mumbled and draped a leg over her thigh.

"Are you awake?"

This time, there was no response. It boggled her mind how he could sleep so soundly after all that had happened. When her mind wasn't preoccupied with what Kirkland wrote, it kept replaying what she recalled during hypnosis.

Her glance went to the side-table clock. Three o'clock. She was too wired to go to sleep and couldn't discuss things with Ron. Ashley removed his arm from her waist. But when she tried to push his leg off her, he mumbled something unintelligible and wound his arm back around her waist. Then he shifted, practically landing half his weight on her and effectively trapping her.

"You big oaf," she murmured under her breath and shoved at his arm. "I'm trying to get up."

"Hmm-mm?"

"Could you get off me?" She strived to be polite when what she wanted was to yell at him. It was unreasonable to take out her frustrations on him, but it irked her that he'd drifted off to sleep right after they'd made love while sleep eluded her.

He lifted his head and peered at her. "Where are you going?"

"Downstairs to get a drink of water or something," she whispered, not bothering to mask her irritation.

He slid a hand along her cheek, then through her hair, and gently massaged her scalp. "Poor, sweetheart. Can't sleep?"

Just like that, the bitch in her died a quick death. "I'm okay, just need a drink. Why don't you go back to sleep? I'll be back shortly."

He lifted his leg off her and sat up, the Indian-patterned comforter sliding to his waist. His hand eased out of her hair and moved down her arm to her hand. "Do you want to talk?"

"We covered most of it last night. I think I'll work on a painting until fatigue hits me."

His gaze went to the clock. "Do you know it's three in the morning?" he said, not masking his shock.

"I know. I'm used to working odd hours." She slid off the bed, leaned down to give him a brief kiss then pushed at his chest. "Go back to sleep."

Ashley could feel his eyes on her as she reached for a sturdy robe to cover her nude body. One glance at him and a smile, then she headed downstairs.

"Ashley."

The quiet way he said her name caused her to pause and turn her head to glance at him. "Yes?"

"I'm happy you're coming with me to Vegas tomorrow."

She'd completely forgotten about that after all the craziness at the hospital. "I will be, too, once I know what to wear."

He chuckled. "A pair of jeans and a shirt should suffice."

Just like a man not to care about first impressions. From what he'd told her about his grandmother, she might need a designer outfit just to break the ice. Although why it was important to impress the old bird beat the hell out of her. "Let me worry about it, sweetie. Go back to sleep."

Downstairs, she made herself a cup of hot chocolate then picked up her journal and quickly wrote down what had happened the last twelve hours and her plans for tomorrow. Ever since her amnesia, she documented everything that happened to her and every move she was about to make. If she was in a hurry, she used the Post-Its and transferred them later to the book. Once she got all her memory back, this habit would be a thing of the past. Satisfied with what she wrote, Ashley got her sketch pad and went to work. Everything she'd remembered during hypnosis became immortalized on paper. Between the sketches and the Post-it reminders, she'd never forget a single moment. After an hour, she headed to the easel, pulled on her smock and picked up where she left off the day before.

She put the brushes down and studied the partially finished face. Not bad at all. The eyes needed more work, but all in all, she was pleased with the results. A yawn escaped her as she placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. Just a few seconds' rest then she'd wash the brushes and head upstairs to bed.

"Hey, sleepy head."

The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted to her nose. When she tried to open her eyes, and they refused to cooperate, she shifted and turned her head away. Her cheek touched a soft, cool cushion. Smiling, she buried her face into the softness.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

Burrowing deeper under the blanket, she ignored the voice. Suddenly, the blanket was yanked off her. Cool air swooshed over her warm, naked skin.

Ashley sat up, snatched a feather pillow from beside her head and slapped it on her naked bosom. Then she glared at her tormentor, who was already showered, going by the wet hair, freshly shaved face and clean clothes.

"If you ever pull a stunt like that again...." She frowned. How had she gotten upstairs? She remembered resting her chin on her hands, then nothing. Her robe and smock were at the foot of the bed. Her eyes went to Ron again. "Did you bring me up here and undress me?"

"Uh-huh." Her ears grew hot when the handsome rogue grinned without an ounce of shame. "Loved every minute of it...except for the carrying part. You aren't exactly a lightweight."

Her eyes narrowed. Handsome rogue or not, he was close to being bludgeoned to death if he didn't watch it. "I'm not heavy."

"Tell that to my back. You must weigh at least...hey, hey don't throw that." He thrust the cup of coffee in front of her, his gaze bouncing between her face and the pillow she was brandishing like a lance. "You don't want to burn that delectable body. I happen to love it just the way it is."

She shook the pillow at him. "Just watch what you say to me in the morning, buster."

"Not a morning person, are you?" he said with amusement.

"You're disgustingly cheerful." She used her armpits to secure the pillow across her chest and accepted his morning offering. "Thanks."

He leaned against the rail and studied her as she sipped the coffee, a small grin playing on his lips. "You also squeeze the toothpaste tube the wrong way."

She rolled her eyes. "Next time bring your own. I happen to like mine squeezed from the middle, thank you very much. And if you used my toothbrush, I'm going to make you very, very sorry."

He chuckled. "You're really not a morning person. And no, I borrowed a new one I found in a drawer. So, you don't recall anything that happened this morning?"

The devilish grin he wore set off all her alarms. She sipped the coffee and kept eyeing him. "What?"

"You talk a lot when you're drowsy. You kept repeating it in my ear as I carried you upstairs, as I undressed and tucked you in bed. Want to know what it was?"

Oh, Lord, she probably opened her big mouth and told him that she loved him. Her face heated with embarrassment. Keeping her gaze on her steaming coffee, she uttered a soft, "No."

"Why? Those sweet words made me feel invincible, the luckiest man alive."

"Whatever I said, I didn't mean it." She put her unfinished coffee on the nightstand, then scooted to the edge of the bed and reached for her robe. "I was tired, sleepy and vulnerable." She thrust her arms into the sleeves, yanked the robe around her body then glared at Ron. "I wasn't myself." He didn't even bother to hide his satisfied grin, the smug lout. "Did you say something about breakfast?" Her eyes dared him to tease her one more time, just one more time.

As though he realized she was capable of inflicting some major bodily harm, he straightened and stepped away from her. "I'm planning on making some while you shower and change."

He was sweet. Still, it bothered her that she didn't know what she'd told him. Her gaze stayed on him, as he started downstairs. When he paused and glanced back at her, she braced herself.

"I forgot to ask what you want for breakfast," he said.

Ashley studied his poker face. "Anything." When he continued to stare at her, she started to fidget. The longer the silence, the more uneasy she became. "Okay, out with it. What did I say?"

He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. You didn't mean it." He continued down the stairs.

He was hedging now, which was very unlike him. Although considering how she'd been acting since she woke up, who'd blame him. Now, more than ever, she wanted to know what she'd told him.

Two quick steps forward brought her to the railing. "Ronald Noble," she called out. When he paused at the foot of the stairs and glanced up at her, she added, "Last night, you told me you hated to be taken for a fool. Me, too. Tell me what I said."

He studied her, his expression serious. "You said that you're crazy about me, thought I was wonderful, the best thing that ever happened to you." He studied her face for a moment. "Am I?"

Ashley smiled with relief. Of course he was wonderful. She wouldn't have fallen in love with him if he weren't. "Yes, Ronald Noble. I think you're those things and much more, a very special person."

Ashley bit back a smile when he scowled. An average man would have grinned triumphantly or dashed back upstairs to kiss her, but not Ron. Her man was anything but predictable. It was just one of the many things she loved about him.

"I think you're special too, Ashley Fitzgerald. That's why I'm nuts about you." His cell phone started to ring. "We'll finish this conversation later." He plucked up his phone and brought it to his ear.

Ashley turned and headed for the bathroom. She was sure she had a goofy smile on her face. He was nuts about her, yes! Thought she was special, double yes!

Just before she stepped in the shower, Ron knocked on the bathroom door. Maybe she could convince her man to have another shower, a slow and long one. Just to show him she was now comfortable walking around him naked, she flashed a seductress smile as she flung the door open.

"That was Kenny with good and bad news. Dr. Reuben won't make it." He ran an appreciative glance down and up her body, a slow grin curling his sculptured lips. He reached out to cup her breasts, but her interest had shifted.

She trapped his hands. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah. She needs to see to her other patients, but she'll see you on Saturday at ten. We should be back from Vegas by then. I'll call the pilot and change our flight plans. Can I have my hands back?"

"Not yet. What's the good news?"

"Kenny and your cousin had a long conversation. The L.A.P.D. is officially reopening the Carlyle House fire case."

"About time."

"The hotel worker at Sunset Marquis confirmed that the man Dunn spoke with was Frankie Higgins. Kenny promised to let your cousin know about Kirkland writing down the name Doyle too." He eased his hands from hers, cupped her cheeks and gave her a lingering kiss. "We got them, babe. Once the police nab Frankie and the Doyles, this madness will stop."

What would that mean to their relationship? She hated to think about that now, but the thought kept creeping on her. "What about the person who sent you the letters?"

"Probably someone who wanted the Doyles busted. Whoever it is, I hope to thank him or her some day. Now you, my delectable seductress, had better hit the shower. We need to get out of here." He nudged her around and swatted her bare bottom.

***

Two hours later, Ashley and Ron left her place for his, where he changed and packed an overnight bag. They headed to his office. Located in downtown L.A., the offices of Neumann Security occupied the entire top floor of one of the plazas. She met his assistant Nikki, a tall, long-legged, stunning blonde, who somehow managed to make high-heels and a mid-thigh skirt suit look tasteful. Ashley felt just a little self-conscious in her medium-heeled sandals and knee-length, burnt-orange dress.

"Don't let her smile fool you," Ron warned her as they walked into his office, Nikki trailing behind them. "Nikki runs my office with an iron hand. I don't know what I'd do without her."

"A paid package to the Bahamas every year would guarantee my undying loyalty," the secretary offered with a straight face, then turned to Ashley. "It's nice to finally meet you, Ms. Fitzgerald. I love your work and hope to own an original some day."

"Call me Ashley. And anyone with such great taste in art deserves a paid leave to the Bahamas," she added with a wink.

The woman laughed. "I think you and I are going to be great allies. Call me Nikki, please." They exchanged the easy smile of new friends, then Nikki turned to Ron who'd been busy sifting through his mail. "Satchel called."

He looked up. "Are they here already?"

"Not yet, but he said they'd be here by eleven."

He looked at his watch. "That's fine. We won't be leaving until after eleven anyway."

Ashley partially listened to their exchange as she studied the abstract paintings in Ron's office. It was a spacious room, with two couches and a coffee table at the west corner, and a workstation near shelves of leather-bound books a few feet from his large, mahogany desk. Like in his home, he favored hunter green and tan in his décor.

She waited until Nicole left the office before she approached his desk. "You have a meeting at eleven?"

He smiled. "No." He threw some of the letters in a brief case and closed it, then walked around the desk. "Uncle Gregory is sending the company jet for us. Satchel is the pilot."

"Oh." She didn't know whether to be impressed or worried. From what Ron had told her, Gregory Neumann wasn't the most accommodating man in the world.

Ron took her hand in his and reached for the case with the other. "Let's go. We don't want you to be late for your meeting with the museum president."

"And Vaughn Doyle."

He threw her an annoyed look. "For him, you can be as late as you like or not show up at all."

She'd be lying if she didn't find his show of jealously thrilling. "Why are you convinced he's the one behind this mess and not his father?"

"An apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And the old man is way too smart to use someone who leaves a trail." He led her to Nicole's office. "I left some letters on my desk, Nikki. Take care of them. And tell Satchel he can reach me on my cell."

"Have a safe trip, and say hello to the Dra...your grandmother from us all," Nicole added with a slight grin, as though she were sharing a private joke with Ron.

Ron laughed as he led Ashley out of the room. "Nikki doesn't call my grandmother anything but the Dragon Lady. Having you around curbed her tongue."

"Maybe she's just not comfortable enough around me to be herself." This time, Ashley was the one fighting the green-eyed monster. Call it childish, but she didn't want anyone else sharing secrets with Ron. Before she could stop herself, she found herself saying, "She's a very beautiful woman."

"Who?"

"Nikki."

He shrugged as they entered the private elevator. "Yeah, she is, but I'm more interested in her brains. She's one hell of an assistant."

Now that she'd started, Ashley couldn't stop. Her cousins always told her she was like a runaway train when she was after something. Her eyes glued on the flashing buttons on the elevator, she asked ever so casually, "You two ever dated?"

Ron laughed. "Hell no. I don't date women who work for me." He tugged her hand to bring her gaze to him. "You have no need to worry about other women, sweetheart."

Sweet music to her ears, but for how long? "I wasn't worried, just curious." Thoughts of other women and his past were starting to sneak up on her. She couldn't even explain why. Add to that was the trip to Vegas and meeting his family. Would Nina be there too?

***

In no time, they were parking outside the museum.

"Hey, guys," Ashley called out as she entered the room with the murals.

Micah and Josh, both in dressy shirts and jeans, turned to face her with beaming smiles. Ashley stopped to admire a dozen paper-white, long stemmed roses in a delicate blue vase on the paint-ridden, metal table.

"We thought you'd be a no show," Micah said, drawing her attention away from the roses and back to them.

Ashley chuckled. "Would I disappoint you guys after I gave my word?" She looked at her watch. "Besides, we're fifteen minutes early." She turned to introduce Ron, but the murals held him spellbound.

"What do you think?" she asked, enjoying his reaction.

"I had no idea they were this amazing. The children will be too busy studying these murals to play or do whatever kids do at a museum."

"Then meet the two geniuses behind some of the work." After the introduction, they turned to leave for the meeting upstairs.

"Oh, don't forget the roses," Josh said. "They came for you this morning."

Ashley walked to the table, picked up the card and tore open the envelope. She read the card and dropped it on the table.

"Who are they from?" Ron asked from behind her.

"Vaughn. He hopes we can do lunch after the meeting."

"The conniving bastard," Ron snarled and drew the attention of her co-artists.

Ashley threw him a warning glance. "Let's go upstairs."

"And the roses?" Ron asked in a deliberately neutral tone.

She lifted the vase and dumped the flowers in the trashcan. Ashley rolled her eyes when Ron flashed a satisfied grin.

She headed for the stairs, and wasn't surprised when they all followed her instead of taking the elevator. They all knew about her phobia. She now knew that being locked in the secret room at Carlyle House was the source of her terror of dark, small places. Once all her memories returned, she hoped the problem would go away too.

When they arrived at the president's office, the president's administrative assistant informed them that Vaughn hadn't arrived. Ashley turned to Ron. "You're sure you don't mind waiting out here?"

"Not at all." He picked up a magazine and settled on a chair. "I'll be right here when you come out."

And when Vaughn arrived, which she didn't want to miss. She had a few choice questions for the man. Ashley was about to ask the A.A. if they could see her boss when the door of the president's office opened and out stepped Nina Noble in a yellow suit with her signature Pierre Cardin scarf draped around her neck. Her assistant, Connie Wilkins, followed.

"Ah, Ms. Ashley," the museum's president said from behind them. "We were just discussing your work."

"I haven't had the pleasure of seeing the murals yet," Nina cut in, her movie-star smile in place. Her gaze shifted to Ron and her smile broadened. "Sweetheart, what a surprise."

"Mother." Ron walked forward to kiss her cheek. "What are you doing here?" Ashley heard him add in a lower tone.

Nina patted his cheek. "Just stopped by to see the fabulous work we're supporting. Ms. Fitzgerald is a very talented young woman. I own a couple of her paintings," she told the president.

Ashley doubted that Nina owned a single painting with her signature on it, unless it was on a mat where she could wipe her feet.

"And these are the talented young men she's taken under her wing—Josh and Micah," the president added.

Nina extended her hands to Micah and Josh and gripped theirs as though she were genuinely pleased to make their acquaintance. The men wore goofy smiles, dazzled by her attention and apparent warmth. Josh surprised Ashley when he told Nina about the number of her plays he'd attended. He had never indicated he was an admirer of Nina Noble.

Ashley listened to the exchange between the actress and the others, but her gaze was on Ron, who was staring at his mother with an unreadable expression. What had Nina meant by the 'we're supporting'? When had she become a benefactor of this museum? And did the 'we' include...?

Her eyes widened as the realization hit her. Oh, no he didn't. Ron didn't donate money to the museum in an attempt to thwart Vaughn's efforts. As though he sensed her gaze on him, Ron looked at her and grinned. _That adorable, quirky smile isn't getting you out of this one, mister._

He started to inch his way toward her, but the president said, "Ashley, my dear, why don't you show Mrs. Noble the wonderful work you're doing downstairs. And you two come in and wait for Mr. Doyle," she told Micah and Josh. "He's running a little late."

Ashley balked. Why should she be the one to show that witch around? Before she could open her mouth and protest, the president added, "Mrs. Noble has been very generous. She gave us a sizeable donation for this museum. She's also starting a commune for artists at her ancestral home in Culver City, which we'll be in charge of."

For a moment, Ashley couldn't breathe. What the woman planned to do was to destroy her dream. Why? While Micah and Josh beamed like lottery winners, Ashley's gaze swung to Ron. Had he known about this? He shook his head, the shock on his face plain to see. How could Nina do this to her? How could she hold a grudge for this long? Rage twisted Ashley's gut. She released her breath in spurts, her gaze colliding with her tormentor's.

"It would be a pleasure to show Mrs. Noble the murals." She was proud her voice came out steady and calm. She turned and marched out of the office, too angry to see if Ron followed.

When she reached the elevators, Ashley turned around and caught Nina's beaming smirk as she said her goodbyes. What a vindictive bitch. Ashley's fingers curled into a fist, as she imagined what she would like to do to the woman's scrawny neck.

Ashley's gaze slid to Ron. The president had a firm grip on his hand while she prattled on about something. Probably another version of her speech for wealthy donors—how his wonderful donation would jumpstart beneficial programs for school-age children. She'd heard it often enough. And from the look on his face, he wasn't going anywhere too soon, which was fine by her. She didn't want him around when she and Nina had their little 'chat.'

Ashley started for the stairs.

"The elevator, Ms. Fitzgerald," Nina said aloud and extended a hand toward her, her teeth still flashing.

Ashley's fear of confined spaces warred with her pride. Pride won. Heart pounding with a mixture of anger and dread, she joined Nina and Ms. Wilkins in the elevator. Ashley ignored the assistant and zeroed in on Nina as the doors closed. "Mrs. Noble, first I want to apologize."

"For what, my dear?"

"If it weren't for me, your husband would still be alive. For that, I'm truly sorry."

Nina threw her a mocking glance. "What are you talking about? My husband died in the line of duty, hardly your fault."

Ashley blinked. What game was the woman playing now? There was no audience. Or did she stop blaming her? God, she hoped so. She'd bet it was Ron's doing. Ashley sighed with relief. "Thank you. About Carlyle House, I don't understand what's going on. I thought you wanted to sell it."

