“He is,” Damien said. “And we do.”
“I want to help,” she said earnestly. “I know the target was Anne, but he took me too. And if Rory was working with someone, then that someone dragged me into this. I want to help figure out who. You’ll let me, right?” She turned, laying eyes on everyone in the room before stopping at Damien. “You have to let me. If someone had used you this way—”
“Yes,” he said, working to keep his voice level. “Of course you can help.”
She nodded, satisfied, but Damien was anything but. He glanced at Nikki and saw the same grief reflected on her face. Bree was so damn innocent, or she had been. She was starting college soon. Off to a big adventure. This wasn’t the kind of baggage she was supposed to have when she set out on that journey. She should have no cares other than paying tuition, studying for finals, and debating what to wear for her date Friday night. But she’d moved into his world, and now she was begging to chase monsters.
It was like he was a magnet for pain and suffering.
No.
Brutally, he shoved the dark thoughts away. He was tired—no, he was beyond tired. But he hadn’t caused this. Hadn’t dragged Bree down into the abyss. That was on Rory’s shoulders. Rory, and some unknown puppet master.
But not unknown for long. Damien’s team would find him—of that he was damn sure.
And when they did, Damien was going to personally cut his goddamn strings.
Chapter Sixteen
Quincy gestured to the chair across from him, inviting Bree to sit as Nikki put the girls to bed. “Damien and Jackson are starting with the money,” he said in his clipped British accent. “One eye on that two million ransom. The other on any tosser willing to kidnap a child for that kind of filthy lucre.”
“So far, dear old Dad is top of that list,” Damien put in from where he sat one chair over from Quincy. “And that’s why San Diego is on tomorrow’s agenda.”
“And me?” Bree asked.
“Rory didn’t get this job off Craigslist,” Damien said. “He was working with—or for—someone he knew.”
“You’re the best person to dig into his life,” Quincy said. “He worked in finance, right? Did you ever meet his coworkers?”
“Um, yeah.” She twisted a strand of dark hair around her finger. “We went to happy hour a couple of times.”
“Perfect. Ring one up. Offer to buy them a pint when they get off, just to chat about Rory.”
“And I use them to learn what Rory was into, who else he hung with, if there was anything weird going on with him.”
“Clever girl. I think you’ve got it.”
“Okay.” She pushed back from the table, her head bobbing as if she was nodding in time to some internal music. “Okay, right. This is good. I can do this.”
With a loud exhale, she stood. “So that’s my plan for tomorrow.” She tilted her head and looked at Damien. “Should I ask Ryan if Moira can come in and help with the kids? In case they want to meet for lunch or really early or something?”
“That would be terrific.” Lara and Anne both adored Ryan’s younger sister, and he knew that her school schedule was light.
“Will do. And I’ll think about who else I can talk to.”
“We should have his mobile and computer soon. Paper address book if he has one. Charles is pulling some strings,” Quincy added, in response to Damien’s questioning glance.
“Okay,” Bree said. “I can go through it. Maybe I’ll remember some offhand comment and it’ll blow the case wide open. That happens, right? It always happens in the movies.”
“I’m sure it’ll happen just like that,” Damien said, then laughed when she rolled her eyes.
“I’m going to go peek in on the girls,” she said before hurrying away.
“You did good with her.” Damien nodded to Quincy as he stood, stretching. “Not likely to be dangerous, but something that lets her really feel like she’s helping. And might actually produce a solid lead.”
“We had to rely on civilians a lot at Deliverance. After all, we were flying under the radar.”
“And British Intelligence?”
“Ah, that’s a horse of a different color. The motto there is to avoid all civilian interference. I lead a double life, my friend. Or I did. It’s all a bit up in the air now that Deliverance is winding down.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that.” He sat again, this time perched on the edge of the table, one foot on the seat of his chair. “I know Ryan’s mentioned it to you, but I want to reiterate how much we both hope you’ll come on board at Stark International. And I want to assure you I can make it worth your while. Both financially and with the work you’d be doing. No holing up in a warehouse for days doing surveillance, I promise.”
Quincy laughed. “I’m flattered. And I’m intrigued by what you and Ryan are planning. A specialty team inside your corporate security group.”
“Something that flies under the radar,” Damien said, encouraged by Quincy’s response. “Lately, I’ve been thinking more and more about people who don’t have my resources, and I wonder how they survive the uncertainty. Hell, I can barely survive. It would be a for-profit entity with a significant pro bono presence.”
“Like one of your foundations, only for chasing down bad guys instead of educating kids.”
“Not a bad way to put it.”
“Like I said, it’s a great idea, and I’m chuffed you thought of me. But the truth is, I’m thinking of retiring.”
Damien studied him, nodding slowly. “Mind if I ask why?” He hadn’t known Quincy long, but he’d seen the man in action. And he didn’t seem like the type to retire so young. Not when there was work yet to be done.
For a moment, Quincy didn’t answer. Then he said simply, “Secrets.” A moment passed, then another. Then he lifted a shoulder, shrugging. “And lies. That about sums up this business.”
“MI6 or Deliverance?”
“Ah, I can’t tell you that, my friend. Reference the aforementioned secrets.”
Damien chuckled. “Fair enough.”
“I’ll say this though about Deliverance—we had more successes than failures, but even then, that life takes a toll. I got into it because of Dallas. I was there the night he was kidnapped, you know. I’d followed him. I saw it happen. And I’d been completely fucking helpless. So I shared his obsession. That driving need to find his kidnapper. To make it right for him and Jane.”
He drew a breath. “But he has his answers now—and a wife who loves him. He’s made the decision to get out, and I think it’s the right one. God knows he served his time. But, Damien, I think I have, too.”
“You’re good,” Damien said, because as far as he was concerned, there was no greater praise than competence.
“I am. But—” He turned away, his expression suddenly guarded.
“Quince?”
“I’m good,” he repeated, turning back with the flash of a quick smile. “And I’m in this with you for now. But the future’s a long way off, Stark. We don’t need to worry about that right now.”
Damien knew better than to press. There were other ways to find out about the shadows behind Quincy’s eyes. “Fair enough. And again, I’m very glad you’re here.”
He slid off the table, intending to go see his daughters before checking in with Ryan. But he hesitated, then turned back to Quincy. “You worked with Dallas. You witnessed his kidnapping.”
Quincy tilted his head, waiting for Damien to continue.
“If the worst happens,” Damien began, hating to even voice the question but knowing he had to. “If we never find the bastard—how do I live without knowing who did this?” The words burned in his throat, thick and bitter. “Never facing the man who took my daughter? Who tormented my nanny, my friend? How do I live, knowing he’s still out there? Still drawing breath?”
Quincy’s shoulders sagged, and he rose from his chair. “Honestly, I don’t know.” He reached out, pressing his hand down on Damien’
s shoulder. “But I’m going to work my ass off so that hopefully you won’t have to find out.”
* * * *
Quincy’s words hung over Damien as he knelt at the side of Anne’s toddler bed, watching her chest rise and fall, her cupid bow lips parted, her innocent little face free of marks of fear or lines of regret. She had her whole life ahead of her, but that future could have been so easily ripped away. And every time he recalled that simple truth, a wild and dangerous fury ripped through him.
Like Quincy, Damien was going to work his ass off to find the kidnapper. Spend whatever it took, bribe whoever demanded it. Cut whatever corners needed cutting.
Whatever it took, he would make it happen. And in the end, he’d find the man. Then he’d stare into the bastard’s eyes. And he would fucking end this.