Complete Me (Stark Trilogy, #3)(77)

I am about to suggest that if we are going back to sleep, the bed inside would be a much more comfortable choice, when he shifts and looks at me.

“I don’t think it was my father,” he says. “He seemed genuinely baffled when I confronted him about the pictures.”

“Oh.” My brow furrows with worry and confusion. “So you don’t have any idea who it could be?” That would certainly explain the storm I saw in his eyes.

“I don’t,” he agrees. There is silence. Then, “I’m worried about Sofia.”

I don’t understand the transition. “I know you are, but she’ll check in. If she’s playing roadie to a band in Shanghai, she’s probably not—”

“I’m afraid she’s running,” Damien says simply. “I’m afraid someone’s harassing her.” He strokes my cheek, his eyes burning into me.

“Oh, God,” I say with sudden understanding. “You think someone is trying to get to you through the women you love. Me. Sofia.”

“I think it’s possible.” He scrubs his hands over his face and through his hair. “I think a lot of things are possible. All I know for certain is that those goddamn photos were my salvation whether I like to think about them that way or not.”

“They were,” I agree.

“And I still don’t know who or why, which leads me to think that someone is playing with me. They’ll reveal themselves eventually, and when they do, they’re going to want something from me. Tit for tat.”

I want to argue with him, but what he says makes sense. I sit up and draw my knees to my chest. “But how does that tie in with Sofia being missing?”

Even in the dark, I can see the way his eyes cut away from me.

“Damien?” I press. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I hear him draw in a breath. “Richter abused her, too.” The words are flat, matter-of-fact, and they chill me to the bone.

“Oh.”

He continues without pausing. “If there are photos of me, there are undoubtedly photos of her. Someone delivered a set to me—through the court, but still to me. What if someone did the same to her?”

I tremble. I think of how the photos wrecked Damien, a man with so much strength it awes me. What would they do to this fragile girl? “But wouldn’t she call you? Aren’t you the one she’d turn to for help?”

“I don’t know. Sofia is many things, but predictable isn’t one of them. She once disappeared for six months. Turned out she screwed some guy who did time making fake passports, and since I haven’t been able to find any evidence that she left the UK under her own name, I can’t help but wonder if she’s hooked up with him again. She’s smart and she’s fearless. She’s lived on the streets, so if she feels like she needs to hide, she can disappear better than anyone. Most important, she’s f*cked up enough to happily fall off the grid.”

“I get that you love her, and I get that she’s not entirely stable, and I get that you’re worried. But, Damien,” I say gently, “she’s an adult. And no matter what your history, she’s not your responsibility.”

“Maybe not, but it feels like she is.”

I can’t help but nod in understanding. After all, Jamie’s not my responsibility, either. I sigh and stretch out beside Damien. He presses a kiss to my forehead, then links his fingers in mine. A moment later, he presses a button on a remote control.

The lights on the court wink out, and we are thrust into a darkness broken only by the gentle glow of a blanket of stars spread wide across the sky above us.





Chapter Nineteen

After Saturday’s drama, I want to bottle Sunday so that I can keep it close and pull it out whenever I need it. We spend the day doing everything and nothing. Even Damien turns off, abandoning his quest to find Sofia or my stalker or the bastard who leaked those photographs in favor of entering a purely vegetative state with Jamie and me.

Jamie and I rouse ourselves from our prone positions around lunchtime in order to take a walk along the beach. Damien doesn’t join us, claiming he’s too engrossed in his reread of Asimov’s I, Robot. Considering Damien’s love of science fiction, I do not doubt that the book has captured him, but I also know that the reason he’s not coming is because I asked him not to. I want some time to interrogate Jamie about her announcement that she is considering moving back home to Texas.

Once we’re actually out with the sun and the surf, though, I can’t seem to find the right moment. Instead, we chatter about nothing as we walk all the way through Damien’s property to the ocean, then north up the beach to our nearest neighbor. He’s tall and muscled and his coffee-colored skin is slick with the sea. He waves at us as he comes out of the water with a surfboard. Jamie, I think, is going to have a heart attack when she sees him.

“Who is he?” I whisper as we turn around and head back toward home.

“That’s Eli Jones. He won the Oscar for best supporting actor last year.” She shakes her head. “You really are hopeless.”

“I am,” I say. And, since I doubt I’ll find a better transition, I add, “It’s going to be hard to focus on your acting career if you move back to Texas.”

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Yeah, well, we both know that it’s a long shot career. It’s not like I’ve taken LA by storm.”