Nina shook her head. "Not anymore. You'll get paid handsomely for your work here and at Carlyle House. Friends of mine once wanted to turn it into commune for artists, you know. I'm just fulfilling their dream."

Ashley wanted to yell, "That was my parents' dream." But the elevator door opened and a throng of people descended on them—paparazzi and Nina's fans. Microphones hovered over their heads and cameras clicked and exploded in their faces as a media circus began. The museum security tried to intervene and contain the situation to no avail.

"Nina? Is it true that you're funding the artists working on the murals?" a reporter asked.

"How much money did you pledge?" another one added.

"Can I have your autograph, please?" a fan yelled.

"Is it true that you're going to give a percentage of the revenues from your present play to a local art center?"

The questions kept coming and Nina kept smiling, basking in the limelight. Finally, she raised her hands and everyone went quiet. Ashley tried to shuffle her way out, but the people had formed a tight shield around them. She was forced to stay there, right beside Nina. Ashley ground her teeth and fought to stay calm.

"I don't know how you found me, but I guess the secret is out," Nina said with a toothy grin. "I'm interested in working with local artists, and not just budding actors and actresses. This has always been a dream of mine, but now that age is catching up with me—"

"You're still young, Nina," a reporter yelled back and a few murmured in agreement.

"We love you, Nina," a fan called out.

Nina laughed. "Love you, too, babe. I guess you're as young as you feel, and I do feel invigorated and excited about these new projects. The children's museum is just the beginning."

"Who's the young lady by your side?" a reporter asked.

"This, ladies and gentlemen of the press, is Ashley Fitzgerald, the talented young artist behind the murals here at the children's museum. If you ask her nicely, she might let you see what they've already done. They're truly incredible."

And she hadn't even seen them. The woman was a piece of work. Ashley pasted a smile on her lips as more cameras clicked. While Nina signed autographs, the reporters swooped down on Ashley. Suddenly, it was those years with her parents all over, the paparazzi asking personal questions and intruding on their lives. A reporter asked about her erotic series, her models, when she was going to do another show and where. Another recalled who her parents were and asked about the reissuing of their songs. Worse, her claustrophobia kicked in. She endured the barrage by sheer will, smiled until her jaw hurt and hated every moment of it. The only consolation was that the publicity was good for her work and her cousin's gallery.

"That's enough, folks," Nina finally said. "Unless Ashley decides to let you see the murals, we must leave."

Ashley smiled through her teeth. "I'm sorry, but the official opening of the museum is not for a few more months. The murals won't be unveiled until then."

Something in her voice must have convinced them, because one by one the reporters stepped back. Nina's fans still hovered. Ashley pushed her way through them and hurried toward the new building. Inside, she was seething with rage, her hands clammy and forehead dotted with sweat from a near panic attack. She took deep breaths, trying to calm down.

She's Ron's mother...she's Ron's mother....

She was pacing up and down, silently calling Nina Noble every nasty name she could think of, when the actress and her assistant appeared. "It was my parents' dream to work with young artists, a dream I meant to fulfill. You shouldn't—"

"Shut up." Nina closed in on her, eyes blazing. "You have some nerve filling my son's head with things you know nothing about. Doyle was not at the house the night of the fire, and he didn't talk to my brother or my husband. What are you trying to do, huh? Get my son killed, too? Doyle is not someone to be trifled with."

Ashley took several steps back until her back was against the wall. "Mrs. Noble, I just told him what I recalled during hypnosis."

"And all of it is untrue. I want you to listen to me, missy," Nina hissed. "Stay away from my son. You want Carlyle House? It's yours. But on one condition—stay away from Ron."

Ashley shook her head. "You're using your son to bargain with me?"

Nina's eyes narrowed. "Call it whatever you like. Break things off with him. Today."

What kind of a mother was she? "Don't you care about him? What he wants?"

Ms. Wilkins touched the actress's arm, but Nina pushed her hand away. "I'm his mother. Of course, I care. But whatever he's getting from you, he can easily get from a dozen other women."

Ashley's mouth opened but words failed her. Nina's words hurt, though Ashley knew they were probably true. Ron was an amazing man and a wonderful lover. Few women could resist a man like him. But what shocked her was Nina's sudden change in attitude. Why was she pleasant earlier in the elevator? Had she known the reporters were waiting downstairs?

"Do we have a deal?" Nina's eyes narrowed.

Something snapped inside Ashley. "No."

"Ms. Fitzgerald," Ms. Wilkins warned.

Ashley ignored her. "And once Ron hears about this conversation...."

Rage distorted Nina's face. "You wouldn't dare tell him about this. He'd never believe you."

Ashley was on adrenaline rush and couldn't stop her next words. "It would be your word against mine, but he would believe me. I've never lied to him, never kept secrets—"

The unexpected slap sucked the rest of the words from her throat. Stars exploded behind her eyes as fiery pain radiated down her cheek. A telltale clicking sound of a camera followed from somewhere to their left.

"How dare you threaten me?"

Nina's words echoed in Ashley's head. The actress' rage-distorted face appeared hazy as Ashley peered at her through teary eyes. Nina raised her hand again. Ashley imitated her, ready to fight back, but images of Ron flashed in her head. She couldn't fight his mother, no matter how angry the woman made her. Ashley angled one arm to block the next blow.

"Hey! Stop that."

Ashley froze.

"Get him out of here," Ron snapped.

Him who? Ashley turned to look. Ron hurried toward them, his expression grim. Behind him, two men struggled with another holding a camera.

"Ron," Nina wailed and dashed to meet him. "She's a horrible person. She called me terrible names. Said I was a liar, an unfit mother, that you wouldn't love me—"

"Mother. Not now." He tried to extricate himself from her arms, but Nina wasn't ready to let him go.

"All I tried to do was discuss Carlyle House with her, but she wouldn't listen. She started to threaten me, said she'd turn you against me. She's a monster, a malicious, evil person who'll not stop at anything until she destroys our family. She said...."

Ashley's gaze stayed locked with Ron's. Yes, she did threaten to tell Ron what his mother had said, but she refused to jump in the fray and defend herself. If Ron chose to believe his mother, then so be it.

"Your father...he would still be alive if it weren't for her," Nina continued her tirade despite Ron's attempts to stop her. "You know that, don't you, baby? Remember we discussed it a couple of weeks ago. If she hadn't..."

Ashley shook her head and flexed her throbbing jaw. For a scrawny woman, Nina packed quite a whopper.

"Mother," Ron finally snapped. "Stop it. Right now. This is hardly the place to be discussing such things. Ashley wouldn't insult you without provocation."

Nina stared at him with rounded eyes, and for once, her mouth stopped moving. A surge of pleasure shot through Ashley at Ron's support, but guilt quickly followed. Ron shouldn't have to choose sides.

"What did you say?" Nina asked, her Oscar-worthy performance vanishing faster than dry ice in boiling water.

Ron gripped her arms and peered into her face. "Mother, I'm not going to debate with you over anything. Not here, not now." He pointed toward the entrance of the museum. "There's a reporter out there with very damaging pictures of what happened here. You should be more concerned about keeping them out of the tabloids than what Ashley said or did." A sigh escaped him. "I know her, Mother. She's not the monster you're trying to paint."

Nina shot Ashley a heated look. Ashley winced. It bugged her that the woman refused to let go of the past and was dragging her son down.

"Take her home," Ron instructed Nina's assistant and gently nudged his mother toward her. "She's tired and overwrought. I'll call later and discuss what to tell the press if they catch up with us." He waited, his gaze on his mother, as the two women walked away. When his mother looked back with an anguished expression, he added, "Everything will be okay, Mom. I promise."

Right then, Ashley knew he'd always played the grown-up in his relationship with his mother. How sad and unfair.

"I'm so sorry," she said when he turned toward her.

"That's supposed to be my line." The smile on his face was tinged with sadness. His gaze went to her right cheek. "Does it hurt?"

The pain level kept increasing. "Not really."

"You're not a good a liar." He reached out and palmed her injured cheek. He caressed it, his touch so gentle. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to stop her. My mother can be vicious."

That was the understatement of the year. She covered his hand with hers.

"I think I held my own." And would have decked her and enjoyed every moment of it, but she didn't want to tell Ron that. Neither was she scolding him for his donation to the museum. There was just so much a man could take at once. She gripped his hand and tugged. "Why don't we head back upstairs? I'm sure they're still waiting for me."

He didn't move.

"Ashley." His somber tone caused her to stop and look at him. "You know I don't blame you for my father's death."

"I know. I trust you, Ron." She reached out with her other hand and ran her palm up and down his sleeve. "Besides, we agreed to be totally honest with each other, right?"

Something flashed in his eyes, but it disappeared so fast she didn't have enough time to decipher it.

"Right," he said with a nod.

She wound her arm around his. "Which brings us to you and your secret."

This time, she saw panic in his eyes. Ashley smiled. "Don't worry, hon. I'm not mad. Just promise to check with me next time you want to donate money to an organization I work for or a project I'm working on."

He nodded. "Anything for you, babe. Now, let's get this meeting over and done with. I want to get the hell out of this town."
CHAPTER 18

_What a day._ Ron closed his eyes and rested his head against the leather seat. And more was yet to come. He knew his mother well enough to know that the incident at the museum was a prelude to more drama. This trip to Vegas only postponed the inevitable. At least he had Ashley to keep his mind off things. His woman had been through so much, but still managed to stay upbeat. No wonder he was nuts about her.

For a moment, he just stared at her. He _loved_ everything that was Ashley Fitzgerald. Hot tempered or sweet, stubborn or vulnerable, she filled a void in him he hadn't known existed. He'd be damned if he didn't admit it felt good and right. He grinned from ear to ear.

His gaze touched her closed eyelids, the gentle slope of her cheek and the stubborn chin before settling on her sensual, full lips. He knew she was nervous about meeting his grandmother and had made such a fuss over her appearance. Her hair now fell in soft waves around her shoulders. But whether her hair was piled up, styled or in a ponytail, she always took his breath away. How could he have thought that a simple affair with her would suffice?

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Noble?"

This was the third time the flight attendant asked if he needed something. Ron looked up at the petite flight attendant and tried to remember her name. She was new and overly eager to please. Somebody forgot to tell her that corporate flight attendants should serve without being intrusive.

"We have freshly brewed coffee," she added.

"Make it brandy." Champagne would have been better, but it would have to wait until he spoke with Ashley. The conversation they had at the museum flitted in his thoughts. When she had said _his secret,_ he'd thought she knew the truth and he broke out in cold sweat. Once he finished with his uncle and learned what had happened between his father and Doyle, he'd tell Ashley everything.

His cell phone rang, interrupting his reverie. He eased Ashley's head off his chest, settled her onto the couch and got up.

"I'll be right back, babe," he murmured.

He pulled the cell phone from its holder and recognized Kenny's number before he placed the phone on his ear. "Hey. I've been expecting your call," he said, moving to the back of the plane.

"Are you finally in the air?"

"Yeah. We left Santa Monica Muni thirty minutes ago." Ron sat down on one of the seats in the back and stretched his legs. One benefit of using the Gulfstream was the extra space for someone his size. "What's going on?"

"Have you seen the news?"

The drama at the children's museum was the last thing he wanted to discuss. "No."

"The Coast Guard's been searching for a boat witnesses said exploded offshore near Venice two days ago. They found chunks of it, but so far, they've only found two bodies."

Ron sat up. "The ex-firefighters?"

"Eddie Fitzgerald thinks so. Are you taking a taxi from the airport?"

"No, my cousin's picking us up. Why?"

"Avoid public transportation at all costs. More bodies are coming out of the woodwork and that's never good."

"I hear you, man. We were supposed to meet Doyle Junior at the museum, but he was a no show. I can't help but wonder why. Anything on him or his father?"

"Not yet, but I know Fitzgerald is following a lead, and so am I. As soon as I find a connection between the Doyles and the firefighters' reversal in fortune, I'll call you. I think he paid them off."

"Just find that damn connection. There's got to be an electronic trail buried somewhere." Maybe he was grasping at straws here, but his future was at stake. "Hey, thanks for giving this all you've got. I know you haven't taken any clients in the last couple of weeks."

"That's why I charge you megabucks."

"Funny, haven't seen a bill yet."

"It's in the mail...just a sec." There was mumbling in the background, then Kenny came back. "What the hell happened at the museum this morning?"

Ron sighed. The last thing he needed was his mother going public with some cooked up story to explain her fight with Ashley. "Ashley and my mother had an argument and some reporter took pictures."

"Turn on the T.V."

Ron started to get up, but saw the flight attendant sashaying toward him with his drink. "Thank you." He took the drink and gestured to the screen to his left. "Could you make sure all the other screens are off, then turn on the system. I need to catch something on the news."

As she walked away, Ron brought his cell phone back to his ear. "How bad is it?"

"They keep showing footage of your mother and Ashley answering questions, then shifting to the slap."

Ron swore under his breath.

"Man, this is jacked up." Kenny added. "You'd better expect company when you hit Vegas. One of those damned reporters followed you to the airport. They know you're headed to Vegas. How's Ashley doing?"

"She's fast asleep. She doesn't need to see this." The screen beside his seat lit up. "Let's talk later, Kenny."

It didn't take long to find a channel showing footage of the incident. He studied Ashley and his mother as they answered questions. Ashley was tense, chewing on her lower lip the entire time his mother spoke, yet when it was her turn, she sounded firm and confident. He had no idea what the hell happened between the interview and the fight near the murals. He didn't want to know, he just wanted the damned thing to go away.

"Oh, no," Ashley whispered.

Ron turned his head to look at her. He'd been so absorbed with the screen he hadn't heard her walk up.

"Sorry, I woke you." He leaned forward to switch it off.

"Don't, please." She leaned against the back of his seat, her gaze glued on the screen. She flinched as they showed the slap footage. "I had no idea he videotaped it too."

"They're vultures." He wanted to apologize to her again. His mother had gone too far this time.

Ashley gripped his shoulder. "Stop it. That," she pointed at the screen, "wasn't your fault."

"Really? Where was I when she was hitting you? From the body language alone, I could see she'd verbally attacked you before she hit you."

"I didn't exactly try to placate her."

He shook his head. "No one placates my mother when she's pissed. I should have come downstairs with you, but that woman just kept yapping nonstop."

Ashley wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek against his head. "This _thing_ between your mother and me started ten years ago. I just wish she could forgive me and let go of the past. "

The pain and frustration in her voice filled him with guilt. He tilted his head into her face. "There's nothing to forgive, sweetheart. My father's death wasn't your fault. Mom just needs to accept that. She holds grudges for too damn long. Over the years, I've seen her refuse to forgive people she felt had slighted her, so don't take this personally."

"Maybe once they confirm that the Doyles were behind the fire at Carlyle House, she can focus her energy on making sure they're brought to trial and find closure. I know I'd like that."

Her earnest gaze connected with his and Ron winced. If the tables were turned, would her mother find closure if his father was involved? Would Ashley?

"Don't look at me like that, Ron. I'm not after revenge. I know it's been ten years and punishing those responsible wouldn't bring our parents back, but what the arsonists did was wrong." Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe they planned to kill my parents or maybe they didn't, but the fact remains that we lost those we love because of what they started. We," she pointed at her chest then at him, "owe it to our parents to see that justice is served."

He couldn't come up with a logical explanation to contradict the things she'd said. He pulled her onto his lap and gave her a slow kiss wreathed with guilt. "Yeah, we do," he said.

She gripped his head to slow him down. "How long before we land?"

Ron looked at his watch. "Less than thirty minutes." He dipped his head to kiss her again.

She angled her head away. "I don't want to look messy when I meet your family."

"You won't. I promise to be very careful." He rained kisses along her jaw to her ear and took a nip. A shudder shook her. He knew exactly when she gave in. Her body relaxed and curled against his. "Especially with your hair," he added.

She giggled, forked her fingers through his hair and gripped his head. "Such an understanding man. Do we need to worry about the flight attendant?"

"Give me a second." He hurried toward the galley, spoke briefly to the flight attendant and hurried back. "Now we don't have to," he said as he joined her.

Their lips met, fingers caressed skin and sighs of pleasure filled the cabin for the next twenty minutes.

***

"This has nothing to do with Carlyle House," Ashley tried to reassure her cousin before they landed. "Mrs. Noble donated some money to the museum, stopped by to see where her money was going and our paths crossed."

Faith laughed. "And that should explain why she slapped you?"

Ashley pursed her lips. "She made a nasty comment about my art, I lost it and she didn't like what I said," she lied smoothly.

"Is that the official story? The one I'm supposed to tell Lex, Aunt Estelle and the others when they call looking for answers?"

Trust Faith to see right through her lie. "Yes."

"And the real story is...?"

Ashley sighed. _Nosey relatives are a pain in the rear._ "Can we talk when I get back?"

"Sure." A snicker followed. "So how come you're going to Vegas with the playboy? I thought you swore he was out of the picture the last time we spoke."

Did she? Must have been during her self-imposed house arrest. And now that she knew she was in love with him, Ashley didn't care what anyone thought. "He's really not like that."

"Said the fly 'bout the spider," Faith said in a sing-song voice.

Ashley closed her eyes. "Faith, I know you mean well, but I know what I'm doing."

"Does he make you happy? Is he the one?"

Ashley smiled. Despite all they'd been through, she was happy. "Very and yes."

"Then go for it. And let's talk when you get back." There was a brief pause. "When will that be?"

"Saturday."

"Okay. I'll placate everyone from this end and I'll see you Saturday evening. Be good."

Faith disconnected the phone before Ashley could protest. Saturday morning she had an appointment with Dr. Reuben. Hopefully by the time she met with Faith, she would have all her memories back. She placed the phone back in its cradle, just as the captain's voice filled the cabin. They were about to land at McCarran Airport, Las Vegas.

The heat hit them when they stepped off the air conditioned plane. "That's my cousin Stanley," Ron said from behind Ashley.

Ashley studied the lanky, bespectacled man grinning at them from the open door of an SUV. Though he had the same raven hair, Stanley didn't look anything like Ron. A nervous smile touched her lips. She'd taken time to freshen up but was sure her face would give away the fact that she and Ron had a quickie in the jet.

Ron dropped their bags, locked fists with his cousin and hugged.

"Where's William?" Ron asked.

Stanley jerked his thumb toward the airport building, his eyes on Ashley. "Out in front with the limo, side-tracking the paparazzi. His brilliant plan, not mine."

"I'll remember to thank him." Ron reached for Ashley's hand and performed the introduction.

"Nice to finally meet you, Ashley," Stanley said with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

"Finally?" she asked, wondering whether Stanley had seen the incident on TV or Ron had talked to him about her. She glanced at Ron, but he was busy putting their bags in the truck.

"Over a week ago, we were signing a deal in New York and," he threw Ron a teasing grin, "Ron decided to catch the red eye back to L.A. for a meeting with a certain, uh, how did he put it?"

"Shut up, Stanley." Ron took her arm and tried to lead her to the truck.

"Not so fast." She pushed at his hand. "I want to hear this." She recalled how she'd attributed his red eyes and haggard state to partying. He'd led her to believe that, the rascal. "A certain what?"

