Slow Burn (37 page)

“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.