Part 11 (1/2)

”You're p.i.s.sed,” Damien said mildly.

Jackson glared at him. ”Some a.s.shole I don't know has a camera aimed at my home and is snapping pictures of me and my girlfriend.”

He glared at Damien, as if the fact that his brother handed him the picture made him responsible for all this s.h.i.+t. ”d.a.m.n right I'm p.i.s.sed.”

Damien nodded as if the response pleased him. ”It's a safe bet that Jeremiah's not p.i.s.sed at all. On the contrary, he's soaking up the attention.” He paused just long enough for the words to soak in past Jackson's still-bubbling anger. ”Don't trust him, Jackson. Just a little bit of brotherly advice from me to you.”

Jackson pushed down the lingering anger as he considered the other man. ”You know, I used to wonder what happened between the two of you. I thought that you were such a s.h.i.+t to him. I mean, I had reason to hate him. He was always gone. Kept me and my mom hidden away. But you had himand yet I looked at you and thought you were a complete p.r.i.c.k. Demanding. A prima donna. Too G.o.dd.a.m.n full of yourself.”

”So glad your impression has changed,” Damien said wryly.

Jackson chuckled. ”About some things. Not others. But seriously, after I learned about Germanyafter it all hit the press”

He cut himself off with a small shudder, thinking of the things his brother had endured, all with their father's knowledge and without his protection. He thought of Sylvia, who had suffered so similarly, and he had to fight a sudden rush of anger against Jeremiah, Reed, and Sylvia's father. Not to mention a universe in which even one child had to endure such horrors.

He took a sip of scotch, blinking back a wave of emotion, because now Ronnie was at the forefront of his mind, and he really couldn't understand the way those men had sacrificed their children, because there was nothingnothinghe wouldn't do to protect that little girl.

”Anyway,” he finally said. ”I understand why you set up your foundation. It's a good cause. I'll be back volunteering as soon as they let me.”

Damien nodded, but didn't say anything more. Jackson hadn't expected him to.

”My point is that after all that s.h.i.+t hit the tabloids, I understood your issues. But I still thought you were a s.h.i.+t. I knew all about you after Brighton, remember? Or at least I thought I did.” He'd recently learned, to his chagrin, that Damien's last-minute land buy in an Atlanta-based development deal five years ago had saved Jackson's a.s.s, not screwed him. If Damien hadn't swooped in and destroyed the deal, most of the key players in the Brighton Consortium would have been sucked into a RICO case, their fortunes and their reputations destroyed.

Most of the players, however, didn't realize that Damien had saved their a.s.s.

”As far as I was concerned,” Jackson continued, ”you were heartless. Ruthless. You had to be. How else could you climb so far so fast?”

”I can be all those things,” Damien said easily.

”Can be, yeah. But it's not who you are.” He downed the last of his scotch. ”I've seen what you've done for Syl's career. I've seen how fiercely you watch after your wife, and I've heard about what you've done for her friends. And I know now that you weren't trying to f.u.c.k me or anyone over on Brighton.”

He flashed his most charming smile at his brother. ”Make no mistake, I'll call you out the second I think you're doing something to f.u.c.k up Cortez, but as for Damien Stark the man? Maybe you're not the devil I thought you were.”

”Don't spread it around,” Damien said. ”I have a reputation to protect, after all.”

”My lips are sealed.” Jackson glanced down to check his watch. ”Should we head back?”

”In a minute. Detective Garrison asked me to see him tomorrow,” Damien said flatly, referring to one of the two detectives who'd spent the morning grilling Jackson.

A cold, hard knot formed in Jackson's gut. ”Why?”

”Presumably because they think my half-brother committed murder. More specifically, because you also work for me, and as I think I mentioned once, I've met Reed a time or two. But all that is just speculation.”

”Well, s.h.i.+t. I'm sorry.”

Damien's brows rose slightly. ”Sorry?”

”That this mess is s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with you, too.”

”Murder isn't the kind of thing that stays contained.”

”So what are you going to say to him?”

”That I don't think you did it.”

Jackson studied him. ”That's not what you said a few minutes ago.”

Damien didn't smile, but Jackson saw the hint of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. ”I'm not talking to the police right now, am I? I'll tell them that I don't know you that well, but I do know you're not stupid. And killing him just a few days after beating the s.h.i.+t out of him would be very, very stupid.” He waited a beat, then leaned closer, his elbows on the bar. ”Jackson, stupid doesn't run in our family. Jeremiah's a s.h.i.+t, but he's not stupid, either. If he did leak our relations.h.i.+phe had an endgame.”

”Like what?”

Damien leaned back. ”I have no idea. But you wanted to know who else might want Reed dead. I say add him to the list of possibles. Jeremiah knew Reed. You said so yourself.”

Jackson considered, then nodded slowly. ”I'll talk to Harriet. Have her keep an eye on him. Maybe he'll end up being my reasonable doubt.”

”You don't have to do that,” Damien said.

”No, you convinced me.”

”I mean, it's already done.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes at his brother. ”Is it?”

Damien lifted a shoulder. ”Like I said, Jeremiah Stark always has an endgame. I'd like to know what it is. Besides,” he added with a significant look to Jackson, ”maybe he did kill Reed.”

”Anything's possible,” Jackson said dryly. ”But what would he gain?”

”I don't know,” Damien admitted. ”If he were another man, I'd say maybe he was trying to protect you. Keep the movie from being made. Keep Reed from suing you for the a.s.sault. Maybe even protect his granddaughter.”

”He doesn't know about her,” Jackson said tightly.

”Are you sure?” When Jackson stayed silent, because, dammit, he wasn't sure, Damien continued. ”It doesn't matter. My point is that Jeremiah Stark looks after one person and one person only.”

He met Jackson's eyes. ”So watch your back, Steele. Because you may not see him coming.”

eleven.

Since it is already the end of the workday and I am still too riled about that d.a.m.n photo to focus, I decide to grab a few files and head home to work there.

Home, of course, is the operative word. Because Jackson and I have been spending more and more time on his boat since his drafting table and other work tools are there. And as for me, I like to stretch out on his comfy lounge chairs with a gla.s.s of wine and relax to the sound and rhythm of the ocean. I'd like to do that tonight, in fact. But I can't, and that p.i.s.ses me off.

Because tonight, the boat isn't my destination; my condo is. Not that I don't love my condoI do. But I'd rather be in my place because I'm craving my own stuff. Not because the d.a.m.n paparazzi are messing with our lives.

And, yes, I trust that the property managers at the marina are doing their job. None of those c.o.c.kroaches are getting access to the boat or even the parking lot. But that didn't stop them from taking those pictures last night, and that was invasive enough for me.

Tonight, I sleep in my own bed.