Stanley glance bounced between their faces then he shrugged. "Talented artist," he finished.

"Bet you didn't say that," Ashley teased Ron as she slid in the back passenger seat. "You made me believe you'd been out partying the night before."

"No, sweetheart. You jumped to that conclusion, and I decided not to correct you." He planted a kiss on her lips then closed the door before she could respond.

She sat back and enjoyed the drive to the Darden's home. Located in a cul-de-sac with a mountain backdrop, the two-story stucco and frame had a breathtaking view of a golf course and the Strip. When Stanley punched in security codes and the gate opened, Ashley leaned forward to study the arched entrance, elegant pillars and tiles in sun-baked hues. The artist in her appreciated the gracious façade created by the large windows, flower patches, gardens and trees. A stretch limo was parked in the circular cobbled yard.

Ron stepped down from the SUV and went to Ashley's side. He and Stanley carried their overnight bags and discussed which rooms the housekeeper had prepared for them when they entered the house. She heard the pool house mentioned, but she was busy studying her surroundings.

Ashley looked around with interest. There was nothing traditional about the elegant, two-story foyer. The oval-shaped room had faux painted walls, a wood and iron banister curved staircase, and white and grey marbled flooring. An elegantly painted Louis XVI console topped by yellow beveled marble and a matching mirror complemented a Monet painting of water lilies. Arches and columns marked the entrance to rooms visible from where she stood.

"Doyle? Which one?"

The snap in Ron's voice drew her attention. He stood still, his fingers gripping hers. His expression was furious, while his cousin looked ready to bolt.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"My grandmother and uncle have a visitor," he explained. "Which one, Frankie?"

His cousin hesitated, the uneasy expression on his face intensifying. "Ryan."

Cold fingers crawled up her spine.

"Let's find out what the hell is going on here." Ron's voice was stark when he spoke.
CHAPTER 19

Ashley wasn't sure what to expect when they entered the den—maybe a full-fledged war, but certainly not Ron's grandmother, Penelope Darden, on a Louis XV style armchair, holding court. Doyle, in a black pinstripe suit, sipped an amber-colored liquid and hung on her every word. The other occupant, a distinguished looking man in a grey cashmere suit, she assumed was Gregory Neumann, Ron's uncle. He sat apart from the other two, his expression unreadable.

"Ah, my grandson is here," Mrs. Darden said when she saw them, then beckoned Ron forward. "Come here, darling."

Ashley didn't move from the doorway as the two older men stood and Ron walked to his grandmother. It was rude to stare, but she couldn't keep her gaze off Ryan Doyle. The urge to accuse him of being responsible for her parents' death and sending that psycho Dunn after her rushed through her. She fought to control her rage and the feeling of helplessness that was threatening to pull her under.

Ryan turned his head and their gazes met. It might have been a fraction of a second, but something cold and lethal flashed in his eyes before he hid it behind an urbane smile. Ron was right, Doyle could drape himself in Armani suits and hide in stretch limos and mansions, but the man was a thug.

Ashley shivered and focused on Ron's grandmother instead. She wasn't your typical short, round, pearls-and-nylon-wearing grandmother. Even seated, she appeared tall and slender, her back straight and head held at a regal angle. Beside the men in their black suits and a room done in dark earthy tones, her red pants and matching cashmere top, diamond choker and dripping earrings added a flash of color and sparkle. Short, curly grey hair-do bared a surprisingly youthful face. Like her grandson, she had piercing, intelligent blue eyes. They shimmered with love as Ron kissed her cheek and she patted his. Then she motioned the two older men to sit down and turned her gaze on Ashley.

Ashley fidgeted when the woman didn't speak right away.

"And _you_ don't need an introduction, my dear," Penelope said. "Come closer. Let me take a better look at you."

Ashley walked forward, nervous energy flowing through her. Why should she need an introduction when her image was on national TV since they left L.A.? Her ears grew hot.

Mrs. Darden took Ashley's hand and patted it, her gaze unwavering. "You look exactly like your mother. Keira was such beautiful child. Her angelic voice could hold an entire hall captive."

Surprise, then warmth unfurled in Ashley's stomach. She didn't know what she'd expected from Ron's grandmother after her publicized fight with Nina—a lukewarm reception at best. Not this. Mrs. Darden's eyes twinkled and her smile seemed genuine.

"But I see flashes of Damon in there too." She chuckled. "You have his eyes. He was quite the charmer—your father." Then she looked at the men and Ashley followed her gaze. "This is Ashley Fitzgerald, Keira and Damon's little girl. Ashley...Ryan Doyle and my son, Gregory."

Ashley's mouth opened and she heard her voice say the perfunctory 'hello,' but inside, waves of anger swelled and crested, snuffing the warmth she'd felt at Mrs. Darden's welcome. These two men had something to hide, and she wanted to know what it was. Then she felt Ron's presence by her side. His hand wrapped around hers and squeezed. Usually he had a calming effect on her, but not now.

"What's going on, Grandma?" Ron asked.

The older woman waved at the sofa opposite her chair. "Doyle was sharing with us some very disturbing news that I think might be of interest to both of you."

Ashley was more than eager to hear what the bastard had to say. As soon as they sat down, she studied the man. Mid-to-late fifties with swarthy complexion and a full head of black hair with very little grey, Ryan was physically fit for a man his age. He was also of average height. She'd noticed he was far shorter than Ron and his uncle when he had stood up. A conservative dresser with neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair, the ostentatious ring on his middle finger seemed at odds with the image he projected. It was the same ring he'd worn ten years ago.

"Tell them about Frankie Higgins, Doyle."

Mrs. Darden's orders yanked Ashley into focus. She shot Ron a look from the corner of her eye. He appeared composed, the expression on his face unreadable, but his hand flexed around hers.

"My son, Vaughn, called me this morning with the news that the FBI came to the house to arrest Frankie," Doyle said, his gaze bouncing from one face to the next.

She shot Ron another look, but his expression didn't give a hint of his thoughts.

"Frankie has been in my employ for almost twenty-five years, but there were certain things he did that no one was aware of," Doyle continued. "He was involved in a string of criminal activities and someone from his past recently came forward and fingered him to the authorities."

Ashley frowned. She couldn't decide whether the man was telling the truth or lying. Maybe it wasn't her place to ask questions, but she wasn't about to sit there and be lied to. She opened her mouth, but Ron spoke.

"What sort of criminal activities?" he asked.

Ryan nodded curtly as though he'd anticipated Ron's question. "Arson. It appears that he was the man to hire if you wanted to torch a place. But from what my son told me, his skills go beyond that. Frankie killed the three men who'd have identified him just a few days ago, blew them up in their boat in broad daylight." He shook his head. "It's a shocking business."

Ashley glanced at Ron to gauge his reaction. He still wore a stone face, but his hand was crushing hers. She wiggled her fingers until he eased.

"I fail to understand why this should be of interest to my family, Mr. Doyle," Ron said in a disinterested voice. His cool tone and calm expression impressed the heck out of Ashley. If this were her grandmother's home, she would denounce Doyle as a liar, kick him out and deal with her grandmother's wrath later.

"One of the houses Frankie torched ten years ago was Carlyle House," Doyle explained. "After Vaughn and I spoke, I decided to fly here and inform your grandmother that I wasn't aware of Frankie's deeds until this morning. I won't rest until he's captured and brought to trial for what he did. Three people perished in that fire—"

"Are you saying he has disappeared?" Ron interrupted him.

"I'm afraid so," Doyle said, his tone remorseful. "They have agents searching for him even as we speak. But he cannot hide for long."

Ashley bit her inner cheeks to stop her from yelling, 'Liar!' Frankie couldn't pull a disappearing act like that without someone with means and connections helping him, someone with something to hide. She was through being a listener.

"What exactly does Frankie do for you, Mr. Doyle?"

Anger flashed in Ryan's eyes, then disappeared. "I beg your pardon."

"What duties does he have in your home or company? From what I heard, he doesn't exist. He's never declared his source of income or paid taxes. He doesn't have an address or a social security number." Ron tugged at her hand in warning, but she ignored him. "So what exactly does a man they call a ghost do for an upstanding businessman like you, Mr. Doyle?"

Doyle's eyes narrowed. "I don't know where you get your information—"

"The L.A.P.D.," Ashley snapped.

He looked toward Ron's grandmother. "I refuse to sit here and be interrogated like a criminal. I came to see your family in good faith, Penelope."

Mrs. Darden's expression didn't change. She still smiled as though they were discussing the weather. "I know you did, my dear Ryan, but the child has a point. What exactly did Frankie do for you?"

The man's gaze bounced from one face to another, his dark eyes flashing. "He was head of my security for a while, acted as a chauffer when one was needed. That he chose not to pay his taxes is none of my business. I don't understand the point of this interrogation."

"The point is everyone who was in Carlyle House the night of the fire, with exception of Ashley and my mother, is either dead or has been attacked," Ron cut in. "All in the past two weeks. Ironside, Dunn, or whatever his real name is tried to get to Ashley several times and failed. Her uncle is fighting for his life and you," his voice became more scathing, "would have us believe Frankie was in your employ for twenty-five years and you had no idea whatsoever of his criminal activities."

Doyle pinned Ron down with a cold stare. "Young man, I'm a busy man with offices all over the country and abroad. I can't keep tabs on all my employees." His glance shifted to Ashley. "Ms. Fitzgerald, I'm sorry for what Frankie's put you through. I hope you told the police because I think he's more dangerous that I'd thought. Is your uncle feeling better?"

"He regained conscious long enough to finger his attacker and the people he worked for," Ashley said, watching Doyle to see if he'd react. He didn't even flinch.

"One thing keeps bothering me, Mr. Doyle," Ron said, his voice hard. "Perhaps, you could explain it. Why would Frankie burn Carlyle House ten years ago? Was he following orders? Did he act alone?"

"From what Vaughn told me, three ex-firefighters worked with Frankie. I don't know whether they were running a scam or being paid off, but they miscalculated with Carlyle House." Doyle's gaze swept the faces in the room before returning to Ron. "I knew your father, son. He was a hardworking, honorable man. I promise you that Frankie will face trial for his death." His glance moved to Ashley. "I might not have known Keira and Damon Fitzgerald personally, but I was touched by their music. Frankie must—"

"Stop." Ashley jumped up. How dare he? He wasn't fit to mention her parents' name or talk about their death as though he cared. If she didn't leave now, she was going to denounce him for the liar that he was and damn the consequences. She pulled her hand from Ron's, then remembered Mrs. Darden and Gregory's presence. The older woman's expression was filled with concern. Her son's could have been made out of a rock. "Mrs. Darden. Mr. Neumann. Excuse me, please."

As she turned to leave the room, Ron jumped up, said something to his grandmother Ashley didn't hear and followed her outside. He gripped her arm and directed her to the hallway to their left, pushed open a door and ushered her inside a blue and white marbled bathroom with three sinks and a long mirror.

Ashley planted her hands on the expansive bathroom counter and said through gritted teeth, "That man's a lying piece of shit."

"I know," Ron said, reaching for his cell phone.

"I want to...," her hands fisted, emotions strangling her and making it difficult to talk.

Ron placed his hand on her nape and nudged her down. "Put your head between your legs and take deep breaths."

She pushed his arm away. "I'm not about to faint," she snapped. "I'm mad." To know that Doyle was behind her miseries, but was out of her reach, twisted her insides. She dropped her head and took deep breaths.

"He'll get his once we have proof." Ron massaged her back, his cell phone on his ear. "Kenny? Have you heard anything about an arrest warrant for Frankie Higgins? Yes. Sure, I'll wait." He pressed a button and placed the phone on the counter beside the sink. "I turned on the speakers so you can hear him."

For a moment, there was silence. "Ron?" Kenny asked.

"We're both here. What did you find?"

"I just spoke with Eddie, Ashley's cousin. There's no arrest warrant for Frankie, so Doyle is lying. But we've had some interesting developments, too."

"What?" Ashley and Ron said in unison.

"Remember the letters that started this investigation? I traced them to the Doyles. They leased an entire floor in the building where your offices are located, Ron, and are going to use it as their downtown branch. The paper used in the letters you received was delivered to their offices a month ago."

For a moment, Ashley just stared at Ron. "Does that mean someone in their office started this whole thing?"

"Sounds like it," Kenny answered.

"Who, in his company, would want to finger Doyle and why?" Ashley added.

"Must be Frankie." Ron quickly explained to Kenny the story Ryan Doyle had told them. "Maybe Doyle found out about Frankie and decided to turn the tables on him."

"Or Frankie got tired of being Doyle's hitman and wanted out," Ashley added.

Kenny chuckled. "No honor among thieves, I guess. I'll tell the good detective about this."

"Sure, and keep us informed if anything else turns up." Ron switched off his cell phone and returned it to its holder. "If Doyle and Frankie had a fallout, why come here with his story? Why not go to the police?"

Ashley shrugged. "I guess there's more going on here than we've been told."

Ron reached for her hand. "Let's go back in there and call his bluff."

Ashley shook her head. "I can't."

He threw her an impatient look. "Can't what?"

"I can't be in the same room with that man and not accuse him of lying. He has an excuse for everything." When he sighed, she added, "Unless you want me to embarrass you in front of your grandmother, you'd better go without me."

He studied her with narrowed eyes, then nodded. "Okay."

***

Ron left Ashley under an umbrella by the pool after showing her the pool house, where Simon the housekeeper had put their bags and where they'd be spending the night. He made sure she had something to a drink before he hurried back to the den.

His grandmother and uncle were having a whispered conference. They looked up when he entered. Penelope had abandoned the Louis XV chair for the one behind the huge mahogany desk by the bookshelves. Doyle was gone.

"Where did _he_ go?"

"If you're talking about Doyle, he couldn't wait to leave as soon as you two left. How is Ashley doing?" his grandmother asked.

"She's doing fine."

"Just like her mother," Penelope added with a chuckle. "I like a girl with fire in her blood. It takes backbone to stand up to someone like Doyle, or your mother."

Ron didn't want to discuss Ashley, but the way his grandmother was laying it on thick meant something was up. Ron took the chair Doyle had previously occupied and studied the faces of the two people he'd loved all his life but had never understood. There was more going on here, and before this meeting was over, he would know what it was. There was no reason for Doyle and his grandmother, two people who moved in different circles, to become chummy over a ten-year-old crime.

"Why was Doyle here?" Ron asked.

Penelope exchanged a glance with Gregory, who stood beside her desk, then sat back and pursed her lips. "I told you the boy was too smart to be fooled. It's about time he knew everything. After what I witnessed today, I believe he's ready."

Ron ground his teeth. His grandmother and her cryptic sentences were the bane of his life. "Ready for what?"

"For the truth, darling. Tell him, Gregory." She folded her arms and leaned back against her seat.

"Anything to drink, Ronald? Mother?" Gregory asked as he walked to the bar and poured himself a shot of cognac.

"Not for me, dear," Penelope answered.

Ron glanced at the assortment of spirits on the tray. Times like this called for something stronger, but he didn't want to dull his senses with alcohol. A clear mind was vital when dealing with his uncle and grandmother. He got up, picked up a bottle of Perrier and a glass then resumed his place on the chair.

Gregory shed his coat, loosened his tie and collar button and chose a leather armchair to Penelope's right so the two of them faced Ron. Ron wasn't sure whether this was an intimidation tactic or not. Even seated, his uncle was an imposing figure—broad shoulders, wide girth and those sharp intelligent eyes that never missed a thing. The tension inside Ron shot up a notch.

This reminded him too much of one of the Ron-you've-screwed-up-again sessions he used to have with them—his grandmother a quiet presence behind the desk, his uncle seated across from him with a disapproving expression and doing most of the talking. Yet there was never doubt as to who was in charge—his indomitable grandmother. Ron ignored the cold sweat forming on his forehead, filled his glass with water and took a sip.

His uncle's glance briefly touched his grandmother before shifting to Ron. "I'm happy we're finally having this talk, Ronald. Keeping things from you was never our intention." He put his glass down and leaned back against his chair, his expression hardening. "But for a while there, we weren't sure whether you'd outgrow your recklessness and rebellious habits. Your grandmother, however, always believed in you. She used to say you just needed time."

Like hell she did. From her constant lectures, she'd always thought he was a great disappointment to her and the family. Even after taking the position of managing director of the Californian branch, she never stopped looking over his shoulders. Ron shot her a look, but he didn't say anything.

"You've turned out to be an upright young man," his uncle continued, "a man trusted and respected by his peers. The family business will be safe in your hands."

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair. A week ago, his uncle had doubted he could pull off a multi-million dollar contract, today he was the new wonder boy. Why did he feel as though he was being fattened up for the slaughter? "I appreciate what you're saying, sir, but I'm more interested in what Doyle was doing here, why he felt the need to talk to the two of you about Frankie, which, by the way, is a lie. There's no warrant for Frankie's arrest."

"We suspected as much. Tell him, Gregory," Penelope Darden's voice whipped out.

"Ryan came here to collect money he's owed," his uncle explained.

Ron choked on his drink. "Are we having financial problems you guys forgot to tell me about? And since when do we borrow money from men like him?"

Annoyance flickered in Gregory's eyes. "We don't. Your father did."

Ron's stomach dropped. "My father?"

"Not for himself, you understand," Penelope rushed to reassure Ron. "Your father was a thrifty, hardworking man. He gave up being a firefighter for your mother. When he learned that Nina was pregnant with you, he enrolled in college, earned his business degree and worked his way up the ranks here at Neumann before we sent him to California to manage the branch there. You can continue now, Gregory."

Gregory took a long swig out of his glass and put it on the side table. "Nina never learned how to manage money. She was convinced she'd get a break in the show business if she wore the right clothes and jewelry, attended the right parties, things your father couldn't always afford. Mother often covered most of her expenses, but Nina refused to curb her spending."

"I now know it was my fault," Penelope added in a reflective tone. "I spoiled her and she expected your father to pick up where I left off. He adored her and was willing to do anything to keep her happy." She nodded at Gregory and sunk back into her seat.

"But what he didn't know was how much she was using company charge accounts or that the Californian branch was sinking deeper and deeper into debt," Gregory continued.

Ron's gaze swung between his grandmother and uncle. "What does all this have to do with Doyle and the money my father owed him?"

"To cover what Nina had done, your father got involved with Doyle and his get-rich-quick investments. Or should we say insurance scams. By the time we found out, he owed the man a quarter of a million dollars. We offered to pay his debt, but your father said no. He created the problem, he'd fix it, he insisted. But Doyle didn't want money. He wanted Carlyle House instead. The house was worth about half-a-million at the time and he was willing to pay the difference." Gregory drained his drink. "Your mother refused. She knew Doyle had targeted your father because he was obsessed with owning Carlyle House. Even when we were young, we'd catch him peering in from outside. She swore she'd rather see the house torched than in the hands of Doyle."

Ron's head jerked up. "Are you saying Mom—?"

"Of course not," Penelope snapped. "Nina has her faults, but she'd never do something so despicable. She sold the house to the Fitzgeralds. The money from the sale was to pay back Doyle. But someone started the fire."

