“My business.”

“Ashton, you’re simply not factoring in the reality. There are women who target a man for his status, his portfolio.”

“And how many times have you been married—so far? How many mistresses have you paid off?”

“You’ll show respect.” Spence surged to his feet.

“But you don’t.” Fury battled back so fast and hard he had to clamp it down. Not here, he ordered himself. Not today.

“It’s clear now this was never about Oliver. The police report and that report on your desk would have satisfied you Lila had nothing to do with Oliver or what happened to him. It’s about me and my relationship with Lila.”

“The gist remains the same,” Spence pointed out. “And you’re in a vulnerable position.”

“It may be you figure having multiple wives, mistresses, affairs, canceled engagements and flings makes you an expert. I don’t see it that way.”

“It’s a parent’s job to steer their children away from mistakes they made themselves. This woman has nothing to offer, and she’s used a tragedy to gain your trust and affection.”

“You’re wrong, on all counts. You should remember it was Oliver who needed your approval and your pride. I appreciate it when I get it, but I don’t live for it the way he did. You crossed a line.”

“We haven’t finished here,” Spence said when Ash turned to go.

“Wrong again.”

He let raw temper carry him out, down the stairs and nearly out of the house before his mother caught up with him.

“Ash, for God’s sake, what’s going on?”

“Other than Dad hiring investigators to pry into Lila’s life, then taking swipes at her so she called a cab and left, Oliver’s all-white memorial and Vinnie among the missing, it’s just your typical Archer get-together.”

“Spence—God, I should’ve known. I left that poor girl alone with him.” She shot one fulminating glare toward the staircase. “You’ll fix it with her—I like her, if that matters.”

“It does.”

“What’s this about Vinnie?”

“I don’t know yet. I have to get back to Angie. She’s worried.”

“I’m sure she is. It’s not like Vinnie. I’d go over to the guesthouse, but Krystal just headed that way,” she said, referring to her ex-husband’s current wife. “She’s being very decent to Olympia, so I’ll keep my distance and avoid raising her hackles.”

“For the best.”

“I could speak with Spence.”

“Don’t—”

“Probably for the best, too.” She hooked an arm through his, slowing him to a walk and—he knew—deliberately cooling his temper. “Do you want Marshall and me to take Angie back to the city?”

“I’ll do it. Thanks, but I need to get back anyway.”

“When you see Lila, tell her I’d love to have lunch sometime.”

“Sure.” He paused when Luke and Julie crossed his path.

“We heard Lila left,” Julie began.

“Yeah, a little dust-up, we’ll call it. If you see her before I do, tell her . . . Tell her I’ll tell her myself.”

“I should go.” Julie looked at Luke. “She’s staying with me tonight, so I should go.”

“Then we’ll go. Want a lift back?” Luke asked Ash.

“No, I have something to do. I’ll be in touch.”

Smoothly, Monica transferred to Luke and Julie. “I’ll walk you out.”

Nobody did it better than his mother, Ash thought, and slipped away under the pergola, then back into the sun. He relished the quiet, just for a moment, considered trying Lila’s phone again. But his own signaled.

Hoping she’d returned his call, he checked the display, frowned at the name. “Janis?”

“Ash, God, Ash. I couldn’t . . . couldn’t call Angie.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Mr. V, Mr. V . . . The police . . . I called the police. They’re coming.”

“Take a breath. Tell me where you are.”

“I’m at the shop. I came to get the keys for Mr. V’s apartment. In his office. Ash . . .”

“Take a breath,” he repeated when she broke down in sobs. “You have to tell me what’s happened.” But the squeezing fists in his belly already had. “Just say it.”

“He’s dead. Mr. V. In the office. Somebody hurt him. And there’s a man there—”

“A man?”

“He’s dead, too. He’s lying on the floor, and the blood. I think somebody shot him. Mr. V, he’s tied to his chair, and his face is all . . . I don’t know what to do.”

Emotion had to wait. Now the unthinkable had to be handled, and quickly. “You called the police?”

“They’re coming. But I couldn’t call Angie. I couldn’t, so I called you.”

“Wait outside for the police. Go outside and wait for the police. I’m on my way.”

“Hurry. Can you hurry? Can you tell her? I can’t. I can’t.”

“I’ll tell her. Wait for the police, Janis—outside. We’re on our way.”

He ended the call, simply stared down at the phone.

Had he done this? Had he caused this by asking for Vinnie’s help?

Lila.

He called her number. “Answer the damn phone,” he snapped at her voice mail. “Listen to me. Vinnie’s been killed. I don’t know what happened yet, but I’m on my way back to New York. Go to a hotel. Lock the door and don’t open it for anyone. And the next time I call, pick the f**k up.”

He shoved the phone in his pocket, pressed his fingers to his eyes. And asked himself how to tell Angie her husband was dead.

Twelve

She didn’t want to talk to anyone—and her phone kept burping out the opening stomp-stomp-clap of “We Will Rock You.”

She was changing that damn ringtone first chance.

It was bad enough to be stuck in a cab after being bitch-slapped by the über-rich father of the man she’d recently decided to sleep with without being constantly bombarded by Queen.

And she loved Queen.

Her temper had cooled about twenty miles out, so now she took the rest of the drive in a sticky pool of self-pity.