"That night, before the fire, Doyle came to the house, demanding we accept his terms," Gregory continued. "Your father and I told him the house was already sold to someone else. He became livid, words were exchanged, accusations and counter-accusations."

Ron sat up, Ashley's revelation during hypnosis flitting through his head. "What kind of accusations?"

"Your father accused him of orchestrating an investment scam. Doyle dared him to prove it. In the aftermath of the fire, Doyle disappeared from L.A. Any attempts to contact him were unsuccessful. Then he appeared at our door today unannounced. Once again, he wants Carlyle House, and the money he's owed is the down payment on it."

Ron scowled. "Are you saying Mom never sent the money back?"

Gregory shook his head. "Nina didn't know about all this. She'd just lost your father and was grieving. Your grandmother and I took care of it. We wired the money back to Doyle. But a few days after the fire, we discovered the same amount of money plus twenty-five thousand more in your father's account. By that time, the rumor that he was involved in the fire was floating around. We didn't know what to believe."

"The money didn't make sense, and the rumors were ludicrous," Penelope added.

"Our investigator checked into it, but he couldn't find any records of a wire transfer. The bank couldn't tell us who deposited the bulk of it. But he learned that the twenty-five thousand came from Prime Corp, a dummy company set up by Ryan. The same amount was wired into the bank accounts of three firefighters who were on duty the night of the fire, the same men who died in that boat two days ago. That's when we began to wonder if the rumors were true."

Ron winced as the words ricocheted in his head. "No, there must be another explanation for the money."

"And the rumors?" Penelope asked.

Ron scrubbed his face, frustration burning his insides. The father he knew would never stoop to criminal activities, not even to cover a debt. "I don't know. Did you ask Doyle about it today?"

"Of course, we did," Penelope said.

"He insisted he had no idea what we were talking about," Gregory added. "He claimed he never received the money we sent him, never owned Prime Corp, but he had legal papers that showed your father owed him the quarter a million plus any interest accrued in case he didn't pay him back."

"I will pay it back and expose him for the scumbag that he is," Ron vowed.

"You'll do no such thing," Penelope snapped. "Doyle's money has been sitting in an account we set up. We'll wire it to him, plus the interest. As for Carlyle House, I agree with your mother. He'll never set a foot in it." Penelope got to her feet. "We never wanted to burden you with this, Ronald. But now that you know, you must put it behind you and move on. No one knows who started the rumors or whether they're true or not. Gregory and I will end this." She walked to his side and pressed a firm hand on his shoulder. The pressure was not reassuring. "Of course, your mother must not be told about this. She's not strong enough to handle something like this which is why when someone sent her the same letters you received, Connie intercepted them and sent them to us. We didn't know the person would target you."

Ron frowned. His mother needed to know the truth so she could let go of the past, just like Ashley had said. "No. You can't hide things from her. She's stronger than you think."

"Have you any idea how devastated she'll be when she hears that rumors we've all lived with this past ten years are true? That Doyle paid your father and his firefighter friends to start the fire, which killed the Fitzgeralds?" Penelope asked in a relentless voice.

Ron stopped paying attention to his grandmother before she finished speaking, his mind going in circles. His Ashley. If one person deserved to know the whole sordid truth, it was she. He'd talk with his grandmother later about treating his mother like a child, but he must talk to Ashley right away, tell her everything.

"Ashley mustn't be told about this either," his grandmother ordered. "Some things are better left unsaid, especially when revealing them may have dire consequences."

Ron shook his head. He never argued with his grandmother when she used that tone, but this time was different. His future was at stake. He refused to lie to the woman he loved anymore.

"Ronald? Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, Grandmother. But—"

A sob from behind them cut him off. Ron turned to look. Someone was eavesdropping behind the door. He jumped up and raced to open it. When he stepped into the hallway, Ashley was hurrying toward the foyer. His stomach dropped. Just how much had she heard?
CHAPTER 20

"Ashley, wait."

She ignored Ron and continued on into the foyer, but running didn't lessen her anguish, her sense of betrayal. It became sharper as the conversation she'd overheard replayed in her head. Pain constricted her throat and tears stung her eyes. How long had Ron known about his father? Why hadn't he told her?

"Damn it, Ashley. Let me explain."

She spun around and glared at him. Everything else around her became blurry as she focused on his face, so dear and familiar, yet so angry. Why? Was he pissed with her for eavesdropping? She would never have known the truth if she hadn't gone in search of him and overheard.

She shook her head. It hurt so much to look at him, to know that she'd trusted him so implicitly, but he had been hiding things from her. She loved him with her heart and he didn't deserve that love. She swallowed her hurt and willed the tears away from her eyes.

"Explain what, Ron?" she asked in a shaky voice. "That you knew your father was involved in the fire, but you chose not to tell me?"

He stopped in front of her and shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. "I'm sorry you found out this way. I had planned to tell you everything after I spoke with Uncle Gregory."

Ashley shook her head, feeling so betrayed. "You knew, Ron."

"Please, listen to me. I didn't know anything. It was a rumor I'd lived with the last ten years, but never cared to find out if there was some truth in it until I started receiving those letters. If you recall, the whole point of the investigation was to find out what happened that night."

Was he seriously trying to excuse his actions? "You don't get it, do you? You should have been honest with me from the word go, Ron. My cousin hinted at the rumor, but I refused to believe him because I trusted you. I thought your reason for starting the investigation was the same as mine, to bring justice to our parents." Her voice hitched and jerked. She wanted to hear Ron admit it. No, she wanted him to tell her it wasn't true, that what she just heard were lies. She wanted him to make the pain go away. "Did he start the fire? Did he kill my parents?"

He sighed. "I don't know."

"You don't know? After what I just heard in there?" She jabbed a finger in the direction of the den. When Ron yanked his hands from his pockets and scrubbed his face without speaking, she whipped around and continued toward the back door. Ron dogged her footsteps.

Ashley ignored him, but the silence whispered things she didn't want to hear. She fell in love with the son of her parents' killer. Would she have helped Ron with his investigation had he been honest with her? Probably. Slept with him? Hell no, not without feeling like she was betraying her parents. She should have listened to her cousin. Taking the blame didn't make her pain go away, it only made it worse.

The pool house door was partially open. She pushed it, walked to the center of the living room, turned around and wrapped her arms around herself. Ron closed the door behind him. He kept his distance but stared right back at her. She wanted him to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. How could she still want him when his father killed her parents?

"I'm so sorry you found out this—"

"Don't tell me you're sorry, Ron," Ashley whispered, her throat swollen with tears. "I trusted you."

He forked his fingers through his hair, the way she often did when they made love. Even thinking about that made her angry.

"Why couldn't you just be honest with me?" she demanded.

"I was afraid you'd shut me out if you knew the truth. And the more I got to know you, the harder it became. I didn't want to lose you."

"Don't you mean you didn't want to lose the only witness to what happened that night? No wonder you scaled my wall to be there when I went through hypnosis." And she'd thought he'd missed her and wanted to be with her. God, she was an idiot.

"You're taking what you heard the wrong way, Ashley. If you'd heard—"

"I heard enough. Your grandmother said I shouldn't know the truth and you agreed." The words came out shaky, her voice begging for answers instead of demanding. When he pressed the heel of his palm against his temple and scrunched his face as though he were in pain, her heart wrung. She almost opened her mouth to ask if he was all right, but she had to know the truth. "Do you deny you were willing to continue lying to me?"

A muscle ticked in his cheek. "If you were in the den with us, you'd have seen me shake my head when she _demanded_ I keep the truth from you."

Ashley was taken back by the depth of despair in his eyes. She'd been so absorbed with his betrayal she hadn't stopped to think how he must be taking this new revelation. Could he be shouldering the guilt of his father's criminal act? Once again, she was tempted to reassure him, but she hardened her heart. She shouldn't care about what he was going through. He was the one who'd betrayed her trust. His father made her an orphan.

"I know you're angry right now and you have a right to be, but I meant to tell you everything, Ashley," Ron continued, his tone bleak. "You and my mother deserve to know the truth, no matter how painful and distasteful it is."

It was a little too late. She just wanted to go home. "It doesn't matter. Not anymore."

"Don't say that. It matters, just like what we have matters." Before she knew his intentions, he'd closed the gap between them and pulled her in his arms. "I won't let this come between us, Ashley." His mouth closed over hers.

For a moment, his senses overwhelmed hers. Her body yielded, guided by familiarity. He made it so easy to love him. To want him. To need him. Tears filled her eyes, rolled down her cheeks to their locked lips. He must have tasted them because his head lifted.

"Sweetheart...."

She shook her head, rejecting the concern in his voice. "You can't use the power you have over my body to win me over, Ron. I won't let you."

His jaws clenched. "We belong together."

"No, we don't. Not when you lie to me. Not when I can't trust you." Not when what his father did would poison their relationship. "There is no longer an _us_."

Pain flashed in his eyes. "There will always be us. We can start over. You can learn to trust me again. I love you."

Earlier in the day, she would have jumped with joy at those words. Now, they left her angry. A borderline hysterical laugh escaped her. "Love is not a four letter word you brandish when you feel cornered, Ron." His eyes blazed at her words, and for a beat, she thought he would grab her and shake her, but all he did was glare. "Listen, this conversation is pointless."

"No, you listen." His voice was hard. "You can laugh at my feelings, throw them back in my face, but it doesn't change how I feel about you. I love you, and once this investigation is over, I'm going to prove it to you. And before you blow me off, hear me out."

Ashley had no choice but to listen as he explained about the bad investments his father made, owing Doyle money and the man's demands concerning Carlyle House and finally the money in his father's account that tied him to the other firefighters. "It's all circumstantial. Just because the money was wired into his account at the same time the other firefighters were paid doesn't mean my father was in on their plans. Since Doyle won't talk, I mean to find Frankie and have him confirm or refute my father's involvement that night."

Logic returned as she shifted through everything he just said. Was it possible that his father wasn't guilty? No, she didn't want to cling to false hope. Besides, his explanation didn't negate the fact that he'd lied to her.

Ashley sighed. She was tired and emotionally drained. She just wanted to nurse her bruised heart in the privacy of her home. Even now, sheer will was the only thing keeping her tears at bay.

"Then I wish you the best in your investigation." She started to walk around him, but he blocked her path.

"Where are you going?"

His scent, so masculine and enticing, teased her senses. Her heart trembled. It hurt so much to think they'd never be together again, that this was goodbye. "To collect my things and go home."

"Don't go, please. As long as Frankie and Doyle are free, it's not safe. You're not safe. Stay here for a few days." He indicated the pool house. "There are two bedrooms in here. I swear I won't bother you."

She couldn't sleep with him a few feet away, wanting and needing him, knowing he lied to her. "I can't."

"Then sleep in the main house while I stay here. Just for tonight."

"I'm not comfortable here. Not around you or your family." She shook her head. "I just want to go home." This time, she made it past him on knees that weren't too steady. Her hands shook as she gripped the handle of her suitcase. "I'm going to stay with my aunt and cousin once I get back to L.A. I'll be fine."

His eyes narrowed. "Why do you have to make things so difficult? All I've ever wanted is a chance for us to know each other without the past coming between us. It might not seem that way now, but I was planning on telling you the truth once I confirmed it."

"Maybe that's the mistake you made, Ron. I don't need to be protected from the truth, however ugly. I need a man who trusts me, a man...," her voice snagged. A tear escaped her eye and she flicked it off her cheek. "I need to call for a cab," she mumbled.

"Don't. I'll drive you."

"No. That won't be necessary." She pulled her cell phone from her bag.

Ron cursed under his breath. "Just let me do this one last thing for you."

Her chin lifted, eyes connected with his frustrated ones. "Okay, Ron. Fine." She dropped her phone back inside her bag. "Let's go."

***

From the way Ashley hurried out the door, it was obvious she couldn't wait to put some distance between them. Ron didn't blame her. He'd hurt her, something he'd always regret. The pain he'd glimpsed in her eyes would be etched in his brain for a long time. But once he finished this investigation, he planned to make it up to her.

"I'll get the car," Ron told her when they reached the foyer of the main house. When she nodded, he took off toward the den, pulled out his cell phone and punched in his office number. He looked at his watch as he waited for his assistant to pick up the phone. It was a quarter to five. "Get me two tickets to L.A. I'm leaving for the airport right now."

"In your name and Ms. Fitzgerald's?" Nikki asked.

"Yes. Call me when you've booked them."

"Is everything okay?" Nikki asked.

"Yeah. Just get me those tickets ASAP." He terminated the call and pushed open the door to the study. Gregory and his grandmother were deep in conversation, and both looked up as soon as they realized they weren't alone. His grandmother's sympathetic expression and his uncle's uneasy one indicated they'd overheard the conversation he and Ashley had in the foyer earlier. He didn't need their pity.

"How long does it take Satchel to file a flight plan?" he asked his uncle.

Gregory checked at his watch. "He and the crew already left the airport, so it will probably take him two to three hours to round everyone up, get back to the airport and make the arrangements. Why?"

"I'm taking Ashley back to L.A. May I borrow your car?"

Gregory nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you." Ron turned to leave the room.

"Ronald, wait," his grandmother called out.

"Not now, Grandma. We'll talk later." He didn't break his stride as he disappeared into the hallway, and speed dialed Kenny's number. Kenny picked up after two rings.

"I need a few guys to keep an eye on Ashley until this thing blows over. We're flying back tonight. Can you have your people tail her from the airport?"

"No problem."

"Good. And the name of the company Doyle used to pay off the arsonists is called Prime Corp."

"Prime Corp? Doesn't ring a bell. I've checked every corporation and company with his name on it."

"It was a dummy company." Ron pushed open the side door leading to the garage to find Gregory's uniformed chauffer conversing with the cook/housekeeper. He slanted his head to indicate the Bentley. "We need a ride to the airport. I've already spoken with Uncle Gregory about it." He slid in the front passenger seat and continued to speak into his phone as the driver settled behind the wheel and started the engine. "Try the islands. He has properties in the Caribbean. And pass the info around. I want that bastard and his hitman behind bars for a very long time. I'll call you with our itinerary in a few minutes."

"Is everything okay, man? You sound like shit."

He felt like shit. "My father's name will be on the list of those paid off, too, Kenny. Thought I'd give you a head's up."

There was silence then, "Damn, man. That's fucked up. Does Ashley know?"

"Yes. Listen, I'll let you know when we'll be getting in. Just have a few of your men ready to tail her from the airport. And I could use a ride, too." He cut off the connection just as they stopped at the front of the house, where Ashley waited with her bags.

Ron got out, opened the back passenger door for her and waited until she was seated before he went to get his things. By the time he came back, the chauffer had already stored Ashley's bag. Ron added his and joined them.

"You don't have to travel back with me, Ron," Ashley said when he settled in his seat beside the driver. "I told you I'll be fine."

"Humor me," was all he said.

The silence inside the car became oppressive even before they pulled onto the street. The drive to the airport was the longest he'd ever taken. When the driver dropped them off at the terminal, Ashley disappeared into the building. Ron was right behind her as she spoke with an airline agent. When the woman couldn't offer her a standby ticket, Ron blocked her path before she could go to the next one. "I can charter a plane to take us back," he said.

"No, thanks." She took a step away from him. "There're more airlines I haven't checked. You go on ahead and charter a plane. I'll be fine on my own."

Her insistence that she'd be fine was beginning to tick him off. It was an attempt to prove that she didn't need him. Had she forgotten how cold and ruthless Doyle was? Before he could remind her, the sound of his cell phone drew his attention.

"Yeah," he barked into the phone.

"Two tickets on Delta Airlines, leaving in forty-five minutes."

"Thanks, Nikki. You're the best." He turned to speak to Ashley, but she was talking to an agent of another airline. As he got closer, he caught the end of their conversation.

"...last minute cancellation...will start boarding in a few minutes. Do you want the seat?"

"No," Ron said at the same time as Ashley's, "Yes, thank you." She shot him an annoyed look.

"We already have two tickets, Ashley. We'll be leaving in forty-five minutes."

"Thanks, but I'd rather leave now." She reached inside her bag for her wallet, pulled out a credit card and her driver's license.

"How many seats are available?" Ron asked the woman as he removed his credit card, too.

"Only one, I'm afraid." Her gaze shifted from Ron to Ashley. "I didn't know you needed two tickets."

"We don't," Ashley answered before Ron could speak.

That he couldn't fly back with her bugged him. He fumed as he waited for her to finish the transaction. When she gripped her boarding pass and would have rolled her bag past him, he blocked her path.

"I've got to run, Ron. I still have to go through security." Her voice shook toward the end of the sentence, the only indicator that she wasn't as calm as she pretended to be.

"I love you, Ashley. No matter what you may think or feel now, remember that." He cupped her cheeks. When she didn't flinch, he lowered his head and gave her a brief kiss. She neither pushed him away nor responded, which only added to his frustration. His hands dropped heavily to his sides. "Go."

"Goodbye, Ron," she whispered, then hurried away.

Disappointment and regret burned in his stomach like acid as he watched her go. _This is not goodbye, babe, not by a long shot._ He got the information for Ashley's flight from a kiosk, then dialed Kenny's number.

***

The flight to Los Angeles was a blur. Ashley curled up in her window seat and tried to exhaust her demons by sketching, but for once her art couldn't ease her pain. Tears blurred the charcoal sketches and streamed down her face. Giving in, she let loose enough tears to irrigate the Sahara. The wad of tissue in her hand kept getting wetter, but the pain clawing at her insides refused to abate. The male passenger with salt-and-pepper hair and ruddy complexion seated beside her asked several times if she was okay and finally gave up when he only made her cry harder.

Of course she wasn't okay. She was in love with a man who was wrong for her. No, actually Ron was perfect for her in every way except that he treated her like a child and didn't trust her, and his father killed her parents. How could he hide things from her and then claim that he loved her? There could never be love without trust. It was best they went their separate ways. What his father did would have poisoned their relationship anyway.

_I love you. No matter what you think or feel now, remember that._ His words echoed in her head, mocking her, making her question her decision. What if she were screwing things up by running away? What if he really loved her? The past wouldn't have mattered. His father's sin weren't his. The bottom line was Ron hadn't trusted her. Leaving him behind might be the hardest thing she'd ever done, but it was the right thing to do. A fresh trail of tears streamed down her face.

In L.A, Ashley waited for all the passengers to deplane before she slipped on her sunglasses and trudged to the gate. She found a cab smoothly. The driver was pulling away when she saw Kenny Lambert jump from a SUV and race toward the terminal.

"Stop the ca...," she bit back the last word. When the taxi driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror, she shook her head and said, "Never mind."

No more fraternizing with anyone who knew Ron. She pressed her hands against her stomach and curled against her seat as fresh tears filled her eyes. It was hard to think about a future without factoring in Ron. Everything in her home would remind her of him. The paintings, her kitchen, the couch where they'd made love.

She slapped a hand over her mouth to catch a sob and closed her eyes. This had to stop. She had to be strong. Maybe she should move to a different city, but what difference would it make? Ron was so imbedded in her heart it wouldn't matter where she went. She had to get her act together and move on. She'd suffered through the loss of her parents and survived. This one might take her just as long to get over, but she would. She must.

Ashley blew her nose and doggedly avoided the taxi driver's not-so-subtle glances. The man had been watching her through the rearview mirror since they left the airport. Taking a deep breath, she stared out the window until they pulled outside her place. She paid the driver and entered her building.

For once, she ignored her phobia for tight places and took the elevator. The red light on her landline phone drew her attention. The messages were probably from her cousins and aunties wanting to know about her fight with Nina Noble. Let them speculate. She wasn't discussing the Nobles with anyone except her immediate family members.

She pressed the button, plopped on a stool and dropped her chin and her arms on the granite counter. She jerked up when the first recording started.

"Call me as soon as you get this message, Ms. Fitzgerald," Nina Noble's voice said. "We need to talk. Here's the number where I can be reached."

Ashley pressed the button to stop the voicemail and dialed Nina's number. It was picked up after a ring. "May I talk to Mrs. Noble?"

"She's expecting you," the male voice said.

"Where?"

"At Carlyle House."

Ashley frowned. Carlyle House? "Why? I already told her son I don't want the house."

"I don't know anything about that, miss. I'm just the driver. She's waiting for you inside right now."

Ashley looked at the clock. It was almost seven, early enough to get to Carlyle House, tell the woman she didn't want it, and come back for a long bath and an early night. She'd bet Nina would be thrilled to learn that Ashley and her son were no longer together.

The musical chime of her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. She ignored it when she saw Ron's number. Instead, she scribbled a brief note about where she was going on a Post-It, slapped it on the fridge door and went to wash her face. After changing into a pair of black jeans and a plum turtleneck, she picked up her purse and keys and hurried back downstairs. Her cell phone went off again. Ron. This time, she turned the power off.

Downstairs, the security guard hurried from behind the booth when she entered the lobby. "Mr. Noble called," the guard said. "He wants you to call him back."

"Thanks, Jeffrey." She continued to the back, where residents parked their cars and got inside her car. It was still warm despite the sun dipping over the western horizon. She lowered the convertible's top and took off.

***

Ron's jaw muscles twitched as he listened to his friend.

"By the time I got there, she was gone," Kenny said. "I'm approaching her place now. What do you want me to do?"

"Make sure she stays put until I get there." He looked at his watch. His plane should be landing in less than thirty minutes. "Better yet, I'll call in a few minutes to talk to her." With Kenny there, she could hardly refuse to talk to him.

Why did he have a bad feeling about things? Ashley had told him she could take care of herself. Under different circumstances, he'd believe her. She was smart and cautious by nature. Unfortunately, Doyle and Frankie were ruthless bastards who'd stop at nothing to remove anyone who could finger them. With Kirkland still in a coma, that left Ashley and his mother.

Once again, Ron glanced at his watch, then swiped his credit card and reached for the in-flight phone.

"She's gone, Ron," Kenny said without a preamble. "I missed her by five minutes."

Ron felt pressure in his chest. "Did she use the taxi that brought her from the airport?" They could locate the dispatch and find out where she was headed.

"According to the guard, she came home, changed and left in her car."

Ron smothered a curse. "She probably went to one of her cousins."

"Her cousin could track her down. I'll give him a call. Oh, one of my guys is waiting for you at the terminal. He's in a black SUV." He gave him the plate number.

"Thanks. I'll call you back in a few minutes."

After several more calls, the flight attendant stopped by his seat. "Sir, the captain asked for passengers to stop the use of all electronic devices, including in-flight phones. We're preparing to descend."

He nodded at the woman and continued talking on the phone. "Your men are still keeping an eye on my mother, right?"

"She's at home since this morning. No one's left the compound except for her assistant who—"

"Sir," the flight attendant repeated. "Put the phone back."

"Left in a red Camry," Kenny finished before the woman snatched the phone from Ron's hand and pushed it back in the cradle. She glared at him then marched off.

Ron leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes. He couldn't rest until he knew Ashley was safe. At least he didn't need to worry about his mother.

***

Ashley pulled up beside a red Camry and looked around. Where were Nina's limo and the driver? Or had they used the Camry? Ashley's attention shifted to Carlyle House.

The pictures on the Internet hadn't done it justice. For years she couldn't bring herself to come here. She had driven past it, kept tabs on who rented it, but she'd lacked the guts to walk to its doors. The nuns of Marist Sisters, who lived in the house the past seven years, had done a good job of taking care of the place. But despite the majestic silhouette of the house against the darkening skies and the well-tended flower beds illuminated by the downstairs windows, there was an aura of menace about the place. A chill skittered across her flesh, and she shivered.

_Get a grip and get it over with. It's just a house._ One she no longer wanted. The house had brought her nothing but grief. Her parents' dream would be accomplished elsewhere.

Ashley hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and stepped out of her car. She closed her car door without locking it, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill as she walked to the front stairs. Her eyes darted around, surprised by how unchanged everything was. The windows and the door were exactly like they were ten years ago. At any moment, she expected to hear her mother's voice urging her to hurry.

She hurried up the stairs, noting that the front door was cracked open. She hesitated for a brief moment then pushed it open. It swung inward, its hinges creaking. Something cold crawled up her spine.

"Mrs. Noble?" she called out and gave the two-story foyer a sweeping glance. The walls were a different color but everything else was like she recalled in her hypnosis session—the grand stairs, the doors leading to various rooms, the hallways disappearing to nowhere.

To her immediate right was the door to the first floor bathroom, a blank wall separating it from the basement door. Ashley froze, her breath catching in her throat. Superimposed on the blank wall was her memory of the gilt and silver art deco mirror with her mother's face reflected in it. She blinked and the image disappeared. Another shiver raked her body.

"Mrs. Noble." She angled her head to listen. Muffled sounds of laughter came from behind the door to her left, then ebbed. Heart pounding, Ashley whipped around to look.

The door was closed, the room that was once the manager's office dark. Ten years ago, she'd sat in there and watched cartoons while her parents went to the basement for their meeting. She could have sworn she'd just heard the same TV program she'd watched that night.

Oh, God, she _was_ losing it. Earlier, it had seemed like a good idea to make this meeting and throw Nina's offer in her face. Now she just wanted to get the hell out of there.

Eyes wide, Ashley tried one last time. "Mrs. Noble, where are you?"

Muffled thuds filtered through the narrow opening on the basement door. She headed that way, nudged the door wider and peered inside. The lights were on downstairs, but not the short corridor. Weird. She groped the wall for the light switch and flicked it up.

One lone bulb lit up the narrow hallway with a crackling sound, flickered off and on as though on its last leg. _Or someone loosened it,_ an inner voice added. Ashley swallowed, hating her overactive imagination for kicking in now. A jazz tune mingled with soft laughter. Someone called out her name. Her mother? Gasping, Ashley looked around. There was no one, just the dull-brown carpet that seemed out of place and bare walls. Superimposed on them were colorful pictures of blues and jazz musicians, actors and artists, wall ornaments and a lush burgundy carpet.

They're just memories from another time, Ashley.

She moved toward the basement stairs. Just before she took the first step, a smothered curse came from behind her. She froze then turned her head to look. Her heart leaped to her throat. A man dressed in all black stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the foyer.

She stepped back, fear pulsing through her nerves like a giant wave. The faulty bulb flickered on and lit his face. She gasped, her knees almost giving out from under her. "What are you doing here?"
CHAPTER 21

"I could ask you the same question," Vaughn Doyle snarled.

Ashley's knees knocked and her hands began to sweat, but her mind raced. When Vaughn looked over his shoulder as though searching for someone, she said, "I'm not alone. Ron and Kenny are on their way."

"Good. Now get out of here."

He was letting her go? "Why? Where's Mrs. Noble? What have you done with her?"

"Me? Nothing. I was searching for her when I heard you down here." He reached for her arm, but Ashley took a side step, panic pitching through her. "Whoever lured you and Nina is still here, Ashley. Leave right now."

"Why should I believe anything you say?" Ashley shuffled backward, her hand dipping inside her bag for her mace gel pepper spray. She took another step back just as her fingers closed around the smooth exterior of the canister. "You're a Doyle."

"And that's my curse to bear," he muttered. Instead of following her, he stepped into the foyer and lifted his hands. "I'm not here to harm Nina. I'm here to stop this madness."

Ashley blinked. "Stop what madness?"

"I don't have time to explain," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm stepping back to show you I'm not your enemy, Ashley."

Was this some sort of a trick? Even as she asked herself the question, she picked on a few anomalies. He sounded frustrated, not ominous, and he kept looking around in fear as though he expected someone to jump him.

"What's going on, Vaughn? Why are you acting so weird?"

"For the same reason I sent the Nobles those letters. I want the truth out. You and Nina are the only witnesses left, and I will not let them get rid of you, too. Without your testimonies, my father and Frankie will go unpunished."

Ashley's jaw dropped.

"Go," he snapped again.

"You sent the letters? Why?"

"Christ, Ashley. Don't you get it? You're in danger. I tried to warn you outside the hospital, but Frankie was there. I hoped to do it again this morning, but you were gone by the time I got to the museum. I must find Nina before this place explodes. This is _not_ the time for questions."

Explodes? The desperate urgency in his tone lit a fire under Ashley's heels. She lurched forward. "What about you? They'll kill you if they find out you helped us."

"After what they did to my mother, I'll see them hung—"

A loud thud cut off his speech, causing Ashley to freeze. She stared at Vaughn in horror as he rocked on his feet, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. She didn't notice the shorter man standing behind him with a baseball bat, until Vaughn keeled over. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened in a silent scream as Vaughn's body slammed into her and took her down with him.

Ashley kicked and wiggled to get her lower body from under the dead weight, her eyes on the man she last saw acting as Vaughn's driver. Frankie Higgins. He rested the bat on his shoulder, a blood-curdling smirk on his thin lips.

"I tried to tell Doyle the boy couldn't be trusted, but did he listen to me? No. As soon I heard he was talking to you outside their home, I suspected he was up to no good. I got my proof when he talked to you outside the hospital, but Doyle still refused to listen. After years of loyalty and friendship, he chose to believe this ungrateful pup." He kicked the unconscious Vaughn. "After all I did for him, he turned against me because of this idiot and that bitch Nina. If I hadn't bugged his home, I would never have known he planned to report me to the police. Now he'll know who the smarter one is. I will take everything he's ever loved and wanted, starting with this one." He kicked Vaughn again.

Ashley cringed as the body rocked on top of her. She wiggled some more to free her legs, which were growing numb fast.

"A _little birdie_ told him his father had killed his mother. It was only a joke, so he wouldn't get too comfortable as Doyle's heir. But he had to go and do something this stupid. He didn't even have the balls to investigate by himself." He zeroed on Vaughn's ribs and side, the thuds sickening and loud in the quiet building.

"Leave him alone, you sick bastard," Ashley yelled. "He's just a kid."

"At twenty-two, he's a grown man." Frankie grinned, showing yellowed rows of teeth, and aimed another kick. Spasms of pain shot up Ashley's leg when the tips of his boots connected with her calf. She ground her teeth to stop herself from crying out. He laughed. A chill snaked up her spine at the pure evil of the sound.

"You know what's even more hilarious." He chuckled with glee. "His bitch of a mother isn't dead yet. I'd looked forward to finishing her off, but Doyle insisted on stashing her at a Mexican crazy house. I told him there were other ways of making someone suffer, but he had to do things his way. Three long years of listening to him whine about how she deserves to rot in hell. Her hell is about to begin. I'll leave her for last."

Ashley swallowed. She was dealing with a mad man. When he put his bat under his armpit and leaned toward her, the malicious grin still on his mouth, she cringed. She pressed her back against the floor, the pulse in her throat and at her temples leaping.

"You and that bitch downstairs will be first. Nina Noble." Spittle flew from his mouth. "I could never understand what Doyle saw in her. There were too many willing women he could have had, but he had to be fixated on that dried-up bitch. I could have finished her ten years ago when she lied to his face instead of agreeing to marry him. When she did it again last night, I knew I had to get rid of her. Women manipulate and tease, and Nina is an expert at both. I'm going to enjoy watching her squirm."

Ashley's stomach sunk as Frankie continued to insult Nina, but she refused to die in the same house where her parents died and at the hands of the same man. She shoved at Vaughn's body with her hands and her hips, the feeling in her legs gone. Frankie extended a hand toward her and Ashley's breath froze in her lungs. Was he going to hurt her? Blood drained from her head at the thought, leaving her light-headed.

Frankie's eyes flashed as though he could read her helplessness on her face. He gripped her chin and pulled it toward him, his fingers digging into her flesh. "I'd advise you against trying anything stupid, missy. I forgave you ten years ago for all the trouble you put me through because you were only a kid. I hoped you'd die along with your parents, but Boy Scout Noble foiled my plans. May he rot in hell. So play nice or I'll make your death slow and painful."

Why was he calling Ron's father a boy scout? An image of a hand grabbing her mother's face flashed in Ashley's head, then disappeared. She jerked back and her elbow scraped on the hard floor. The sting shot up her arm, bringing with it more visions from her past—her father's body slumped on the couch, her mother struggling, kicking and reaching for the face of her assailant. Frankie's face superimposed on the man's, then the images disappeared.

"You killed my parents," Ashley said in a voice she hardly recognized, fear and hatred colliding inside of her.

"It's not my fault they got in the way. This house would have been a pile of ashes if it weren't for them." Frankie pinched her chin then let go of her face with a rough shove.

More memories rushed back—the terrified expression on her mother's face; a bleeding gash on Frankie's cheek, his mouth twisted in a snarl as he smothered her mother's face with a towel. Ashley sobbed out a breath, tears pooling in her eyes.

"You and your firefighter friends murdered them in cold blood," Ashley added in a hoarse voice. "Why couldn't you just let them leave?"

"Because they would have owned this," he indicated the house, "or rebuilt it once we torched it. Doyle was too chicken to do something about them. He asked me to take care of the house once they left, but they had to die. He just didn't understand why they had to die, just like he doesn't understand why you and Nina must too. You always tie all the loose ends, or they lead back to you." He chuckled ominously. "And he calls himself a visionary and me a sociopath. I've always hated labels since I was a child. Psychopath, sociopath, psychotic, antisocial, arsonist, schizophrenic, insane, what do doctors know. I'm an artist." He thumped his chest with the bat. "Just like you."

Ashley's level of panic shot up. The man was clearly deranged, and Doyle was right after all. Frankie did things behind his back.

"And what do you mean by my firefighter buddies?" Frankie interrupted her thoughts.

For a moment, Ashley wasn't sure what he was talking about. Then she remembered. "The four men Doyle paid to help you start the fire."

Frankie limped to where Vaughn's legs were splayed and grabbed a foot. He tugged hard, shifting Vaughn and freeing one of Ashley's legs. She shifted her hips as he continued to haul the younger man off her. If she could sweep a leg under Frankie's bad leg, she might knock him off balance and bolt.

"Three, not four." He dropped Vaughn's leg and wobbled forward to grab his wrists. "It felt good to blow them out of the water. They did nothing to earn their money, except supply me with untraceable accelerant and delay their response time to the 911 call. But Noble foiled that plan too, didn't he? He wasn't even a full-time firefighter, yet he just happened to be at the fire station when the call went through."

Now he had Ashley's attention. "Noble wasn't in on it?"

His eyes flashed with malice. "No, but he got what was coming to him. Doyle didn't take kindly to anyone touching Nina, so he asked me to soil Noble's memory. I deposited the money in Noble's account and let him take credit for my work, the final nail in his coffin." One last pull and Ashley was free of Vaughn's weight. Her legs tingled as circulation rushed back into her lower extremities. "I would have loved to see Nina's face when she heard her precious husband was behind the fire." He laughed like a maniac and dragged Vaughn toward the front entrance.

Ashley folded her legs and started to get up. Frankie's head whipped up.

"Don't move," he snarled, a vicious gleam blazing in his eyes. "This will be over soon enough. If I you behave, you'll go to sleep just like your daddy did and not feel any pain. But if act like your crazy mama, I _will_ make you pay. The crazy bitch hurt me." He sounded petulant, like a child whose toy didn't act like he'd expected. "I don't like to get angry when I work. It messes with my concentration. You should understand that, being an artist and all. Dunn showed me some of your pieces when he planted those bugs at your place."

The thought of this man inside her loft made her feel violated, but she had no time for indignation. Her eyes darted around the foyer and searched for an escape route. Her gaze landed on the front door with its bolts. An idea popped in her head. Could she make it before him this time? He had a limp now and was older. And she had mace.

Her hand crept inside her bag. She closed her fingers around the cylinder, pulled it out and gripped it tight. As though he sensed her plans, Frankie paused and glanced at her, his eyes cold and menacing. He must have decided she'd behave, because he went back to hauling Vaughn.

Ashley sprung forward and sprinted toward the door. She squirted the mace gel in his general direction as she neared the door, dropped the can and reached for the knob. She almost made it. He grabbed her from behind. Ashley screamed, writhed, kicked and jerked to escape his grasp.

"Shut up," he snarled and clapped a hand across her mouth.

She sank her teeth in the flesh of his hand. He cursed and flung her to the side. Ashley landed on her back, skidded on the floor until the back of her head connected with the wall. For a moment, all she saw were stars. Then Frankie's sadistic face hovered above her, his baseball bat readied for a strike.

Ashley closed her eyes and braced herself for the pain that was sure to follow. Frankie cursed at her, calling her every filthy name in the book. Then he went quiet. The sound of the front door creaking caused her to open her eyes.

He was in the doorway, having a hard time pulling Vaughn with a bleeding hand and that stupid bat under his armpit. She stayed in the same position, her neck at an uncomfortable angle so he'd think she was still unconscious. She bid her time, her heart pounding, her entire body throbbing. Frankie glanced her way one more time, then stepped outside and dragged Vaughn across the threshold.

Ashley scrambled to her feet and raced toward the door, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Frankie saw her coming, but with Vaughn's body between him and the door, he couldn't reach her. The last thing she saw was his wide eyes as she slammed the door shut. She rammed the bolts in place and took a step back, her heart pounding and sweat trickling down her back. Any minute, she expected Frankie to shove his bat against the glass panels, reach inside and unlock the door. All she heard were curses, then silence. She swallowed, her knees shaking and teeth chattering.

_Think, Ashley. Don't let terror paralyze you now._ She couldn't afford to check whether Frankie was still out there. A house this big probably had more than one entrance. Then there were the tunnels and the secret rooms.

Ashley hurried across the room to where she'd dropped her mace, then went for her bag. She fished inside her bag for her cell phone and pressed the power button with a trembling thumb. Muffled sounds came from the basement, again. Her heart froze, the phone almost slipping from her hand. She stared at the door with wide eyes, her fingers pressing buttons without looking at who she was calling.

She heard them, the scraping sounds of footsteps on the wooden floor. Ashley whirled. Her gaze swung to the front door, except it wasn't the front door anymore. She was inside a room, alone in dark, hiding and waiting. The footsteps grew closer and closer. Ashley shook her head. Her memories were screwing with her head. _No one's there...just your imagination...._

The past receded and the present came into focus as the foyer replaced the dark room. The bolts at the front door snapped back, one at a time. The sounds reverberated through the empty house like gunshots, causing her to flinch. The knob turned. She shuffled toward the basement door, her body shaking so much her legs threatened to give away from under her. Time slowed down as the door swung open and Frankie limped into the foyer, his eyes in slits.

Ashley slapped the phone to her ear. "Help us. I'm at Carlyle House. Nina's trapped in the basement."

"You bitch," Frankie snarled.

***

"I'm going to make you beg me to kill you," a man's voice echoed through the receiver, sending a chill through Ron.

He stopped yelling Ashley's name and broke into a run through the terminal. He jumped over luggage, bumped a few people and shouted, "sorry" over his shoulder. At the front of the building, he recognized Kenny's man and raced toward the SUV. The man saw him coming, got behind the wheel and gunned the engine.

Ron dived in beside him. "Carlyle House."

As the man left the terminal and turned right on La Tijera Boulevard, Ron speed dialed Kenny's number. Cold sweat pooled on his brow and trickled down his face. Every breath he took hurt his chest. "He's got them. The bastard Frankie has Ashley and my mother at Carlyle House," he croaked.

"What? But your mother—"

"Is an expert at escaping paparazzi. Your men didn't stand a chance. Call Ashley's cousin and tell him to get to the house. She sounded bad, man. Terrified."

"Meet you there."

Ron snapped the phone shut and scrubbed his hand over his face. He rolled his shoulders to ease the knots of tension and leaned back against his seat. For the first time in his adult life he didn't know what to do, and it scared the hell out of him. Everything was out of his reach. Doyle. Frankie. Ashley. His mother. Would he save the women he loved or let them down? No, he couldn't afford to think like that. Ashley was his future. Not rescuing her from a murderous maniac was not even an option.

He dialed her number again.

***

Ashley leapt toward the basement door, slammed it shut behind just as her phone started to ring. She ignored it and fumbled with the lock. The lone bulb had given up a while back and the hallway was in darkness. Expecting Frankie to break the door and rush after her, she raced down the stairs to the only lit room, her bag bouncing against her hip.

She froze at the entrance. Instead of bare floors and walls, the room was opulently decorated—black, leather chairs and African motifs on paneled walls, velvet burgundy draperies on the windows and bar stools along a gleaming, dark cherry counter and hardwood floor with area rugs. A figure on the sofa drew her attention.

"Daddy?" she gulped.

_Not real. None of this is real._ Despite her thoughts, she still raised her arms as though to touch him. A sound came from behind her and she whipped around, her mace ready, but there was no one on the stairs. More memories rushed back with a vengeance, her past and present meshing, haunting her.

Frankie entered the room and approached her father from behind. Behind him stood Sherry with another towel, waiting. Before her father realized he wasn't alone, Frankie slapped a cloth on his face. Her father started to get up, but the combination of alcohol he'd been consuming and whatever Frankie had put on the cloth weakened his responses. He jerked, then went still and fell sideways, his head lolling on the arm of the sofa. Frankie threw down the cloth and reached for the one Sherry held.

A mewling sound escaped Ashley's lips and her knees threatened to give out from underneath her as her mother appeared from a side-door leading to the downstairs bathrooms. She shut her eyes tight, a futile attempt to block out the images and stop the next scenes from unfolding. It didn't work.

Her mother saw her husband's prone body and the people standing over him and screamed. She turned to run, but Frankie grabbed her and lifted her in the air, her kicks and screams useless against his strength. He tried to cover her mouth with the cloth, but she twisted her head and scratched his face.

He threw her down, her body landing next to her husband's. Frankie grabbed her face and slapped her, the force jerking her head back. She scrambled away on her hands and knees, Frankie close behind her. Her hand closed around the champagne flute on the coffee table. As Frankie reached for her, the cloth in his hand, she smashed the crystal on the table, turned and brought the jagged edge toward Frankie's face.

Black spots appeared in Ashley's vision, the tell-tale acrid smell of smoke drifting to her nose. She struggled to concentrate on the present—the bare walls, the brown carpet, the source of the smoke. Nothing worked. She closed her eyes and sunk onto the floor.

A more recent vision appeared—Ron smiling, eyes shining with love; Ron cleaning her wounded feet; Ron sitting by her side during hypnosis. He loved her and wouldn't want her to give up.

Ashley focused and found balance. Reality shifted. The bare room came into focus. The pungent air drifting from upstairs was real smoke, not something from her imagination. Her eyes stung and her throat tickled. She coughed. Another sound echoed it, causing her heart to jump to her throat. She got to her feet and walked further into the room, searching for the source. Bound legs sticking from behind the counter on the floor caught her eyes first. It was Nina, her mouth, hands and legs tied with duct tape.

Just as Ashley rushed forward, flames licked the top stair. They leaped and crept downstairs. The smoke grew thicker. Coughing, she rushed to Nina's side, gripped the edge of the duct tape covering the actress' mouth and yanked hard. The woman gasped.

"Are you okay, Nina?"

The actress nodded.

"We must hide in the speakeasy room," Ashley said as she freed Nina's ankles and helped her up. She'd survived the last fire because of that room. They were going to survive this one, too. "Where's the door that leads to it?" she asked, panting.

Nina pointed at the wall across the room. "Secret panel. Over there."

"Go. I'll pull the fire alarm." Ashley ran to the wall at the foot of the stairs, reached up and gripped the central bar. She yanked it hard. The ear-splitting sound of the fire alarm resounded in the empty house. She fought dizziness as she ran to where Nina was pushing a section of the wall.

Ashley gave it all she had, bouts of coughing and dizziness slowing her down. But she kept pushing and pushing until the wall gave. With a final heave, they cracked a space wide enough for a person to fit through. She pushed Nina inside first then followed, almost tripping over the actress who was doubled over coughing. Ashley shoved until the wall closed again. She sagged against the door, her chest hurting, eyes burning and tears running down her face. She took gulps of air. The moldy stench was a blessing after the pungent smoke. And they were safe now. But for how long?

There was no time to worry about that. She touched the concrete wall and searched for a switch. There was none and the wall was damp. Determined not to panic, Ashley fumbled inside her bag for her cell phone. The call she'd missed was from Ron, but she couldn't call him back because there was no signal. The concrete walls of the secret room blocked it. Ashley lifted her cell phone and used the LCD light from its screen to get her bearing.

Just like Ron had told her, the room was huge and piles of boxes and wooden crates were everywhere. Beside her, Nina was bent over, the heels of her palm on her knees, her breathing shallow. "Are you okay?" Ashley asked.

"I'll live, thanks to you. I'm so sorry for everything. The way I treated you and blamed you for everything," she moaned. "That man bragged to me about everything, killing your parents, destroying my husband's reputation." A sob escaped her, which became a cough.

Ashley hesitated before she put her arms around Nina. When the older woman clung to her, Ashley supported her frail body. "Let's not talk about that now," she said when Nina stopped coughing. "Ron mentioned a secret exit. Do you know where it is?"

"It was sealed a long time ago." Another bout of coughing hit her.

Ashley waited for it to pass then eased the actress down onto the floor, which from the glow of her cell phone, was wet and filthy. She could swear she heard something scurry in the dark. But filth and rats were the least of their problems. They had to find that sealed door. The broken legs of stools and chairs lying around could make perfect tools for loosening the bricks. "Stay here while I find it," she told Nina.

Nina clung to her hand. "No, don't leave me. Please." She spoke in a raspy, shallow voice that was beginning to worry Ashley.

She helped Nina to her feet and raised her cell phone to light their way. "Then we'll stay together."

***

Dread crept through Ron when he neared the house and saw the smoke. He was out of the SUV and running before the driver stopped. Hungry flames lit the windows and smoke swirled from turbine air vents. He could hear fire engines mingle with the house alarm as he sprinted past Ashley's car and the Camry his mother had borrowed. He didn't slow down as he yanked off his jacket and clutched it in one hand. He tripped over a baseball bat and almost landed facedown on the steps.

His training as a firefighter—every protocol drilled in him—was forgotten as he yanked open the door and entered the foyer. Smoke stung his eyes. His throat closed and his lungs protested with each inhale. The crackles and hisses came from the grand staircase and most of upstairs, but the smoke was too thick to see where the flames were concentrated.

_Control the panic. Focus on the task. Failure wasn't an option._ Short of breath and dizzy with fear, he crouched low and ran to the ground floor bathroom, which was far from the stairs. He turned on the faucet and dunked his jacket, wet his clothing, face and hair.

Blood pounded in his ears, sweat poured from his brow and he could swear the walls were closing in on him. He willed his faltering heart to slow down, as he hurried from the bathroom, the dripping coat over his head and shoulders. He used the coat's tail to cover his mouth and nose. Sounds from outside indicated the firefighters had arrived, but he kept going toward the basement door. Ashley had said Frankie was keeping his mother downstairs, so that was the most likely place to find both of them.

He tried the basement knob, his hand covered with the wet coat. He felt the heat, took a step back and kicked it down. Fire leapt at him when the door swung open. He blocked his face with his right arm and staggered backward.

Someone flung something on his arm and pushed him toward the front door. He could barely see the firefighter through his smarting eyes. At the door, the man yelled, "Have the medics take a look at that arm, Noble. We know two people are trapped in the basement. We'll get them out."

"No, you won't. We have to use the tunnels." Ron staggered down the steps, his eyes burning. They couldn't make it to the basement through that fire. The bastards must have used accelerants.

Someone yelled out his name, but he was already racing toward the gate. He ploughed through the team manning the hoses, the line of fire trucks, the ambulance and cop cars, everything a blur of colors. Again, he heard his name. He didn't slow down as he brought his cell phone to his ear and tried to reach Ashley, again. Something cold knotted his insides when it went to her voicemail. They were trapped down there, so close yet beyond his reach.

Someone grabbed his arm. He turned swinging, only to have his fist locked in a tight grip. He stared at his friend's face. "What the hell are you doing, Kenny?"

"I'm trying to get your attention, man. Are Ashley and your mother okay?" Kenny asked. Behind him stood Ashley's cousin, Eddie, his expression furious.

"Did the firefighters get them out?" Eddie barked.

"No, but I will through the tunnel. We need pick axes. Get some from the firefighters." He continued toward the road without checking if the other two men followed him. That Carlyle Club ran a speakeasy in its basement during prohibition was a secret his family had kept for almost a century, but right now, he didn't care if the whole world knew.

Ron stopped and reached down to pull and slide the grid off the entrance to a storm drain. Someone helped him, Kenny or Ashley's cousin, he couldn't tell. He was on an adrenaline rush now, the sounds around him reduced to whispers and meaningless words. He didn't know he made it down the ladder, but once he reached the base, he half ran and half waded through the murky drainage water, sloshing sounds echoing along the endless circular walls. The tiny neon flashlight attached to his keys came in handy. He took a left turn, then a right and came to the dry tunnel he and Kenny visited a few days ago.

"Stop, Mr. Noble!"

Ron heard the order but kept going. Hands tried to grab his arm, but he shook them off. He could see the sealed entrance just a few feet a way. The woman he loved and his mother were on the other side and nothing must stop him from reaching them. Someone seized his shoulders and pinned him against the wall. He didn't bother to struggle when he stared at the faces of two firefighters in full regalia, pick headed axes clasped in their hands.

"We'll take it from here, sir. Detective Fitzgerald has explained the situation. Is that the entrance?" the man pointed his axe at the end of the tunnel where planks crisscrossed a rectangular wall.

Ron nodded. "I want to help."

"Not with that arm. The paramedics need to take a look at it. Don't worry, we'll get them out. I promise."

Ron stared down at his left arm. His skin was red and blistering, a dull throb registering. When had he gotten burned? It didn't matter. His arm could wait. He refused to leave the tunnels without Ashley.

The firefighters called out her name and then his mother's. Ron moved closer and angled his head to listen, but he didn't hear a response from the other side of the wall. What if they were unconscious from smoke inhalation? The thought sent a fresh dose of panic through him. Cold had long since crawled under his skin, making him feel like the walking dead. His eyes hurt as he strained to see through the bricks the two men were loosening. The first brick left the wall and a thin line of smoke followed, confirming Ron's worst fears. Smoke was inside the speakeasy room.

He moved closer as the men directed their flashlights into the opening and called out, "Ashley? Nina?"

"We're here."

Ashley's voice, gruff and weak, was the sweetest sound Ron had ever heard. He wanted to call her name, reassure her that everything would be fine.

"Are you okay, Ashley?" one of the firefighters asked, axes chipping at the edges of the bricks, thuds of falling pieces echoing around the tunnels.

"Yes."

"And Nina?"

"She's unconscious."

Ron couldn't see through the widening hole, but he followed their conversation, his pounding heart easing with relief.

"I can see them," one firefighter said to the other. "We're going to collapse the wall, Ashley. Can you pull Nina away from the wall? Put your arms under hers with her back to your chest. Yes, just like that. Now pull. Good job. That's far enough."

Seconds later, the men knocked and kicked, and the wall crumbled. Ron moved closer as both men disappeared inside. He was nearly at the entrance when the first firefighter stepped out with his mother cradled in his arms. Ron's eyes sought her face. She looked so pale and listless. "Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine once they clear her lungs," the firefighter carrying her said as he walked past Ron. "Her breathing is strong."

The second firefighter appeared with Ashley in his arms. The relief that washed over Ron left him light-headed. Their gazes connected. Her eyes filled up with tears. Emotions choked him.

"Ron," she whispered in a hoarse voice.

"I'm here, sweetheart. Don't talk. May I carry her, please?" Ron swept her in his arms, buried his face in her neck and held tight. "You're okay. Thank God, you're okay."

"I must tell you something," she whispered. "Your father...." A coughing bout shook her body.

"Don't talk now. What my father did or did not do doesn't matter. Not anymore. I love you."

"I love you, too. But we must talk."

"Not now. Later." A hand landed on Ron's shoulder. It was the other firefighter. "I know. I'll take her up." Tightening his grip around Ashley, Ron carried her toward the storm drainage tunnels. His feet were much lighter, warmth seeping back into his body despite the chilling water he waded through.

***

Several hours later—after tests, blood works, even hyperbaric oxygen therapy for carbon monoxide poisoning—Ashley was back in her private hospital room, where she was being kept overnight for observation.

"How're you doing?" Ron asked as he walked into the room and she gasped. His right arm was bandaged.

"Oh, honey," she whispered. To finally see his beloved face, to know that she was getting a second chance with this beautiful, wonderful man wrung her heart. She struggled to sit up and patted the edge of her bed. When he sat by her side, she touched his bandaged arm. She didn't care that tears raced down her face or her hands shook. "How bad is it?"

"First degree burns, nothing serious. "

Her gaze shifted from his arm to his face. He wore his adorable quirky grin. "I love you, Ronald Noble. I'm so sorry I almost didn't tell you." Her voice broke.

"It's over," he murmured, his voice hoarse. Then his lips connected with hers.

She held onto his head and let him soothe her senses. She wanted to get lost in him, to glue herself to his side and never leave. Smoke clung to his shirt, his hair, but she didn't care. This was her man, the love of her life. When she and Nina had been trapped in that filthy room, Ashley had called herself every name she could think of. She thought she was going to die without ever telling Ron that she loved him, without apologizing for laughing in his face when he'd professed his love for her and without telling him the truth about his father. More tears raced down her cheeks and reached their joined mouths.

Ron eased off the kiss and brushed a tear from her chin. "Don't cry, baby. I came here to tell you how much I love you, not to make you cry."

"These are tears of joy. We have so much to talk about."

"Can it wait? Right now, I just want to hold you." He pulled her into his arms and slid beside her. For a moment, they cuddled, his cheek pressed against her head, hearts beating in unison, breathing even. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better now. When we were trapped in there, all I thought about was you and how I had so much to tell you."

He placed a finger on her lips. "Shh. Me, first. I should have been honest with you from the moment I walked into your home weeks ago. I promise I'll never ever hide things from you again, no matter how painful."

"Thank you. And apology accepted." She shifted so she could see his face. "How's your mother?"

"She's a bit weak now, but she'll be fine. Physically, that is. Emotionally, I don't know. It's going to take her a while to process everything. Right now she thinks she's responsible for pushing Doyle over the edge. She kept mumbling something about being scared and not standing by him when he was younger."

Ashley frowned. "She knew him when they were younger?"

"He did yard work for my family, which might explain his obsession with Carlyle House. Hopefully, he'll lose interest now that it's burned to the ground."

Good riddance. Immediately, she felt bad. "Your mother must be devastated."

"I don't know. She didn't want to discuss it." Ron brushed locks of her hair from her face and tucked them behind her ear, a bemused smile on his lips. "But she was very clear when she shooed me away and ordered me to come and see you. You won her over, babe."

"The truth did, not me." She gripped his hand to get his attention. "I want you to listen to me, Ron. Without interrupting," she added when he opened his mouth.

"Okay."

She talked about everything that happened in Carlyle House, her returned memories, the things Vaughn and Frankie revealed. When she finished, he sighed, his grip tight around her. She leaned back to see his face. His eyes were bright, like he was holding back tears.

"Say something?" Ashley cupped his cheek.

Ron covered her hand with his, leaned against the pillow and closed his eyes, his breathing uneven as he fought for control. "I always knew there was an explanation for the rumors. My father was..." his voice broke.

This time, she didn't push for answers, just held him tight and offered him comfort. Tears filled her eyes again and rolled down her cheeks as shudders rocked his body.

It was a while before he cleared his throat and continued, "He was a _good_ man."

Ashley squeezed his hand. She could see he wanted to say more. "Tell me about him."

"He was a principled man, hardworking and honest, very loving. He never forgot where he came from. Even when he ran the Neumann branch here in L.A., he always volunteered as a firefighter." He reminisced about his childhood, the good and the bad. "Mom will be happy to finally know the truth."

"She knows. We talked while we were trying to break out of that room."

He grinned. "That explains a lot. I think I owe Vaughn more than an apology."

"And tell him his mother is alive." She sat up. "Oh, Ron. We need to inform the police that Frankie plans to go to Mexico and kill her, too."

"Not unless he escaped police custody. Eddie told me they already picked him and the Doyles up. They're throwing the book at them—attempted murder, kidnapping, destruction of property. Let the police figure out who did what, but I'll let Eddie know about Vaughn. He already talked the local precinct into putting off talking to you and Mom until tomorrow."

"That's a relief."

Ron kissed her temple. "He also wanted me to tell you your family is on their way here. "

Ashley groaned.

"Oh, and Matt called while you were with the doctor," he added.

Her heart dropped. "Uncle Jerry—"

"Regained consciousness," Ron reassured her. "The doctors think he'll make it. He'll need a lot of therapy but he'll be fine."

"That's great news." Ashley slid back on the pillow and sigh. "There's something you need to know about my family. Once they get here, we won't have a chance to be alone."

"Then do me one favor, Ashley Fitzgerald." His eyes were dead serious.

"Done."

His brow shot up. "You haven't heard it yet."

She pressed a kiss on his lips. "I don't have to. I love you and you love me. Whatever it is, I'll be happy to do it."

"I like this new you. No, I love it, which means I have to scratch my original plan," he added and settled with her against the pillow.

Ashley searched his face. "What plan?"

"Too curious to pass, huh? I knew it." He grinned when she narrowed her eyes. "I had planned to keep you under lock and key in my bedroom, tied to my bed," he wiggled his eyebrows, "make love to you until you admitted that you loved me, needed me and couldn't possibly contemplate life without me."

She was no longer smiling by the time he finished speaking. Her gaze caressed every feature on his face. "I love you, Ron. I need you. I had no idea how much I need you until today. If you hadn't appeared—"

"You still would have made it. You're strong and resourceful."

Ashley covered his lips with her finger. "Shh, I'm not done yet. I don't mean appeared as in the speakeasy. Before that. I had given up, Ron. The memories came back in a rush, and they were too painful and overwhelming. I wanted to give up and die in the same room my parents died in. Then you appeared." He frowned, his eyes puzzled. "Yes, you. It was your face I saw when I was at my lowest, your smile. Your strength gave me the push to survive." Her voice broke and tears filled her eyes. "If you want us to be together, however long—"

He crushed her lips with his and cut off her words. Too soon, he lifted his head, leaving her gasping. "If? There's never been a question of if with you, sweetheart. From the first moment I saw you, I knew you were mine. As for the how long? How does forever grab you? I can't live through something like this again."

Her heart trembled and happiness bubbled inside her. "Me neither. What's the favor you wanted to ask me?"

"Agree to marry me and make me the happiest man alive."

He took her breath away, just like he'd done ever since they met. She hadn't expected him to propose, offering to her what she needed—him.

"Unless you think I should talk to your family first, then get a ring and go one knee," he added, misunderstanding her silence.

She leaned against his shoulder and sighed. "A ring would be nice, and yes, Aunt Estelle will expect you to officially ask her because she's been like a mother to me. Lex will want to do a background check on you because he hates surprises. The twins, Chase and Baron whom you already met, will likely take you to their boxing club for a round or two before they can decide whether you're worthy." She looked into his eyes. "I'll kill them if they dare. Jade and Faith will love you because you love me. And my other aunts and uncles...." She laughed at his horrified expression. "Don't worry. They're not that bad once you get to know them."

"Ashley?" he growled.

"Yes, Ronald. If you still want me, I'll marry you."

He grinned and lowered his head to whisper. "I'll always want you, sweetheart. And if your family doesn't approve of me, promise to elope with me and have a dozen kids so they'd have no choice but to accept—"

Laughing, she grabbed his nape and kissed him. They were still locked in each other's arms, when the Fitzgeralds stormed into the room.

THE END
BIOGRAPHY

E.B. WALTERS grew up reading Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys and dreaming of one day writing her own stories. She finished her PhD in chemistry, married the love of her life, and decided to be a stay-at-home mother. She now lives in a picturesque valley in Utah with her husband, five children and two American short-hair cats. When she is not writing, you can find her doing things with her family, reading or traveling, online chatting with fans. She writes both YA fantasy under the pseudonym Ednah Walters and adult romance under E. B. Walters. AWAKENED the first YA fantasy book in The Guardian Legacy series was released in September 2010 with rave reviews and BETRAYED, book 2, will be released in the fall of 2011. SLOW BURN is the first book on the Fitzgerald family. She is currently revising book 2, MINE UNTIL DAWN. You can visit her online at www.ednahwalters.com.

# MINE UNTIL DAWN TEASER

E.B. WALTERS

CHAPTER 1

A whisper of fabric caused Jade's head to snap toward the doorway. She blinked and inhaled sharply. She didn't want to stare but couldn't help herself. A man literally filled her doorway, yet his eyes drew all of her attention. Steely gray. Fierce. Reminiscent of a panther on the prowl.

She dragged her gaze away from his and gave his large frame a once over. Wide chest, broad shoulders, black polo shirt under a leather jacket and well-worn black jeans—a body built for sin.

"I believe we have an appointment, Professor Fitzgerald."

The words rolled off his sculptured lips and she spied a hint of a dimple on one lean cheek before it disappeared. Nice. Jade's gaze connected with his narrowed ones and she realized he was waiting for a response.

"Vince Knight, right?" Her voice came out breathless. She flushed when his eyebrows shot up. Of course, he was Vince Knight. She'd listened to his voicemail several times today _and_ yesterday. His sinful and sexy voice alone, deep and husky, was unforgettable. It brought to mind silk sheets, intertwined limbs and sweaty bodies.

"Come in, please." She got off the corner of her desk, where she'd propped her butt. _Get your mind out of the gutter while you're at it._ She indicated the chair across from hers. "Take a seat."

"Thank you."

Okay, so he was six feet plus of male poster material and she hadn't had sex in a...year? No, a year and a half if she counted the six months her no-good, sorry-excuse of a husband, now her ex, had been busy taking care of his secretary's needs rather than hers, his wife. Still, that was no excuse to drool

Vince stepped into her office, dwarfing it by his sheer presence. He exuded raw power so overwhelming, Jade decided to put some distance between them. Unfortunately, he chose that moment to run his steely gaze over her gray and white, Bohemian-inspired, crinkled peasant skirt. Jade cringed. Had she known he was this hot, she would have worn one of her new suits and some heels, not her field-trip skirt and flats.

Still, her temperature shot up and her bra felt too snug. She became conscious of her smaller stature, which was ridiculous. At five-seven, curvy and with parts of her body refusing to be toned down, she wasn't tiny. When his gaze paused at the bare skin visible above the neckline of her black shirt, Jade knew she was close to melting.

_Pull yourself together before you have an arrhythmia attack._ Her mind and body warred. Her mind, as usual, won. Jade took a deep breath, held it and exhaled slowly.

She made her way behind the desk, sat and crossed her legs. The gorgeous hunk remained standing, his gaze locked on her like a heat-seeking missile. What was he waiting for? And why couldn't he stop staring?

"You, uh, have a problem with sitting down or is it the chair?" Her gaze shifted to her desk clock then back to him. She smiled to soften her next words. "You have five minutes, then I have to leave. There's a roomful of art history students waiting for me down the hall."

A hint of a smile flashed in his eyes as he pulled out the chair and sat. "You haven't changed one little bit, Jade Fitzgerald."

Jade frowned. What did he mean by that? "Have we met before?"

"You don't recognize me," he said with no inflection in his voice, so she couldn't tell whether he was pleased or disappointed.

Jade tilted her head and contemplated his features. Arrogant arched eyebrows, bold nose and chiseled cheekbones created a face so full of raw determination it mesmerized. His black hair was cut short as though to tame it, but the cut didn't hide the defiant waves at the base of his neck. His eyes and the dimples softening the austere face were familiar.

An elusive memory teased her, then disappeared. "I know I should because you look familiar. Did we meet at one of my mother's parties?"

"No. We attended the same high school."

Oh no, not her worst nightmare.

"High school. That was eons ago." Her tone came out cool.

Vince nodded. "I know. I was there for a short period, so I'm sure I didn't leave a lasting impression."

A memory tickled her mind again. She fought to grasp it as she studied him. His face and intensity reminded her of...who? "I'm sure that's not the case. I'm just terrible with faces."

Even as she spoke, an image took hold. He couldn't possibly be Vinny? The rumor then was he came straight from juvenile detention to her school. After he disappeared, everyone assumed he went right back to the juvee. His tough-guy attitude made him a magnet for girls. Three months were all he spent in her school, and he scored with half the cheerleading squad. Could have been a rumor, but it made him a rebel every hormone-driven boy in school wanted to emulate.

How could she have forgotten him? And how could he remember _her_? Their paths collided once, a humiliating moment she tried to erase from her mental Rolodex. Even worse, it never stopped her from weaving fantasies about him, envying the girls he supposedly seduced in the back seat of his black Trans Am. Then there was the juicy rumor about the size of his....

Heat spread up Jade's neck. She tried to cover it with a smile. "I remember you, Vince. You were something else in high school. What happened? You just disappeared after a few months."

Vince shrugged. "I needed a change."

And what a change. The rebellious youth was now a man with rippling muscles, a face of sharp angles and planes. His old cocky smile, hinting at dark secrets, was absent, but his eyes still had the power to tug at a heart and pierce a soul.

"So, what can I do for you?"

Vince leaned forward. "I'm in need of some information."

"Oh." She studied him, but the man had a poker face. "On what?"

"Who," he corrected. "Estelle Fitzgerald."

Jade stiffened. "My mother? Is she the brief consultation you mentioned in your message?"

"Yes. I've been trying to locate her. Left her numerous voice mail messages, but she hasn't returned any of them. I was hoping you'd help me."

Jade opened her mouth to answer, but bit her tongue. "What's this about?"

"Nothing serious," he said.

Her stomach hollowed out, the same sinking-in-the-stomach feeling she had the first _and_ second time someone asked for her mother's whereabouts. "Why would you seek me out if it isn't serious?"

His eyebrow shot up at her steel-over-velvet tone. "I need her input on something. Can you tell me where she is and how I can contact her?"

"I'm sorry, I can't."

"Why not?" His eyes narrowed.

Those eyes and ruthlessly controlled expression belonged to a dangerous sort of man, an unpredictable man. She didn't do unpredictable. "Because you're the third person to ask about her in the last two weeks."

Vince shifted, the heel of his hands coming to rest on her desk. "Who were the other two? What did they want?"

"Why do you want to know?" she shot back, fighting the urge to lean back. "I may only be her daughter, but I'm tired of everyone being vague about why they want to see her."

"Look here, Jade—"

"No, _you_ look here." She leaned forward. "I'm not going to tell you anything unless you come clean with me. And the more you hedge, the more I'm convinced I have every right to know what's going on." He glowered at her and a sliver of apprehension shot up her spine. The man was intimidating when riled, but she wasn't backing down.

She lifted her chin. "So. Why are you looking for my mother?"

He shot his watch an impatient glance. "You don't have time for a lengthy explanation."

"Make it brief. I'm sure I can get the gist of—"

"Excuse me, Professor J," a voice interrupted.

Jade smothered a groan and looked toward the doorway where a young man stood. Shaun Holton, her graduate student. "Yes, Shaun?"

"Sorry to interrupt, but the students are getting restless. Do you want me to cancel the class?"

She needed to know why Vince wanted to see her mother, especially since Estelle's behavior before she left for her trip was so peculiar.

"No. Just a second." She stood up to give Shaun the photocopied revision notes. "Distribute these in class for me. Let them know I'm on my way." As the grad student took off, Jade turned to find Vince on his feet. Didn't the man ever smile? He didn't say much and used movements economically, but he had a presence that was tangible. "I really need to know what's going on."

Vince studied her for a few seconds as though pondering his options, before nodding. "An important artifact is missing and your mother might know something about it."

"What do you mean by 'might know something about it'?"

"It could be in her possession."

Could he be any vaguer? "My mother is an avid antique collector. If she has it, it was given to her."

"Not when the owner has reported it missing."

Jade blinked in confusion, then her jaw dropped as the implication sunk in. "If you're implying my mother took it," a sarcastic titter escaped her, "then you're mistaken."

"I don't make mistakes."

Her eyes widened. "That's so arrogant."

"Just stating a fact. About your mother's—"

"Slow down, Vince. Do you know who my mother is?" That sounded pompous and she was never one to flaunt her family's wealth or connections, but something about Vince's attitude rubbed her the wrong way. "Do you know _anything_ about my family?"

"Actually, I do." _But I'm not impressed,_ his voice seemed to say.

"Then you'd better get your facts straight, because our lawyers will drag you to court and sue you for slander so fast you'd wish you never walked through that door. Accusing my mother of stealing?" A snicker escaped her. "Please, leave." She reached for her laptop and notes.

"I haven't made any accusations...yet." Jade's head jerked up at his calm voice. He hadn't moved an inch and something hot flashed in his eyes. "And who said they were groundless?"

Eyes narrowed, Jade gripped her laptop across her chest and started around the desk. She wanted to toss him out. After a few steps, she paused, her heart hammering, her breathing rapid. _What now?_ Vince Knight's tough guy attitude might be irritating but the man was too huge and rock-hard to be tossed anywhere.

"I want you to leave," she said firmly.

"I can't. Not without getting what I came for."

"I don't care." She took a deep breath, wanting to curse him out. "If you're not out of my office in five seconds, I'm calling the campus security." It would take them at least five minutes to get here, if she was lucky. Knowing how helpless she was only added to her ire. "And if I were you, I'd watch what I say and who—"

"But you're not me, are you, professor?" Vince interrupted, ticked off with himself for letting her get to him. It wasn't that bit about her family and lawyers or campus security that rankled. It was her. What happened to the sweet, shy girl from high school? This tigress knocked his world-weary ass off balance.

Everything about the woman was designed to shock a man's system. Her voice, low and husky, had the power to make his hair prickle and his gut clench. Her siren scent, subtle but sensual, was a blend of something exotic and flowery. Every time he inhaled, it punched through his defenses with the precision of a sniper.

He shot her a look and caught her smoldering eyes. He thought he had the whole situation figured out. _Meet Jade, get the info on her mother, leave._ Stating that her mother had the missing artifact was a stupid mistake. In his line of business he couldn't afford stupid mistakes.

No, wrong. He couldn't afford them when he used to be an investigative journalist. He'd slammed the door on that life. No more interviewing reluctant witnesses, rummaging through garbage and chasing scumbags, or so he'd thought. A call from his aunt and a plea for help changed all that. For her, the only blood relative to ever care about what became of him, he dropped everything and took the first flight out of Seattle for Los Angeles. Dealing with Jade Fitzgerald wasn't part of the plan. It was a distraction he didn't need.

But he knew the drill. Deal with it. Stay uninvolved. Move on.

"What's it going to be, Vince?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts, daring him with her eyes.

Short of keeping her in her office until he got what he wanted, he had no choice but to give in. Clenching his teeth, Vince stepped out of her office and turned to watch her. Her seductive, hip-swaying gait sent heat straight to his groin. He shifted his gaze away from her body.

"I'm not going anywhere without knowing your mother's whereabouts, Jade."

"Really?" She tossed her abundant mahogany hair and shot him a disdainful look, eyes flashing. "How do you propose to get that information? What are you anyway? A cop? P.I.?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned her back to him and locked her office door. When she started down the hall, he fell in step with her.

It rankled she'd challenged him. Surprised him how she ignored him with such ease too. Women never ignored him. He slid a sideway glance her way. Her hazel eyes were fixed ahead, her lush lips set in an uncompromising pout, pert nose and determined chin stuck in the air.

The changes in her were amazing. The extra weight in high school had melted away in just the right places. Now the generous hips and rounded ass, tiny waist and well-sized breasts demanded a man's attention. Her creamy skin still glowed with vitality and invited one's touch.

Unfortunately, they weren't in high school anymore and this sexy and aloof woman wasn't the girl he felt he had something in common with. Not that it did him any good then. After their first meeting, she made a point of staying out of his way and snubbing him the few times their paths crossed. That had bugged him, an amazing feat for a kid already hauling a bucket load of hurt. Vince shoved his hands into his back pants pockets and scolded himself for deviating from his agenda.

"We need to talk, Jade." Frustration made his voice harsh.

She didn't respond. He took a swift breath of irritation and the scent of whatever else she smeared on her delectable body hit his lungs, causing him to swallow with difficulty. "I'll still be here after your class ends."

"You'll be wasting your time. I've a busy schedule."

"Then meet me tonight," he heard himself say.

She sucked in a breath and turned to face him. "We have nothing to discuss, Vince. The person you need to speak with is my mother. You need to look her in the eye and tell her what you just told me. I'll call her assistant at Fitz-Valdes to find a slot for you as soon as she comes back." She turned and lifted her hand to push the door open.

Before he could question his intention, Vince shifted and slapped his hand on the doorframe, blocking her entrance.

"Excuse me?" she snapped, gaze flying to his face.

Her blistering stare could have scotched a lesser man, but after his upbringing and living in the trenches in war-torn countries to cover stories, he could handle anything she sent his way. He glared right back.

Four seconds later, he dropped his arm and stepped back. He was in trouble. His defenses meant jack when it came to her. She shifted as though to enter the room. He reached a decision.

"What do you say we start over? I'm Vince Knight."

"I don't have time for—"

"I'm not a cop or a private detective. But I was a career investigative journalist, did a stint as a P.I. but didn't like it, and now I write fiction. I'm doing a family member a favor by finding a missing statue. I believe you can help me. Please, have dinner with me so we can discuss the details."

She released a sigh. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I think it's the right thing to do. I'll explain what happened and you can decide whether you still want to sue me for defamation." His attempt at humor failed when her full lips tightened and creases furrowed her smooth brow. Frustration knitted his gut.

"I'm sorry, Vince. I already have dinner plans."

He gave her curvaceous frame a quick once over. Yeah, she probably had L.A.'s most eligible bachelors beating down her door. "How about a pre-dinner drink?"

Jade opened her mouth to speak but he didn't give her a chance to speak. "I'm staying at the Palace, West Hollywood. There's a restaurant on the first floor. Let's meet there at six o'clock. Just a few minutes of your time. Thirty minutes tops."

"I'll think about it."

Not what he'd hoped for, but it was better than nothing. He reached inside his back pocket for a business card, and in his haste, dropped his wallet. Several condoms slipped from the black leather holder and skidded across the cemented floor. One landed near her feet.

Just his luck. He debated between scooping his personals and giving her his card. He hung on to his dignity, gripped the card and shoved it at her. When the corners of her mouth turned up with amusement, heat crawled up his neck.

"If you can't make it, call me," he explained.

"Like I said, I'll think about it...Vinny." She accepted the card, pushed the door with her shoulder and disappeared inside the classroom.

Vince waited until the door closed behind her before he picked up his belongings. Using his high school nickname was a sure sign she still thought he was still the over-sexed, unruly teen who'd terrorized her high school years ago. His rebel-without-a-clue days were long gone. So was the hope that she would call him.

Scowling, Vince left the building and headed to his rented car. He wanted this investigation over and done with so he could go home. His aunt's insistence that the theft be kept a secret from the police and FBI made no sense. But he knew her well enough to have his suspicions—she was protecting her younger brother, his father.

Pain blindsided Vince, making him clench his hand. The thought that he could be helping his father ate at him. He didn't owe the old man a thing after what he did. No love. No loyalty. No obligation. Given a choice, he wouldn't spend a second thinking about the bastard. Unfortunately, this investigation was stirring things up, taking him back to sixteen years ago, a time he'd rather forget.

Smothering a curse, he pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number.

"Aunt Della?" he said when he brought the phone to his ear. "What kind of relationship did the judge have with Estelle Fitzgerald?"

***

Jade smiled at the students. "If anyone has a question before next week's exam, you know my office hours. I'll be leaving on Friday, so any last minute consults will have to be done electronically or handled by Shaun Holton." A low murmur greeted her words, but no one offered a comment. "Good luck with the finals, people."

She dismissed the class, waited for the students to file out of the lecture theater before she picked up her laptop and headed toward her office. When her office door came into view, she sighed with relief. _He's gone._ Although why she'd expected Vince Knight to be still hanging around beat the heck out of her. The man accused her mother of thievery. Of all the craziest things she'd heard, that topped them. If it weren't so infuriating, she would have found it funny.

She entered her office, flopped on her chair, and threw his card on her desk. For a moment, she glowered at it as though the act could make it disappear. Erase his words from her head.

Oh, how she's been looking forward to today—her last class of the semester. A few more days to the beginning of her much needed two-week vacation. That was before Mr. I-don't-make-mistakes Knight and his accusations.

"Thanks a lot, pal."

She scowled, replaying their conversation in her head. Actually, the man didn't come outright and accuse her mother of stealing. She, in her bitchy mood, jumped to that conclusion as soon as he mentioned her mother and the missing artifact in the same breath. All because the man said she hadn't changed since high school.

High school. After skipping two grades, she'd been much younger than most of her classmates and too timid and inhibited, except when with her family. To top it, she'd been on meds to control her arrhythmia, which had sucked her energy and left her listless. As to be expected, too many hours spent with her nose buried in books and less on sports had led to chubbiness.

"Just baby fat, sweetheart," her mother would say.

Yeah, right. Between her sheltered upbringing and her illness, it was a wonder she left an impression on anyone, let alone Vince Knight.

So what did he mean by she hadn't changed? She may not be skinny, but she wasn't fat, either. Her crazy heart still had an occasional premature heartbeat shooting an electrical impulse through a repeated loop and her heart to two-hundred beats a minute, but she could control it. And she worked too hard this past year to overcome her shyness, thanks to Ms. M.M. Evan's bestselling manual, _Get Some Kick-ass Attitude._ Even her manipulative ex-husband would have a hard time reconciling the new, self-assured, take-charge Jade from the one he'd controlled.

As for high school, the ridicule she'd endured when her brothers and cousins weren't around to buffer her from the 'pig' jokes flashed in her head. Her first meeting with Vince followed. A popular boy she was so into had asked her to a school dance—the spring school dance was big at their school. Little had she known it was a prank. Vince had walked in on the humiliating moment and caught her crying while a bunch of kids laughed at her.

Jade placed her laptop in its bag, secured the straps and yanked at the zipper with more force than necessary. Then she rocked on her heels and sighed.

It's been sixteen years, Jade. Move on already.

Easier said than done. No matter how hard she tried, that insecure girl resurfaced to taunt her every time someone mentioned knowing her in high school. She pulled out her copy of _Get Some Kick-ass Attitude_ from her desk drawer and put it in her bag. Then she hoisted the laptop case on her shoulder, grabbed the handle of the bag and picked up her keys. Before she started for the door, she paused to glance at Vince's card.

Unleashing her inner bitch on him because he mentioned high school was juvenile. Her mother should be her primary concern now. Even before Vince walked into her office, her mother had been on her mind. Estelle Valdes-Fitzgerald's behavior before she left on the cruise wasn't normal—the anxious expression, refusing to entertain or go out, which was saying something for someone who thrived on social functions. Jade assumed it was fatigue taking a toll on her, but now....

She and her mother needed to talk first. Let Vince Knight cool his heels for now.

***

Jade gripped the edge of her desk and glowered at the phone. For three days she'd called her mother only to be directed to her voice mail. Even her text messages went unanswered. Her brothers and cousins hadn't heard from her, either. Jade took in a deep breath and yanked open the middle drawer on her desk. Vince's card sat there, mocking her. She hated to give credence to that arrogant man's allegation. Her mother was incapable of stealing. She didn't have to.

On the other hand, she'd Googled Vince Knight's name two days ago and saw his impressive resume. The man was not a blabber-mouth. As a renowned reporter, Vince covered wartime stories for some newspaper in Seattle and even won a Pulitzer for one of his pieces. His switch to fiction garnered him literary accolades and quite a following. Although military and espionage thrillers weren't her thing, Jade even picked one of his books from her favorite bookstore for her vacation read.

So what Vince Knight was meticulous and relentless when he pursued someone? It didn't make him right about her mother and his missing statue. Jade picked up his card and closed the drawer. She wanted to hear what the man had to say. That was all.

She shouldered her bag and left the office then dialed his number.

"Vince Knight," he answered after a ring.

Oh, that voice. There ought to be a law against it.

"It's Jade. I can meet with you this evening. No more than thirty minutes."

"Good. Six o'clock?"

"Five." She heard him smother a curse. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No problem at all. I'll be there."

She had a feeling she could tell him to meet her right this instant and no laws of nature could stop him from making it. "Promise me one thing, Vince."

"What is it?" His voice was cool.

"Let's stay with the facts on this, okay?"

"Meaning?"

"I don't want to hear conclusions based on your intuition as a journalist or what you hope to verify. I need to see clear evidence which confirms your allegations, otherwise there's no point in having this meeting." There was silence although she knew he was still on the line. "Vince?"

"Got it." There was a tinge of anger in his voice. "See you at five." He hung up.

Jade pursed her lips. So he was ticked off. Big deal. What had he expected her to do? Accept his words as the truth because he said so? It was within her right to verify his claim before talking to him. Why then did she feel as though she'd jumped off a plane without a parachute?

Please Mom. Call me back. Before five-o'clock.

Jade got inside her car and placed her bags on the front passenger seat. All this worrying would have been unnecessary had she pushed her mother for answers instead of accepting her explanation of fatigue. Vince's words kept ringing in her head, filling it with things she would never have entertained a week ago. Her mother, pillar of society, a thief? Ludicrous.

Instead of starting the car, she gripped the steering wheel and scowled. Choking the leather covered wheel wasn't going to ease her worries. She took a deep breath as she reached a decision. Forget about the thirty minutes she'd promised Vince. She was sticking to his side until she knew every doggone detail of his investigation.
CHAPTER 2

Jade eased her car into an empty parking space outside the Palace and switched off the engine. A groan escaped her when she caught a glimpse of the time. Three minutes late and counting. That's what she got for taking a little extra time to deck her body and paint herself like a geisha. Granted she had a party to go to after their meeting. Still, to make Vince Knight choke on his words would be an added bonus.

I haven't changed, my butt.

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and studied her face in the rear view mirror. The make-up and pinned-up hair with a few tendrils framing her face couldn't be labeled overkill. She tilted the mirror to check the enticing valley created by the black bustier she'd worn under her matching spaghetti-strapped dress. Now that sight could be classified as a look-and-drool display.

Jade picked up her black purse and sheer shawl then stepped out of her car, locking it. She smoothed the silk dress down over her hips. A chuckle escaped her. Her behind had its own agenda and continued to resist any attempts to slim it down, but she was learning to live with it. She wasn't skinny, but she was okay with her body. Any man, Vince Knight included, should be worshipping at her feet.

Jade took several steps, glanced down and grimaced. Six-inches of pure hell. She was a sucker for beautiful shoes, but the look on Vince's face when he saw her in them would be worth it. If she didn't fall flat on her face first.

Positive thoughts, please.

Two men exited the hotel as she approached the entrance and froze at seeing her. Their drawn out 'damn' brought a quick smile to her lips. That was all the encouragement she needed to work the black drop-waist dress with asymmetrical hem.

Her senses thrummed with anticipation as she glided through the hotel doors. Jade gave the busy foyer a sweeping glance. When her gaze locked on Vince, her heart started a rickety shuffle and her stomach tilted.

This was bad. She wasn't within sniffing distance of the man and her body was already betraying her. Even in plain jeans and a T-shirt, he stood out. She studied his tall, built body as he leaned against the front desk. His tanned skin contrasted with his white T-shirt in an attractive way, his teeth flashing as he spoke with one of the managers.

It wasn't fair. He wasn't even her type. She avoided the silent, brooding, emotionally unavailable types like the plague. They were too difficult to understand and complicated. On the other hand, where had an outgoing man gotten her? A bad marriage and doubts about her sensuality.

As though he felt her gaze, Vince turned.

She stopped breathing, a stupid thing to do. He gave her a slow appraisal, his gaze lingering on her chest before colliding with hers.

Expression on his face? Cool. Unimpressed.

Air left her lungs in an unsteady rush. She twisted her lips into what she hoped resembled a smile as she started across the room. All that time spent putting her war paint on wasted. How could he maintain that stone-cold soberness all the time? Vince had to be made of ice, and served her right for trying to get a rise out of him.

Maybe that was the problem. His rigid control and aloofness rubbed her the wrong way. Made her want to do or say something to rattle his cage. His lack of interest in her was a definite challenge. Maybe there was some truth to the lure of the unattainable. Vince Knight, without trying, fascinated her.

Vince approached with the loose-hipped predatory stride of a jungle cat, sending a whoosh of anticipation through her. Feeling a little light-headed, Jade hoped she didn't totter on her high stilettos.

"Sorry, I'm late," she said, hating the breathlessness in her voice.

"No problem. You're here now." He gave her another cool once-over without making a comment and lifted a duffel bag she didn't notice he was carrying. "I need to show you something."

Her gaze moved from the bag to his face. "What is it?

"Let's find a place to sit first." His dark gaze swept the foyer as though cataloguing faces. She wasn't sure whether it was caution or paranoia.

She trailed his gaze. "Is everything okay?"

"No."

The calm way he said it sent a chill up her spine. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, reconsidered and closed it. She'd better get this meeting over with and leave.

Jade allowed him to take her arm and direct her toward the Feng Shui restaurant and lobby. His hand played havoc with her senses. She felt warmth all the way to her bones. A group of women coming toward them propelled her closer to him until only a few inches separated them. The heat from his body seeped into her skin, making her shiver. His scent, musk and spearmint, slammed into her. Her mind went foggy.

"Do you live here in L.A.?" she asked to stop herself from doing something stupid like burying her nose in the hollow of his neck.

"No, Orcas Island. I'm only here to find the statue, then I'm heading right back."

He was so sure he would find it. Such confidence was daunting, and she had to admit, a turn-on. They walked past a poster with 'ISWS-International Society of Women Scientists' printed on it. "How long have you been in town?"

"Five days. Why?"

"Just wondering." _Keep him talking._ Maybe then she'd turn off the faucet on the raw sexual longing sneaking in on her. "Who have you spoken with? Where have you looked? Stolen artifacts are moved so fast that...."

Her voice trailed off when he stopped. He looked down at her and she blinked. The man's penetrating eyes seemed to see right through her outer trappings and straight to the real her—a women rebuilding her life after a humiliating marriage. She swallowed and copped an irritation. "What?"

"Can we sit down first before you start questioning me?"

"We only have thirty minutes, remember?" Not that she had any intention of leaving until all her questions were answered.

His gaze slid across her face and dropped to her breasts. "A lot can be accomplished in thirty minutes."

Heat crawled up her neck, flaming her cheeks and ears. Oh, the rotten scoundrel. If she were bold enough, she would have given him a thorough meat-market perusal and linger on his fly. _Rule Number Five_ in _Get Some Kick-ass Attitude_ —if you can't take action, say it.

"Especially when a person knows what she likes and how she likes it," she answered and his gaze snapped back to hers. "Much better. I wasn't sure whether you were talking to me or my girls here." She pointed at her chest.

No reaction. Not even a flicker of irritation or amusement. She was impressed. In high school, he'd been a charmer. His smile alone would coax girls into the backseat of his car. What happened? Who stole his smile?

She shook her head at her foolishness. "Come on, Vince. Let's find those seats."

They entered the Chinese-inspired restaurant with its red leather banquettes and corset-laced wood chairs. Women of various ages and ethnicities in expensive business suits occupied most of the tables. Vince indicated an empty table at the other end of the room.

Conversation stopped as they crossed the room, and it didn't take a genius to tell who was holding the women's interest. As if choreographed, conversation resumed as soon as they sat down. Jade hid a smile. Good to know she wasn't the only one he mesmerized. The fascinating thing was that the beefcake seemed oblivious.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Vince asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Sure. I'll have club soda with lime, please."

He signaled a waitress, ordered her drink, and brandy for himself. "Could you bring the bill with the order?" The woman nodded and left.

He leaned back, draped his arm on the back of his chair and locked his gaze on Jade. When the silence stretched, she pursed her lips. "You know it's considered rude to stare."

He shrugged. "Just trying to decide what made you change your mind about meeting me. It's been three days."

"You made accusations and I want to know why."

"You're worried about your mother," he stated in a calm voice, his gaze watchful. "Why?"

"No, I'm not." His piercing gaze didn't waver, making her feel guilty for lying. "Why should I? She's probably drinking margaritas and doing the cha-cha barefoot on some private beach." Now he knew her mother was out of town. She shot him a baleful stare. "You're supposed to tell me about your investigation, not interrogate me."

His eyebrow shot up. "One question hardly qualifies as an interrogation."

"Oh, yeah? Try being pinned down with that," she waved her hands toward his face, "gaze. Give it to me, plain and simple, Vince. What, when, why and how?" She leaned forward.

His gaze strayed to her cleavage before connecting with hers. Heat shimmered in the depth of his dark eyes, holding her captive, then the mask he wore so well slid into place. She was still, trying to catch her breath when he spoke.

"You only want facts, if I recall." His voice was cool.

How could he look at her as though she were his favorite dish and dessert after months without food, but then switch to his old cold self? "No, I've changed my mind. You are an investigative reporter. I heard reporters use their gut instinct to follow—"

The appearance of the waitress with their drinks interrupted her. Vince scribbled his name and room number on the bill. "Put it on my account."

"How much is my drink?" Jade asked Vince once the woman left. She pulled out her wallet from her purse.

His gaze shifted from her hands to her face. "Put that away. You're my guest."

"No, I'm not. I stopped here for information, hardly the same thing." She snapped open her wallet and yanked out a ten-dollar bill. She slid it across the table toward his glass.

"Jade." She looked up. His voice was mild, yet the glint in his eyes indicated irritation. "Don't."

He looked so intimidating that she slipped the bill back in her wallet before she could stop herself. She got angry at herself. "You have issues, you know that. A woman can pay for anything she wants without a man getting all sulky over it."

"I don't sulk."

"Yeah, right."

The corners of his mouth curled and his dimples flashed. The smile was beautiful, like a ray of sunlight after a stormy day. Why didn't she notice his lower lip was fuller than the top?

She shook her head and swallowed. "I, um, tell me about your missing statue."

He nodded. "About two weeks ago, my father gave a private party at his home. Sometime during the evening, he brought out his collection of antiques to share with his guests, among them your mother. One of the pieces was a statue that's been in the family for generations."

She slipped her wallet back in her purse and focused on his words. She thought she knew most of her mother's friends, yet the name Knight didn't ring a bell.

Vince sipped his drink and set it down. "Soon after that, the guests moved back to the living room. When my father went back to put his collection away, he discovered the statue was missing."

Jade raised her eyebrows. "Why is my mother your suspect?"

"She went back into the den before the statue disappeared." He took another sip of his drink and cradled his glass, a frown between his brows. "I know this may come as a shock to you but her behavior the entire evening was suspicious."

"So you say. Were you there?" The challenge in her voice was unmistakable.

"No."

"Ever met my mother?"

"No, but—"

"Then you can't say with certainty how she'd acted. Who saw her go back into the den?" She didn't care what Vince's father or the other guests said. Her mother wasn't a thief. "Who told you about her behavior?"

"The other guests. She announced to the entire room that she'd misplaced a diamond bracelet in the den and left the room."

"A blue diamond bracelet?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

She shrugged. "It has a faulty catch. My father bought her that bracelet the year he died and she loathes parting with it. She should have had it fixed years ago but she keeps putting it off." She shot him a defiant look. "If she said she'd lost it, that's just what happened."

"Not when no one saw her wear it in the first place or after she came back from the den."

He knocked the wind out of her sail with that one. Jade reached for her drink and took a long sip as she raked her brain for something plausible to say. There must be an explanation.

"You said you've spoken with everyone who was at the party. Don't you find it strange that they're all saying the same thing?" She was grasping at straws but she didn't care. Her mother was innocent. As for Vince, his poker face didn't give his thoughts away. "They're fingering her because she isn't here to defend herself." Amusement flickered in Vince's eyes, causing her to bristle. "You find this funny?"

He drained his drink and set his glass aside. "No, I don't. I find your loyalty admirable."

She waved his comment away. "What do you expect me to do? Agree with everything you say? She's my mother, for chrissake. I know her. Stealing is something she'd never do." Yet her behavior before she left on the cruise had been strange, a voice mocked in her head. "My mother carries delicate, tiny purses when she's about town. Where could she have hidden this statue? How could she have gotten it out of the house?" Why was she even bothering to question him? He appeared to have made up his mind. "Who was on the guest list? I would like to talk to them."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"To verify what you've told me."

"Don't you trust me?"

She started to laugh, but stopped when their gazes connected. Air lodged in her throat and her stomach started high-energy aerobics.

"I, uh." She cleared her throat and covered it with laugher. "No. Not when you're convinced my mother is guilty of something she hasn't done. Of course, you could be feeding me a line for all I know but...." Vince pulled out a beautiful black statue from his duffel bag. "That's beautiful."

"Tell me if you've ever seen this before."

She reached for it just as he was passing it to her. His finger slid between hers and nestled at the sensitive base between her two fingers. Both of them froze. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he didn't pull away either. The connection was erotic, stimulating. It unleashed a storm of emotions inside her. She wanted to say something witty, but her mind drew blank.

When he pulled away and nudged the stone statue closer to her, Jade snapped into focus. The figurine came to her rescue. It was awe-inspiring, the handiwork meticulous and flawless. She recognized the feathered serpent deity right away— _Kukulcan_ , an ancient Mayan god. He stood upright like a human, had the face of a snake and wings on his back. His features were well-carved, lizard-like eyes outlined, and detail paid to clothing and jewelry. Ancient text was scribbled on the base.

When was the last time she saw such a well-preserved ancient Mayan artifact? Not since the year she spent touring museums around the world. Most Mayan ruins were raided by robbers, the priceless artifacts sold to the highest bidders and private collectors. Even the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston with its extensive collection of ancient relics couldn't lay claim to such a find.

Jade ran a finger over the surface and studied the grime. Too smooth, the patina thicker than normal. Maybe it wasn't well preserved. Given time, she could do stylistic and historical analyses on the figurine and one of her physical chemist colleagues could support her conclusion with chemical analysis. But, Vince didn't need her professional opinion.

She had interrupted her mother on the phone and Mayan was mentioned. Could there be a connection? Jade bit her lower lip, pushed the statue toward Vince and shook her head.

"No, I've never seen such a statue before," she said.

"But?"

"It's nothing. Beautiful piece. Really."

"What is it?" Vince leaned forward, drawing her gaze to his face.

"Well, uh, I hope it isn't one of your father's treasured antiques."

"Why?"

"It is a forgery. A good one, but still a forgery."

